#javier peña fic

[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 fuckig’ 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

[joelsgreys]

Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

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

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

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

Word Count: 7.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

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

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

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

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

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

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

The color drained from his face.

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

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

Of course he knew Valeria. 

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

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

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

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

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

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

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

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

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him. 

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

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

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

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

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

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

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

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

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

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

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

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

“I want to make him feel good.”

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

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

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

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

“By showing you a thing or two.”

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

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

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

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

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

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

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

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

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

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

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

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

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

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

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

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

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

“There.”

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

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

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

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

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

God, he was fucking good. 

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

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

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

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier. 

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

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him. 

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

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

Your mouth fell open at his request.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

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

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

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

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

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed to see you come.

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

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

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

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

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

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

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

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

 “J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

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

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

“Javi, I’m so close—” 

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

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

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

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

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

What had you two just done?

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

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

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

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

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

Translations

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

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

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

Chismosas - Gossipers

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

Mentirosa. - Liar.

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

[devilmademewriteit]

Salvatore

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: a secretary with an attitude problem, a DEA agent with an insolence problem. years ago, you'd stopped hoping for his character to improve, but he's still gunning to set you straight. it’s the worst day of your life, and javier peña aims to take advantage of that.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content, fem afab reader, mentions of reader having long hair, bratty!reader, brat-tamer!javi, alcohol consumption, smoking, pet names, (so much smoking, I’m sorry but it’s narcos), dubcon (slight intoxication, coercion if you really, really squint)

beta reader: @millllenniawrites that’s BABIE

word count: 10.3k (imsosorry)

no use of y/n in this fic

hey y’all ! i said i had a longer javi fic in store and i was not kidding lmfao !!! slight warning, the reader is a bit of an asshole so teaaaaa. anyhow, don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty, and feedback & comments are always welcome mwah mwah -em<3

PS: to my non-canadian readers, a dart is a cigarette lmao

—

Read Part 2: Playing Dangerous

—

Nothing ever went to plan with Peña around.

It was a curse. A nightmare. You were so careful with your agenda, making sure meetings with the ambassador happened on time, every time, and uninterrupted. When that didn’t happen? It was your ass on the line. And when that didn’t happen? It was always because of agent Peña.

“I can’t let you in, right now,” you hiss, tired of repeating yourself. “She specifically told me not to let people in. Not to let you in,” you add, pointing a finger at his chest.

“Aw, c’mon,” Peña’s murmured supplication rolls off his tongue, “It’s real important.”

You huff indignantly. Keeping your voice low, you retort, “Every time it’s life or death, Peña—”

“Why don’t you ever call me Javier, sweetheart?” A playful twinkle dances in his twilit eyes. “You’ve known me longer than any of the other girls I’m on a first name basis with, here.”

It was true. You’d been working at the embassy for ages, now, babysitting big-headed politicians or power-drunk DEA agents and soldiers. Peña was the worst of them all, solely in virtue of the fact that he knew he could get away with everything. Men loved him because he was tough, charismatic, and capable; women loved him because he was tough, charismatic, capable, and looked like a vintage pornstar. It only took you a month at the job to grow violently sick of hearing his name cherished on the lips of your female coworkers, forced to listen to the gorey details of nearly every. single. office. conquest.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The worst might’ve been when his ‘informants’ called, their mewling voices asking to leave a message for ‘Javi.’ Or, it might’ve been the culminating effect of his reaping the rewards, time after time, for his insolence, gaining respect, praise, pussy—and all because he never fucking listened.

Years came and went, and somewhere down the line you’d accepted that Javier Peña was simply destined to be a lifelong affliction.

Now, standing before you in his ruffled, tan button-up, his loosely unkempt hair cascading into his eyes, he reminds you of a lost, stray cat.

He was anything but.

Receptionists, assistants, secretaries… you had long been the secret-keepers of the world. It wasn’t that you were ignorant of the part you played in the DEA’s more indelicate proceedings; but, still, you maintained that there was a clear difference between transferring phone calls or scheduling meetings and torturing men to death for information.

Gazing into Peña’s umber eyes only flooded your head with scenes of casual violence—no doubt, they were a sight, which always made you wonder how many times they’d been someone’s last.

You’d heard stories.

Sucking in a lengthy inhalation, your glare meets his roguish expression.

“I will call you 'Javier',” you counter, soaking his name in scorn, “When you stop calling me 'sweetheart'.” He smirks at that, leaning his palms on your desk, forearms flexing as they face you. “And 'angel',” you persist. “And 'darling' and 'doll' and 'hey you' and whatever else you’ve called me over the years.”

A smile. “Never realized you were keeping a list.” You roll your eyes. “If only you’d told me, angel, I’d’ve been more creative.”

You sigh, increasingly irritated by his imposition. Leaning back to cross your arms and legs, you torture him with silence.

“You’re seriously not gonna let me in?”

The slight, entitled whine underpinning his tone brings you immense satisfaction. You shake your head, ‘nope', and watch his mustache twitch impatiently in response.

Peña takes a second to gather his thoughts before rapping his knuckles against the hardwood, loosing a huff of irritation.

“Know what your problem is, sweetheart?” He muses, his stare shadowed under thick eyebrows.

“No, I don't, Peña,” you reply sardonically, curling your hands under your chin, beaming at him in mock engrossment. “Please, do indulge me.”

He smirks. “You’re wound up wayyy too tight.” He eats you alive with a mere look. “And someday? Someone’s gonna have to break you in.”

“If you gave me the honour,” the agent continues, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low purr as he stoops to lean over you, shirt creasing around the broad muscles of his shoulders.

“I’d have you screamin’ my name like a prayer.”

Words fail you. Gaping up at his sinful expression, you’re wide-eyed, lips parting softly in surprise—he drinks in his effect, watching you squirm below him like a mouse caught in a trap.

Despite your rocky history, you can’t help your intrigue at the invitation burning right there in his eyes, tempting… and… promising—

The ambassador’s doors whoosh open, causing you to jump in your seat. Jolting up, you clumsily rearrange your stationary, suddenly very preoccupied with adjusting your skirt, your collar, your hair. Peña straightens casually, tightening his tie and clearing his throat as a flighty officer emerges from the office, quickly disappearing down the hall.

Ambassador Noonan appears in the doorway. She fixes her exasperated gaze on your most unwelcome guest.

“Ambassador,” Peña greets, his flirtatious baritone blanketing you like a wave of thick, late-August air. “Your assistant was just about to send me in.”

Rage joins the confusing cocktail of emotions swirling in your middle as your cheeks grow red-hot.

“Give her a break, Peña,” Noonan scoffs, strolling back into her office. “Or I’ll have you on desk duty til’ next year.”

“It’s urgent, ambassador,” Peña calls after her, suddenly serious. There’s a loaded silence before a grumbled ‘two minutes’ echoes from inside the room.

You hate when he wins.

He saunters in without a glance, without a word, sealing the big doors shut behind him.

Dropping your forehead to your desk, the cool hardwood relieves the stubborn hotness under your skin. Your thoughts race faster than you can endeavour to keep up with.

What was that?

It wasn’t unusual for your feelings to run wild whenever the two of you went head to head, but never before had Peña gotten you… excited.

Tempted.

Were you going insane?

Or, maybe—just maybe… was the fucker right? It had been some time since you’d allowed yourself an unhealthy indulgence.

Still, the thought of Peña being right about anything was fundamentally incompatible with your psychological makeup.

So, you try to snap out of it.

You hated Peña. You hated his car, his clothes, and his watch. You hated his stupid mustache and the crinkles that formed by his eyes when he laughed in big, hearty heaves. You hated his velvet-smooth voice and his fluffy hair and his massive, toned shoulders and his full, pouty, teasing lips and—

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

You hated nothing more than yourself, in that moment, unable to purge your mind of the agent, his corrupted expression etched on the back of your eyelids as if Michelangelo had carved him there himself.

—

Rolled cigarettes aside, your most reproachful habit was taking (conderably lengthy) lunch breaks in your shit-box Chevrolet. On one hand, the solitude allowed an escape from the frantic embassy environment; on the other hand, your isolation left you vulnerable, at the mercy of whoever decided to accost you, processing the always headache-inducing events of the morning in the driver’s seat of your car. It happened all-too-frequently: a disgruntled diplomat tapping at the glass post-meeting to snap at you for your boss’s rigidity.

Get me a meeting with someone else, girl.

(How about you get a real job, dick?)

Feet up on the dash, you’re tuned in to the low hums crackling off the old radio speakers, seat down, eyes closed for the ultimate unwinding experience. It's not perfect: the passenger side window had recently developed the unfortunate habit of sliding open (no matter how hard you forced it closed, writing an internal manifesto to GMC motors), so your mid-day meditations were punctuated by road-rage-induced swear words and honks.

Over and over a single sentence floats to the forefront of your mind, surfacing above all else: let this interminable day be over.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a brisk knock rattles the glass by your head.

White guy. Blonde hair. Scraggly mustache.

Murphy.

You take your time putting your seat back to an upright position, carefully lowering your feet to rest atop the floor pedals. Then, you crank the window down, kicking yourself for not choosing a more secluded location.

He smirks, no doubt amused by your spa-like, lunchtime activities. His strange (but not necessarily unpleasant) appearance always reminded you of a children’s cartoon character.

“Should’ve opted for a desk-job,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, and, instead of even giving him the gift of your full attention, you watch intently as a grey Ford pickup struggles to parallel park, half a block up the street.

“If you had to deal with cops like you and Peña for a living, you’d do the same, believe me.”

And you were beyond serious. Peña’s little stunt this morning had caused every damn meeting in Noonan’s already packed schedule to shift by not two, not ten, but twenty minutes. You’d been sworn at six times by ten-thirty.

Murphy nods in reluctant acknowledgement. “I’m guessing that means you’re not in the mood to do me any favours?”

An exasperated sigh. “Depends on what it is, I guess.”

Grimness settles over his features, a stark reminder of the nature of his job. He’s apprehensive in his delivery, already anticipating your wrath. “I need access to records.”

Of course he does. Immediately, you’re scowling.

“And why would I have that kind of clearance?” Your brazenness doesn’t shock him, but he flinches nonetheless. “Christ,” you seethe, “Sometimes I feel like the whole fucking world thinks I’m, like… Ali Baba, or some shit.”

That strange comparison entices a slow smile from him. It’s hard for you not to laugh at yourself, either, but you do your best to swallow it down, to hold to your contempt.

“I was just wondering if you could get me the right documents so that I could get clearance, Ali Baba.”

The corners of your lips lift, betraying your lingering ire. Murphy gives you a sympathetic kind of look, the kind that reminds you of a golden retriever, begging for scraps from the dinner table.

Oh, fuck it.

Murphy was always more pleasant than his counterpart, anyways. It felt alright to reward him for his good behaviour.

“Fine.”

He grins in celebration.

Damn it, you’re too nice.

Gotta stand your ground, somehow. “Tomorrow,” you add.

Murphy cringes. “Kinda need it today.”

“Well I can’t do it today, so it’s going to be tomorrow, alr—”

“What can’t we do today?”

Peña’s interjection through the half-open, defective passenger side window makes you jump for the second time in five minutes—this time, you kick yourself for choosing to put off that repair job. Before you can process, or even protest his arrival, he’s unlocked the door from the inside and climbed into the passenger seat. Leaning casually against the inside of the door, he looks arrogant as ever with his arms crossed, big biceps swelling under the fabric of his tan button-up.

And he’s leering at your addled state, feigned innocence dancing in those big, brown eyes.

Murphy stifles a snort.

“Get out of my car, Peña,” you grind out.

“Shouldn’t be driving this,” he muses, running his fingers along the hot, hard plastic of the dash. “Bad engines—what’s your address? We could carpool—I’d pick you up—y’know, get coffee…”

Murphy can’t help himself; he chuckles aloud at Peña’s goading. You round on him, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“That laugh just cost you your precious form, asshole.”

And you crank the window up, tuning out his stammered “naw, c’mon, j's wait—” until it becomes nothing more than white noise, something you could easily fall asleep to.

“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Peña placates, “I’m just playing around.”

Murphy wanders off, no doubt scheming up his next attempt at persuading you into giving him what he so badly wanted, leaving you completely alone with his loathsome partner.

Right now and forever, it’s the last place you want to be.

“That’s all you do though, isn’t it?” You snap. “You and your little American—‘play around.’ Is the world just a big amusement park for guys like you? I mean, is anything ever real to you?”

He raises a testy eyebrow at that.

“You think that’s what we do?”

“I don’t really care what you do, Peña.” Reclining your seat, you close your eyes and cross your arms over your chest: a clear indication that you’d reached the end of your conversation.

“Yeah, you sure love saying that.”

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes closed at the rustling of his clothing. Your more hopeful side convinces itself that the agent might actually be on his way out of the Chevy; but, there’s a metallic clink, and your heart sinks as the smell of tobacco creeps up your nose.

So, he was planning to stay.

“Look, angel,” he drawls, “All we need’s a simple form. S’it.” There’s a pause as he takes a drag. When he continues, his voice is strained, constricting around the smoke. “No need for all this… prude shit.”

Tasting acid, seeing red, you spring up, addressing him head-on with a violent twist to the side. And he’s enjoying this, the bastard—relaxed as ever in the face of a wildfire, aiming to set him alight.

“You are the single most—”

At first you think it’s fireworks.

Your lungs empty out, burning as the force of a large hand, slammed against your chest, drains you of every last drop of oxygen. It flattens you against the worn-out fabric of the driver’s seat. You intend to shout as anger, fear, and surprise overwhelm you, but a palm claps over your mouth, muffling any possibility of sound. Pena’s half-smoked cigarette falls to the floor of the vehicle, tumbling clumsily past your cheek.

He hovers over you, deep-brown eyes enriched by an unfamiliar seriousness—a warning.

“Stay down and shut up,” he growls under his breath.

Almost reflexively, you’re nodding. You’d never heard that tone from him before, no doubt the same one he used to give his men orders. Stilling under the weight of his upper body, you focus your energy on controlling the volume of your hoarse exhalations as his hand slides off of your lips.

Carefully, he reaches down and over to his waistband, bringing out his handheld transceiver.

“Murphy.” His breath fans over your collarbones, seeping right through your dampened skin and into your rattling bones. You’re almost certain he can hear the fast drum of your heartbeat.

There’s a quiet crackling, and then a soft click followed by a grumbled, “Stay down. We’re tryna get eyes on him.”

Peña continues to shield you from view. You try your best not to meet his look of concentration—but, oh, the furrow of his brow, that worried slant at the corner of his lips—it pulls you in, asking to be studied with fascination.

You’d never seen him so focussed.

You’d never seen him in the field, either.

It could’ve been hours, trapped under the agent’s forearm, sweat prickling at the skin of your overlaid bodies. He grows dewy from the exertion of planking over you and the stifling heat of the Colombian sun.

You’re not quite sure why you suddenly feel so hot.

Maybe it’s those other scenarios you’re unable to stop yourself from conjuring up, in which you might find yourself crushed under the weight of the agent. Your traitorous mind designs the fantasies, projecting the scenes like x-rated movies inside your head.

So, you avoid looking at his eyes. And the triangle of tan, wet skin peeking out from beneath his unbuttoned collar. And the hard muscles pressing into your trembling form. Those, too.

When that doesn’t work, you think about bugs.

Your harmonized breathing is eventually interrupted by the crackle of static.

“We lost him–must’ve got picked up.” The frustration in his voice is evident. “But, anyways, you’re clear.”

Peña’s broad thumb presses into the device as he grunts, “You sure?”

After a beat, he gets his response.

“I’d risk your life, Peña, not the secretary’s.”

He smirks ever-so-subtly before shoving the transceiver back down his pocket. You find your voice, clearing your coarse throat as you try to tame the frantic butterflies in your stomach. “How nice of him.”

Your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed. Peña traps you in his gaze—your stomach does a flip, catching the details of his rugged features as his nose hovers mere inches away from your own.

“Not even a ‘thank you, Javi’?”

Sickly sweetness battles alarm for control over your reply. “How about a ‘get the hell off me, ‘Javi’?”

After a smug smirk, he twists back to rest against the passenger seat. Still, he doesn’t take his eyes from you.

Plucking up his still-smoking cigarette, nearly at the filter, off the floor of the car, you remind yourself to breathe. There’s a heavy silence as you locate your lighter—as flame meets parted lips.

“Was it a gunshot, or do you make a habit of manhandling girls for fun?” You ask, dart dangling shakily from your lips as you huff a short pull. The jab does nothing to calm your nerves.

He lifts a hand to give his temples a brief rub. “You really want me to answer that?”

You nod, giving him a look with a bolded and italicized ‘obviously’ written all over it.

“Alright,” he extends a hand towards yours—you absentmindedly pass him the butt. He finishes it off before chucking it out the faulty window. “Some guy ten yards up had a piece pointed straight at your windshield. Didn’t feel like cleaning blood off of your dash, today, so forgive me for not being… gentle.”

The confirmation steals every rational thought from your reeling mind, every last modicum of oxygen from your lungs; you’re left quaking at the foot of your mounting fear.

So, understandably, your voice is an unsteady whisper when you choke out a, “My blood? Or yours?”

His face contorts, dark features growing strangely sympathetic. “Probably mine…” he takes a beat to piece together his thoughts. “But you do work at the embassy. Sicarios aren’t... specific with their targets.”

Despite the heat, a chill travels down your spine. Raising a trembling hand to your lips, you marvel at the feeling of being intact–-how precious that felt, all of a sudden.

“Probably mine, sweetheart,” he repeats, softly.

You nod, acknowledging his half-comfort. Peña pulls out the walkie-talkie once more.

“Can you get someone to walk her back inside?”

There’s a pause. A familiar song plays faintly over the radio: something you could easily hum along to but couldn’t quite name. And then, “Yeah—you wanna go after this guy?”

“Anyone who’s got the balls to pull this shit a block away from the embassy’s gotta be worth looking into,” Peña responds. Both he and Murphy sound so calm, as if this was nothing more than a routine check-in, as if this was just a regular day at the office.

Well, you remark, for them, it was.

The transceiver clicks off. A minute or two pass in tense, almost awkward silence. Finally, Peña clears his throat.

“About that form…”

Immediately, your terror is replaced by a more comfortable, more familiar ire as he continues on.

“Think you’d be willing to cooperate, now that I, y’know, saved your life?”

Incredible.

You gape at him in bewilderment. The adrenaline pumping all the way down to the tips of your fingers transforms into a different sort of beast—that bygone impulse to hide behind your hands becomes an overwhelming desire to wrap them around your company’s neck.

“Being in proximity with you almost cost me my life, Peña.” He opens his mouth to argue, but two officers appear, lining the driver’s side of the car. You pull the door handle towards you, harrumphing as you straighten up outside the Chevrolet.

When the both of you are free and standing, you whir on him, matching his look of disdain with your own.

“I owe you even less than I did before,” you spit across the roof of the car.

Saving yourself the trouble of his reaction, you cross the street without another word, heading back to the safety of the embassy with a dutiful soldier flanking you on either side.

But even once you’re in the air-conditioned hallways, between those thick, steel-supported walls, you’re angry and scared and confused—nothing seems to return to you your previous (and probably naive) sense of safety.

And somehow, that was Javier Peña’s fault.

—

Taking a long drag off your (twelfth) cigarette of the day, you savour the taste and the burn of the tobacco at the back of your tongue as you swallow down the smoke.

What a shitty fuckin’ shift.

Assassination attempts aside, you were to spend yet another late night at work because of some PR crisis you weren’t even totally sure you understood. Naturally, as the assistant, you were never relegated to the fun tasks—always on coffee duty, managing the phones, or playing the office shrink.

It was dull, useless work. Smoking alone in the darkness of the filing room was more interesting.

Maybe in another life, you were out on the streets, cleaning them up with your own two hands, handling things your way. In another life, you were in charge, calling the shots and firing them, too. Your mid-day fiasco had left you feeling completely inept and out of control—maybe a gun and some damn authority could change that.

It seemed to work for Murphy and Peña.

The former had already paid you a brief visit. ‘Couldn’t find him. We’ll be on it once all *this* shit blows over. Sure you don’t remember anything else?’

A corridor of light cascades down the other side of the room as the door creaks open, indicating that someone else had found your safe-haven.

Indicating that it was time to go.

Smudging the butt out on the crowded desk supporting you, you prepare for your re-emergence into the chaos. You scoot your way down the table, yanking down your pencil skirt once your feet hit the concrete floor. Without the dim light of your cigarette, you're engulfed in pitch-blackness with the door, now, shut. Fingertips extended before you, you feel your way around near-blindly, inching step-by-step towards (your rough estimation of the location of) the door.

You come into contact with something firm, tall, and very much alive.

“Wha-ow!” you yelp, losing balance and teetering back on your heels. A strong arm snakes behind your back, steadying your stumbling body. There’s a zip followed by a click as the stranger tugs on a wayward, dangling pull switch you hadn’t noticed on your own, and then a dusty, bare light bulb reveals the identity of your obstacle.

“You again?” You hiss.

“Are you smoking in here?” Peña returns, marvelling incredulously down at you.

You try to push yourself off of him, but his hold around your middle anchors you in place. He smells like men’s cologne and a dash of dark liquor. Neither of those scents had struck you earlier on in the day, even as his lips had hovered a mere inch above yours, nor when his body was pressed to your own like a damn weighted blanket. The drink was understandable, given him being… well, him, and the whole catastrophe—but, had he reapplied the perfume?

And why was that a relevant thought?

“Um, yeah?” You eventually respond, put-out by his bewilderment. Only a debaucher like Peña would have you penned as a square—likely, you were one, compared to his usual company and his own proclivity for debasement. “Am I under arrest? Last time I checked, my smoke breaks didn’t fall under your jurisdiction.”

He scoffs, but releases his hold. “You know, you have such a fuckin’ mouth on you.”

Despite the harshness of his words, a gentle hand secures you on your feet. The contrast is nothing if not jarring.

Straightening, crossing your arms, you put on your most brazen expression, doing your best to not appear flustered. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t flinch at the arrogance in your tone. “You know it’s crazy out there, right?”

“You think I came in here to admire the interior design?”

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with strain. You expect-–no, you almost want him to come back with a rude retort; instead, his exhaustion pushes him towards sincerity. “Look, shit’s just…” a low sigh, “It’s really gone south and I… needed a second.”

It takes a hot minute for it to dawn on you that Peña’s being civil, actually honest with you. A better person might’ve conceded, begrudgingly taken the white flag, maybe even gone in for a handshake to commemorate the temporary truce—

But you were not a better person.

And you just can’t help the sneer from creeping on. “The great Javier Peña needs a second—isn’t that cute. Guess it’s not all guns and shoot-outs and whores and—”

In a flash, the agent has your back flattened against a filing cabinet, two large hands splayed out on either side of your head. He ignores your soft gasp, shadowed eyes dancing with scorn and something even darker as he pins you to the metal.

Trapped underneath him for the second time in one, singular day.

Should’ve called in sick this morning, for fuck’s sake.

“Y’know,” he rumbles, and the depth of his baritone makes your knees wobble, “I’m getting the feeling you’re starting to be jealous of those ‘whores,’ the amount of times I’ve heard you bitch about them.”

A cold handle digs into your back, but you ignore the pinch, refusing to show any signs of weakness.

He wanted to play? Fine. You could play. What you lacked in size, you could always make up for in words. It was a lesson all women carried, a talisman of sorts.

You jut your chin up, adding punch to every consonant, every vowel. “You’re fucking delusional.”

“Yeah,” he snaps, “And you’re a fucking brat.”

There’s a pause as you stare into each other’s eyes, flame to fire, sword to dagger. Excitement builds under your skin—not the kind that you usually felt after receiving an insult, but the kind that had your core warming, your eyelids growing heavy.

It’s unwelcome and off-putting, horrifically out-of-character. You desperately try to push the sensation away.

“Peña—”

He cuts you off. “Brats make a good fuck, y’know. Always take it rough.”

You still, absorbing his crude words. That delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs responds to his invitation against your better judgment, betraying you with every involuntary flutter.

The agent drinks in the way he has you squirming, unable to form an immediate response.

But you manage to reel yourself in, reminding yourself that losing to Peña far outweighed getting off. Self-control was a virtue, after all, and if you were going to win, at least one person in this dingy, old room had to have it.

It sure as hell wasn’t going to be the dark god leering down at you.

“This is a workplace, Peña,” you purr, tilting your chin up to sneer at him. “Not a brothel.”

An inconspicuous twitch at the corner of his mustache as fond nostalgia clouds his eyes. “S’never stopped me before.”

“Yeah,” you drawl, “I know.”

His low chuckle clears some of the tension suspended in the air between you. He eventually steps back, broad hands reaching out to re-adjust your blouse. You allow him the honour—if he was looking for a reaction, you weren’t going to satisfy his craving.

It feels abrupt when he drops his arms, humming an “enjoy your break, sweetheart,” and turning to leave.

Dear Holy Spirit, thank you for sparing me on this day.

Your short-lived relief is cut brief when his heavy footsteps come to a sudden halt. Broad, muscled back to you, Pena’s rugged profile slowly turns into view, its harsh outline illuminated by the glow of the bulb’s dusty, yellow light.

“If location’s the problem—” you can just make out the corner of his mouth lifting in a cocky smirk, “Could always come over, y’know. Got a big bed, nice shower… backseat, too, f’you get too excited on the way…”

You snort, but your breath betrays you, involuntarily hitching halfway up your throat.

Oh god.

“I’d sooner sleep with Escobar, himself.”

His side-eye catches your gaze for a spell, and you really can’t tell whether he wants to fuck or eat you.

“We’ll see.”

And then he’s out the door.

Alone in the dim room, you try to steady your breath, quickly aware of the tremor in your fingers. It’s an agitation that feels dangerous, unpredictable—as if you were a grenade with your safety pin tucked into the folds of Javier Pena's pocket.

His hands on your waist. His breath on your skin. “Always like it rough.” The tingling between your thighs and the air that just won’t fill your lungs—

The ghost of his gaze lingers on the bridge of your nose, and you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you’re being haunted. No matter what you do, his presence follows you. Not even a cold splash of water does the trick, crouched over the bathroom sink, still trembling hands rubbing vigorous lengths over your face as you desperately try to cleanse yourself of him.

—

“Fucking piece of shit!”

Your palms collide with the steering wheel. Once more, you yank and twist your keys in the ignition, abandoning all hope as the car coughs and sputters like a dying relative. You never intended to visit the hospice ward, this evening—all you wanted was to go home.

Closing the door with a punishing slam, you stalk to the front of the Chevy, wrenching open the hood to inspect the steaming guts of the car.

You might as well have been looking at hieroglyphs. Or, you might’ve been a roman oracle, divining meaning from a pile of sheep intestines.

Fuck.

It’s almost midnight. The fluorescents glowing through the embassy’s windows provide a sad excuse for lighting as you lean over the exposed hood of the car, trying to differentiate your engine from your battery, your catalytic converter from your air filter, this unidentifiable part from that one, over there.

Of course, this had to be the day that your American muscle gave out on you. Tears sting the corners of your eyes and you ache for the feeling of a warm tub, a glass of wine, a long, restful, deserved sleep.

Someone had to have cursed you.

That becomes all the more plausible when a deep voice booms from behind you, smug and amused and coated in a thick layer of arrogance.

“Car troubles?”

Not. Fucking. Him.

This had to be some form of karmic punishment. It had to be retribution for an act you’d committed in a past life, so evil that it haunted you, all the way into the next one, in the form of an insufferable cop.

His presence almost brings about a cry of rage.

You whirl on him. Leaning against the headlight of his Jeep, casually ashing his cigarette with a quick flick of his thumb, you find a shred of comfort in Peña’s evident exhaustion, weighing down his shoulders and rendering the sharp edges of his features unusually dull.

Ha. The day had punished him, too.

“What’d I say earlier?” He taunts, and of course, despite his weariness, he still looks amused, endlessly capable of deriving a kind of perverted entertainment in your torment. “Something ‘bout bad engines?”

You scowl at him, fingernails digging into your palms. “Unless you know how to fix this,” you gesture wildly towards your defective vehicle, “Do me a favour and fuck right off, Peña.”

He only smiles, taking a final pull off his dart and crushing it between the pavement and the underside of his dress shoe. “Leave it here for the night,” he says. “No use fighting with it right now. ‘Specially not while you’re alone out here.”

A light scoff. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

He tilts his head to the side, fixing you with a look of exasperation that screams, ‘be serious.’ “Let me give you a ride, sweetheart.”

“No, thanks. I’m pretty sure I know where that would get me.”

His expression grows earnest. “I’m not gonna try anything. Got enough guilt already, just don’t wanna add the secretary’s gruesome death to my list.”

You huff a strained exhalation, addled mind racing as you try to think of anything else that could get you home Peña-free. Cabs were a no-go, alone at this hour. The embassy was empty (except for a few stragglers that you trusted even less than your current company) and on a Friday night, no one you knew would be home to pick up your call, let alone be sober enough to drive.

You could sleep in your car.

You wholeheartedly consider it.

But one look at the agent confirms that option as a dead one: he’d drag you kicking and screaming into his backseat if it really came down to it.

“Swear.”

Peña raises his eyebrows at your command. You hear his unspoken ‘really?’ ringing in your ears.

So, you cross your arms, waiting insistently.

He sighs. “I swear,” and it’s sincere enough.

“Swear what?” You cock a hip out a little to compliment the attitude in your voice. If you were to suffer through his torture, he would suffer through yours, too. How’d that old saying go?

Eye for an eye.

Peña shakes his head and stalks over, passing you by to slam the hood of your Chevrolet shut.

Standing in front of you, exasperation guides him as he addresses you straight on. “You’ll be home in ten minutes, unharmed and unfucked. Now, get in the damn car.”

He heads to the passenger side of the Jeep, rough while unlocking the door, gentle while holding it open. The surrounding darkness doesn’t allow for a full view of his face, and you’re somewhat grateful for undoubtedly being spared the look of vindication that would soon be etched on those features.

This is a bad idea.

Every natural instinct tells you to stay put. Like a broken record, the word danger-danger-danger bounces and ricochets inside your head. When Pena beckons you forward, eyebrows raised in impatience, it feels as though you’re being pulled to him by a thread so delicate it might’ve been spider silk—still, the faint tug makes you all the more worried for your sake.

Nevertheless, you give your shoulders a quick shake and take the first step, walking the length of that invisible string.

—

“Yeah—the building right in front of the school. Grey, looked like a seventy-eight or seventy-nine. Drove off before I could get the plate number, but I’m sure it’s the same one.”

You were not home in ten minutes.

Instead, you’re perched gingerly on the edge of Peña’s couch, cupping a cold glass of water between your hands as he relays the events of the past twenty minutes to his partner.

After spending the ride in simmering silence (aside from the latin music playing softly over the Cherokee’s speakers), Peña had barely turned onto your street before he was veering into an alleyway, the momentum slamming your side against the car’s interior. Frenzied protests flew from your lips as he sped off in the opposite direction of the home you so badly longed for.

“Takin’ you to mine—just shut up for a second—remember that car, this afternoon, when I was with you? The one parked up the street? Yeah, well, it’s outside your building, sweetheart.”

Now, you’re in his living room, massaging your bruised arm and trying to keep your cool. The agent’s voice washes over you, both very far and very near at once. Distracting yourself seems essential, given the circumstances, so instead of dwelling on the idea that someone might actually be trying to kill you, and, what’s worse, you have no idea why, you study the apartment.

To anyone else, it’d just be one man’s living situation, tending toward the nicer side of that domain.

To you, it’s seeing inside the mind of an alien creature.

Everything looks warm: the browns and the yellows of his furniture feel surprisingly cozy. The dark-wood coffee table, the curated magazines, that smokey, deep-forest smell… it’s not what you’d expected. Although, you’re not quite sure what it is that you’d expected.

An unmade bed and few scattered Penthouses with the centerfold pages stuck together, at the very least.

“Yeah, she’s fine here, for now—alright—tell Connie I say ‘hi'.” The phone lands on the receiver with a muted clunk.

Eventually, he comes around to join you. You’re not interested in hearing the details, sick of explanations, tired of all the action (maybe the fast life wasn’t for you, after all), and so you have no complaints when Peña settles next to you on the couch with a grunt, placing two crystal glasses on the coffee table and pouring a sizeable amount of whiskey into each cup.

He slides one over to you with a soft, “I’ll take the couch.”

You set down your water, opting for the drink. The glass is ice-cold, but the scotch burns your throat on its way down to warming your stomach.

Peña smirks at your gagging. He, of course, downs it like a champ, setting the glass back down on the table with a thunk.

“I don’t usually drink this kind of stuff,” you admit.

He leans his back against the arm of the couch. The top two buttons of his dress shirt hang open—tan skin glistening like ore.

You quickly find something else to look at.

“It’s strong,” he groans, folding his hands behind his head. And, Jesus, the sight of his bicep stretching out in full view of your periphery. Does he even own shirts that fit him? “Only take it out for special occasions.”

Eyes on the drink, girl. “Oh, yeah? What occasion is this, then?”

“The usual one.” It’s impossible not to look at him when his voice plummets into those depths of his register; this, he knows, and he flashes you a wolfish grin. You prepare for the worst—some horribly offensive comment or worse, a sexual invitation.

How many of his conquests had drunk this very same liquor?

But, instead, you’re given: “failed assassination attempts.”

You snort, gaze shifting over to the bottle.

Nearly empty.

That would explain his lack of alarm at the evening’s previous events—the same ones that had you shaking head-to-toe.

“And here I was, thinking you were just trying to get me drunk,” you respond, but your playfulness is overshadowed by the quiver in your voice.

Against your better judgment, you use the drink as a soothing agent. It calms the storms that rage whenever you recall the echo of that gunshot or else meet Peña’s eyes.

“Things can serve two purposes, sweetheart.” A dangerous kind of flirtatiousness underpins his reply. “You should know by now that I’m not exactly a gentleman.”

Your stomach does a flip. Swirling the liquid in your cup, you watch as it spins and turns, climbing up one side before sloping down, washing up the other—you’re frozen, concentrating your energy on anything but that mounting tug, pulling you toward the man at your side.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” and despite yourself, the words come out so soft, so tentatively curious.

Peña leans forward. When his index finger meets your chin, tilting it up so that you have no choice but to tumble into those onyx-black eyes, heat explodes at the point of contact, blooming furiously across your cheeks.

“I mean,” he drawls, placing his free hand right above your knee, stroking the delicate skin of your thigh, “I’m not above asking for payment, y’know, for giving you a place to stay.”

He’s smiling at you—toying with you again. You want to resist him.

God, you really do.

“Get over yourself, Peña,” you aim for a casual jab, but your voice betrays you, breathy and involuntarily gliding up an octave. “You’re not winning this one.”

“I’m not looking to win, sweetheart.”

He grows serious, pulling your near-empty cup from between your hands and setting it down. He moves oh-so-slow, never once dropping your gaze as his calloused hand inches up your thigh. “I want to help you, querida,” his breath grazes your cheekbone, thick fingers sliding underneath your skirt—

It had to be the Spanish. That had to be the reason behind your complete loss of willpower, your total absorption in everything that was Javier.

It was either that, or your exhaustion had finally driven you completely insane.

“Let me take your mind off it, yeah? I know what works, baby, trust me,” and, God, you want to, especially when that damn hand gives your upper thigh a soft squeeze. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” you breathe–-but you lack the conviction to convince yourself, let alone him. All you can do is watch his eyes darken as his fingertips reach the delicate fabric of your underwear.

“Prove it to me, hermosa.”

His fingers slip down the front of your underwear. He drinks in the sight of your brows furrowing, your fingernails anchoring onto anything in reach as his index finds the tender bundle of nerves tucked between your thighs.

And you’re soaked.

A winning smile.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he looses a low laugh. “Act like you hate me all you want, sweetheart—this pussy’s loved me from the start.”

You whimper softly as he rubs slow circles against your clit.

Jesus.

He’s like a professional—no other man’s fingers, cock, or selection of toys had ever made you feel like this. And he works you with just the pad of his thumb.

“Peña—” you attempt a final protest, a last shot at redemption before your inevitable fall into the abyss of lust calling out for you.

“Javi, baby,” he corrects.

And you don’t stand a chance.

He pulls you onto his lap; it takes everything not to melt at the feel of his hard chest pressed to your back. The man can’t move fast enough for you—bunching your skirt up around your waist, reaching his hand back under the lining of your underwear.

There’s a low groan when he runs a couple fingers between your damp folds. The feeling and the sound of him has your head collapsing against the curve of his shoulder.

“Don’t think anyone’s ever gotten this wet for me, before,” he practically growls his approval into your ear.

“M’not your usual type,” you manage between moans. “Still got feeling down there.”

His free hand snaps up to grasp your jaw, tilting your chin up to meet that twinkling look of warning.

“S’true,” his low baritone muses—then he watches your face contort with ecstasy as he sinks not one, but two fingers inside your cunt. “They don’t usually talk this fuckin’ much.”

He holds your chin steady, observing your gasps of abandon, studying every visible indication of your pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out and in and out of you, curling them to push against aaall the right places.

Down to the knuckles.

“What do you do to them?” and he takes great pleasure in hearing the strain in your voice. You take great pleasure in the feel of his cock growing hard, twitching with impatience under your ass.

He ducks his head down to nip at the softest part of your neck. “Want me to show you?”

It’s hard to answer between moans—but, yes.

You do.

If there was ever a stupidity you could rationalize, it was this one. How many times had he promised you ecstasy? How many women had you hung up on, desperation sapping at their static-laden voices as they pleaded—no, downright begged—for just another taste of him? At this point, it would be self-denial, self-hatred not to see what all the fuss was about.

And, what’s more, was it so wrong that, after a day like today, you simply wanted to be at the mercy of an almost-stranger, for just one night? To give over control (not to mention, total creative license), not having to worry about what to do, how to fix this, where to send this—that sounded more than good, it sounded like exactly what you needed.

“Y-yes,” you finally concede, sealing your fate in a stuttered exhalation.

His chest rumbles behind you, a low laugh.

Then, he squeezes another finger inside your cunt.

You nearly cry out at the sting, the pleasure, the stretch.

“You know what I wanna hear, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging the tip of his hooked nose, his full lips up the side of your neck.

You need him. It’s all you can do not to shout it out, to claim the space of his home with the echoes of that sheer, incontestable fact.

You’ll give him whatever he wants. Submit to the enemy, beg for the tantalizing touch of your nemesis… who cares, anymore? Who cares when the enemy’s digits can do that, when his words have you feeling like this?

“Please, Javi.”

He smiles against your skin. “Here or in the bedroom?” His hands move, cooperating to undo the buttons of your blouse. A void swells inside your core, mourning the loss of his index, middle, and ring fingers.

“Be serious,” without the pleasure of them both on and inside your cunt, you manage to reclaim some of your old fight. “I’m not letting you fuck me on a couch.”

He pulls your shirt off your shoulders, and then he’s sneaking a hand under your knees, cradling you in his arms. “Watch that fuckin' tone when you speak to me, hermosa.” His face looms over yours, hungry eyes raking over your exposed form. “Should be thanking me for even givin’ you a choice.”

You give him a smug, mocking “thank you,” hooking your arms around his neck, and Javier scoffs, carrying you—effortlessly—to the bedroom. Despite the cleanliness marking the rest of his place, his bed is unmade, as expected. You barely have thirty seconds to take in the dark pillows, the vintage-looking lamps, the willowy curtains before you’re underneath him, laid atop his tangled, pale sheets. “Fuck, I’m glad you chose the bed, sweetheart,” strong arms grasp you tightly, pushing you up the mattress; his knees land on either side of your thighs as your head falls to the pillows.

“Makes it so much easier to do all the things I wanna do to you.”

He hovers over you, cupping your face in a look of such reverent depth, it borders on concern. Those round doe-eyes, those thick eyebrows—they excite even the most remote places of your body.

“Do you kiss the others?” You tease, softly.

He studies you, focussing especially on your lips as his fingers travel the length of your arm, your jaw, the side of your thigh. “Yeah, usually—but I’m tryna decide if that’s a good idea with you.”

Your bra straps are pulled down your arms in forceful tugs. A line of wetness trails down your bicep where his still-damp fingers graze your skin.

You pout. “Worried I’ll be disappointed?”

His hands sneak under your back, undoing the clasp of your bra in a skilled movement that only increases your anticipation for what’s to come. “I’m worried you’ll get too excited, cariño,” he tosses your bra to the side, “Whinin’ like that from just a few fingers… sounded like a damn virgin.”

His taunt barely registers. You’re distracted, longing for his kisses as if you already knew what they tasted like. Meeting his eyes, you fill your own with unabashed supplication, watching as he takes in the view of your body.

And he groans at the sight of your bare breasts.

“God, fuck it.”

And then his lips claim yours in a starving sort of kiss, the kind that takes everything from your lungs, leaving you aching and empty. His mustache grazes the skin of your upper lip, his tongue tastes of necessity.

Moaning against him as his fingertips trace your breasts, gasping into his mouth when he manhandles and squeezes them roughly. He peppers kisses down your jaw, freeing your lips as his own travel down, down, down to suck and nip at a peaked nipple.

Back arching in ecstasy, a pleading “Javi” tumbles from your parted lips.

He grunts in approval. “Yeah, that’s my girl.” His head ducks over to tease your other side. “S’the only fuckin’ word you need to know from now on.” Your cunt throbs at the feel of his teeth against your sensitive skin, his tongue mapping out every part of your body that calls out for the salvation of his touch.

Then, he’s wrenching your skirt down your legs—your underwear clings to it, sliding down your hips, landing mid-way up your thighs.

He lifts himself off of you, leaving you breathless, exposed, and trembling, to undo the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging the tan cotton off his shoulders and wrenching it off his arms. You marvel up at him, memorizing the way his bare chest swells with every ragged breath. Your heavy-lidded eyes eventually trail down to the impressive bulge below his silver buckle.

“Just how you always pictured?”

Cocky as ever—you’re reluctant to admit that it only adds to his allure.

“Oh, Peña,” you purr, “I hope your dick is as big as your ego.”

An amused smile, and then he’s undoing his belt. You unabashedly stare at his working forearms, how capable they look, now, and how they might look holding a gun—or else, wrapped around your neck.

“Why don’t you take it out and see for yourself?”

You bite your lip, sitting up slowly until your chin runs parallel to his navel. Unsteady hands meet the button, then the fly of his pants. Excitement floods your senses; you burn with crackling electricity.

Dipping into his briefs, you spring his length free: hard, thick, the dark tip glistening with precum. Javi runs his fingers through your hair, and you look up to meet his gaze—you’re a picture of innocence, stroking his cock between two devoted hands.

“Almost,” you coo.

Leaning forward, you wrap your lips around the tip of his length, savouring the taste of his salt on your tongue.

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back, tangling your hair in his fist, “Any other time, baby…” He pulls you off of him, holding your cheeks between his hands. “Right now, I just really wanna make you come.”

You smile, pulling down his denim, honoured by the pure need in his voice. His cock twitches in response to the graze of your fingertips on the inside of his thighs.

“Who’s begging, now?” The sultriness of your taunt takes even you by surprise.

He strokes himself once, twice, three times, features hardening at the sight of your near-naked form below him.

“On your knees, sweetheart, before I show you what that fuckin’ mouth was really made for.”

Always the gentleman, he helps you, flipping you around until your palms press indents into the mattress. Your underwear is wrestled over your knees and down your calves, and then there’s a pair of large hands dragging your hips back. He pulls you right up against him—against two firm, broad thighs.

And that’s when the teasing starts.

“How bad do you want it, hermosa?” He asks, dragging his cock between your dripping folds, grazing your swollen clit with the tip of his length and his fingertips, too. “Bad enough to beg for me?”

“Please,” you whine, “Can’t w-wait any longer.”

He torments you, poking shallowly at your entrance. “Gonna have to give me more than that,” he tuts. "Show me that you've learned some fuckin' manners, baby."

You’re tired of being patient, sick of the throbbing ache weighing heavy inside your clit, your cunt, your core. If his goal was to make you crazy, he’d already achieved it—you feel your mind reeling, losing control of both itself and your body as Javier tempts you toward submission.

He lays a kiss to your neck, adding fuel to an already roaring, uncontrollable fire.

“Please, Javi, fuck me.”

“Again. Louder.”

“Please—please, Javi—please—”

Spreading you apart in his hands, he sinks deep inside you with a quiet groan, watching intently to assure that he’d given every last inch of himself to your grateful cunt.

“Gooood girl,” Javi praises, “Always knew I could fix that fuckin’ attitude.”

He thrusts inside you once again, setting an intense rhythm with every impossibly deep stroke—punishing and rewarding, giving and taking. Every cry drawn from between your parted, bruised lips only encourages the brutality of his throws.

“Shit, you’re needy,” he groans, anchoring his hands onto your waist, fingertips reaching all the way to the front of your abdomen. “Pussy’s pullin’ me in so deep, baby, needed this bad, huh?”

His hips snap against yours, soft skin rippling beneath his hands with every harsh movement. You give him all the cries and moans and pleas he asks for, especially when his tip grazes against that spot.

It feels good, losing control over each and every part of yourself for Javi to claim them for himself.

And you want more. You want him to fuck the thoughts, the fear, the lingering irritation out—to remake you, to bring it all crashing down. Begging him to cleanse you, you attempt speech. “J-Javi—mmm—”

“Yeah, s’it, talk to me, hermosa, you got it,” but he doesn’t make it easy, pushing his cock up so, so deep inside you.

“H-Harder, Javi,” you half-sob, “Want it so hard—s-so bad, please—”

A low laugh followed by a rough squeeze to your ass.

“Y’know, I wish I could make a fuckin’ movie of this, sweetheart,” he goads, leaning over until his breath warms your neck, lips dragging across your cheekbone. “I’m thinkin’: secretary brat—” his arms envelop your body: one hand slides down, skilled index rubbing torturous circles against that swollen bud (it takes everything in you not to cry out for God); the other moves to grasp your throat and jaw and—“begs cop to fuck her like a slut. Could show it to you when you’re actin’ up,” he grunts, shoving more of himself between your swollen walls.

“Could show it to the others, too—teach ‘em how you like to be put back in your fuckin’ place.”

Pressed flat against his chest, he lifts you upright, thrusting up into you with a newfound violence, laughing to himself when a cry tears from your coarse throat. You’re wrapped up so tight in his arms, and it’s all he can do not to crush you completely between them. Javi doesn’t stop working your clit or manhandling your breasts either, nor does he hold back from leaving traces of himself for tomorrow, sucking and nipping up and down the side of your neck.

“I can’t—ohmygod—s’too much, m’gonna—”

Your desperation at the hands of his torture brings a grin to his face. “Say ‘thank you,’ hermosa, m’giving you what you fuckin’ asked for.” Waves of pleasure begin to roll out from your core; you’re swaying on the edge of orgasm and all you can do is hold on for a few more seconds of ecstasy—a few more seconds of him.

His punishing hand constricts around your neck, forearm pressed to bruise between your breasts."You're not listening, baby." God, the brutality of his tone, the demand of his touch. "Need to thank me for ruinin' this pussy for you."

It takes everything you have. “Thankyouthankyouthankyoujavi—please—c-come with me, wanna—need you to fill me up when I-I—” and words become impossible.

The fluttering spreads down your thighs and up into your abdomen, cunt clenching uncontrollably around the wide girth of his cock. You soar off the edge, headed straight for your climax.

“Don’t stop,” Javi growls, nose pressed to the delicate skin behind your ear, “You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”

Your head dips back, settling into the groove of his shoulder—over and over and over again, you give him his name, the taste of it falling from your tongue almost as euphoric as the feel of your peak tearing through your body.

“So good for me, baby,” Javier grunts, breath ragged; his thrusts become less rhythmic, deeper—needier. “S-sofuckingood, querida—fu-uck,” and then his length swells inside you. He fills you up with a harsh squeeze to your breast, pushing his seed aaalll the way to your cervix with a few final, rough, irregular throws.

Damp with sweat, stars dancing before your eyes, you try, in vain, to catch your breath. Coming down from the high is nearly impossible: minutes come and go and still, you’re flying. All the while, Javier remains inside you—unmoving save for the odd twitch of his buried length.

Eventually, he’s laying you face-down on the mattress, leaving a line of soft kisses down your spine and pulling out with an unholy groan.

“J’so you know, sweetheart, I’d’ve paid for that,” and he rolls over to lie back against the bed frame.

You giggle weakly—the movement pushes some of his cum down onto your thigh. “Shut up ‘n get me a towel, asshole,” you slur, cheek pressed to his pillow.

“Just use the sheets,” he answers casually, leaning over your sprawled form to grab his pack of darts from the bedside table. “Give me something to remember that by.”

You cringe, partly in amused disgust, partly from the soreness you feel, flipping onto your back. “You’re so filthy, Peña.”

He shrugs, smiling as he pulls out a smoke. A comfortable silence settles the space.

“Did that help?” Javi soon inquires.

Your breathing’s evened out, and a fresh cigarette hangs casually from his lips. He lifts a hand to light it.

You hold two fingers out. “Help what?” He places a smoke between them, and reaches over, lighter in hand—dark, wide eyes watching the flame lap at the tip of the dart—the scene somehow feels as intimate as fucking him had.

“You know,” he shifts, ashing his cigarette onto a tray on his bedside table, “The stress.”

You sit with his question for a second, pulling a long puff of smoke into your sore lungs.

“Yes.”

He nods. “Does for me, too.”

Understanding flits between you.

It dawns on you that you might have overlooked some shared similarities. The peace feels… nice.

And, what’s more, you realize that his gorgeous, rugged looks don’t irritate you (as much) anymore. Taking him in, now, it’s like seeing the man for the first time, allowing yourself to appreciate his effortless beauty.

Then, of course, he opens his mouth.

“Gonna have to face me next time, though,” propping himself up on an elbow, he uses his free hand to roll one of your breasts in his palm. “Wanna see these pretty tits bounce for me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Next time?”

A grin. “Give it five minutes, sweetheart. You got years of bad behaviour to make up for.”

And you don’t manage to stifle your giggle.

He doesn’t finish his smoke, prematurely ashing it out before twisting to face you. “Hermosa,” he cups your face between two passionate, steady hands. “I’m gonna get that fucker from today, alright?”

You tumble into his wide-eyed, serious gaze.

The colour of richness, the colour of life.

Then, you nod. “And I’ll get Murphy that form.”

A soft smile teases the corners of his lips.

An agreement. A promise.

He looks down at you with glowing approval and it’s the feeling of sunshine on bare skin. How different it is, looking at that face and feeling safe, seeing a warm smile and two crystal cups on a coffee table instead of blood, death, and scenes of gratuitous violence.

Javi kisses you.

Your eyes shut tight, eyebrows furrowing as his fingertips cradle your cheeks, mouth dragging across yours, hooked nose pressed to the side of your own.

It’s different from before. Not desperate, hard, and hot. Gentle—sweet.

Just his lips and yours, nothing more, nothing less. No expectations, no invitations.

After a perfect moment, you pull away, dazed. “What was that for?”

Javi’s voice is so low, so tender, it’s barely audible.

“Just wanted to.”

You’d feel that kiss for weeks after, absentmindedly lifting your index to your lips in an imitation of the ghostly traces haunting your skin.

But right now, all you had to do was lean in for another.

And another.

And another.

--

Read part 2: Playing Dangerous

--

TAGLIST: @inkedells @pining-and-tired @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @caravelofthesun @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup  @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush​ 

--

All the lights in Miami begin to gleam Ruby, blue and green, neon too Everything looks better from above my king Like aqua marine, ocean's blue

Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Cacciatore La da da da da La da da da da Limousines Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Ciao amore La da da da da La da da da da Soft ice cream

All the lights are sparkling for you it seems On the downtown scenes, shady blue Beatboxing and rapping in the summer rain Like a boss, he sang Jazz and Blues

Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Cacciatore La da da da da La da da da da Limousines Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Ciao amore La da da da da La da da da da Soft ice cream

The summer's hot And I've been waiting for you all this time I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me? Summer's hot but I've been cold without you I was so wrong not to tell, in Medellìn, tangerine dreams

Catch me if you can Working on my tan Salvatore Dying by the hand Of a foreign man Happily Calling out my name In the summer rain Ciao amore Salvatore can wait Now it's time to eat Soft ice cream

Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Cacciatore Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Limousines Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Ciao amore Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Soft ice cream

[thetriumphantpanda]

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders | Javier Peña

Series Summary | Javier Peña has been your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember. He's also been the apple of your eye since you were old enough to know what that meant. Obsessed, some might say, in love is what you'd say. Now, he's back to Laredo for good, single but cloaked in a darkness you want to unravel. Surely, now you're all grown, he'll see you as more than his friends daughter, as someone who can ease his trouble and take the weight of his shoulders.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Series Warnings | Age gap relationship (12 years), forbidden/taboo relationship, slow burn, mutual pining, outrageous flirting, descriptions of PTSD and panic attacks, soft!Javi, protective!Javi, explicit smut, reader is innocent but not inexperienced, grumpy x sunshine vibes, canon-typical violence, mentions of the drug trade, drug use and drug related deaths and violence, Javier Peña gets his own warning (even more so as dbf - he's gonna be a menace).

Authors Note | I've missed Javier Peña so much so here we fucking go I guess? Huge shout out as always to @morning-star-joy who has been on the receiving end of SO much screaming about these two.

Main Masterlist | Series Playlist

Chapters

Chapters marked with ** indicate smut.

Chapter One - my lonely days are over

Chapter Two - pining & desperately waiting

Chapter Three - where have all the good men gone?

Chapter Four - one kiss is all it takes

Chapter Five - it's new, the shape of your body **

Chapter Six - get down on your knees and tell me you love me **

Chapter Seven - i only wanna worship you **

Chapter Eight - i don’t really wanna fight, ‘cause nobody’s gonna win **

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen.

Extras

Fic moodboard by @cavillscurls

Fic moodboard by @sawymredfox

Chapter One moodboard by @hellishjoel

[tieronecrush]

office party

javier peña x f!reader

summary: your friend with benefits, javier, is your plus one for your dreaded office holiday party. when a coworker gets a bit too comfortable, javier steps in and shows you exactly how he feels about you.

rating: M

wc: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol use, mentions of sex, inappropriate advances from coworker, fwb, probably missing some so lmk what!!

a/n: my contribution to @pedrostories secret santa event!! was a busy holiday season so i wish i could have done more but excited to participate nonetheless. i hope you enjoy @flightlessangelwings and happy holidays to you!!! and tysm my love @northernbluess for proofing

dividers by @saradika

“Christ, where is he? Gettin’ freezing out here…” you mumble to yourself, gritted through your teeth as you stand shivering in your party attire — a tasteful black velvet cocktail dress, hem stopping a couple of inches above your knees and long sleeves with a sweetheart neckline. Fidgeting with your charm necklace, you nervously scan the entrance stairs to the history museum for the familiar face.

It’s the night before your office lets out for the holidays, and it’s also the night they host their annual holiday party. Even though it was quite the affair and your large law firm spares no expense for the event, you never really looked forward to being confronted with colleagues in ways you didn’t need to see them, and there was usually one man who would hit on you. Open bar, catered food, always in a gorgeous venue, it was a recipe for a great time or a horrible time, depending on your found company for the night. This year was the history museum, one of your favorite spots in the city. The daydreams you’ve had about taking him here pop into your mind like a flash in the pan — fleeting, and simply something to stay as a daydream.

A tinge of reluctance tugs in your gut. Was it weird to ask him here? Is he going to stand you up?

But then, there was Javier. Looking sharp as ever in a suit, one you’ve seen him in once after he stopped by yours after a late night working. Black, with a crisp white shirt and a red tie to fit into the holiday spirit. A smirk plays on his lips when he spots you, taking the stone steps two at a time as he approaches. It had taken a bit of convincing — virtually bribing — to get him to agree to be your plus one for the night, and when he did confirm that he would come along with you, the prospect of the party actually being something more bearable skyrocketed instead of the excruciating evening you usually expect.

“Hey there, querida. Why’re you waiting out in the cold for me? Debe estar congelándose. (You must be freezing.)” Javier greets you with concern knit into his brow, his big brown eyes softened and sparkling in the low streetlight. His large palms find the sides of your arms, rubbing gently to warm you up.

“Didn’t want to get pulled into the abyss alone in there,” you jest, “I don’t know if you’d have been able to find me with all the hiding I have to do from weird coworkers.”

You laugh and Javier chuckles lightheartedly, shaking his head as he relaxes in front of you. Nodding his head toward the door, he follows behind you as you lead with a hand at your lower back.

“Is there anyone I should watch out for specifically tonight? Am I gonna have to act as a bodyguard? Should I tell any of the creeps I have a gun?” Javier’s lips graze your ear as he speaks, keeping close to you when you enter and the sounds of the party erupt. A jolt runs down your spine from the intimate contact. It’s your turn to shake your head, breathing out a laugh as you limply hit your hand against his chest.

Your excitement around seeing Javier and spending more time with him was getting much more frequent and much more intense. Bordering the point where you don’t know if you can keep up the arrangement with the feelings you’re developing for him.

Friends of a few years, there’s always been a flirty undertone between you and Javier. It built up to the point that when everyone had cleared out from a dinner party at your place, Javier stayed behind to help clean up — always a gentleman — and the two of you, admittedly a bit tipsy from the wine that was flowing all night, told each other one a whim that you were attracted to each other. Both free from any ties of old relationships, you fell into an agreement: sex, great sex at that, with no strings attached. You two would remain friends and get exactly what you wanted, which was each other, without the messiness of a relationship. Something you were both jaded from.

These days, however, the lines were starting to blur on your end. Everything he did seemed to tip you further into the deep end before you finally came to terms and accepted that you had completely cannonballed into it.

Javier is a good guy. Didn’t have that reputation around town when you first met, but getting to know him in the wee hours of the morning after a few rounds, you fell fast and hard. It wasn’t until recently that you came to terms with it.

“Nobody needs the interrogation tactics or intimidation tonight, Peña.”

“Okay, okay…Tengo que asegurarme de que te traten bien. (I have to make sure you’re treated right.) One of their best employees, shouldn’t have to put up with the shit, querida.”

The air in the grand entrance of the city’s museum crackles with holiday cheer as festive decorations adorn every corner. Garland hangs around the banisters of the grand staircase that leads further into the museum, but most of the activity is in the large, marble-lined room you both stand in. Nearly every employee seems to be in attendance, people milling about in cliques and others indulging in drinking or dancing.

As both of you saunter toward the bar, the atmosphere softens with each step, the clinking of glasses and the chatter of coworkers weaving together into a cacophony of merriment. Javier grabs you two drinks, a glass of champagne for you and whiskey neat for him, toasting to the night ahead. The clinking of glasses resonates with your unspoken agreement: tonight, like every other night, would end the same way. No strings.

Amidst the swirl of laughter and twinkling lights, and the loosening power of liquor, the boundary between friendship and something deeper becomes increasingly blurred. Flirty comments dance back and forth, charged with an unspoken tension that lingers beneath the surface.

“You look beautiful tonight, cariño. How come I haven’t seen this dress before?” Javier asks, the two of you standing at a cocktail table, alone and enjoying it.

“Guess you’d have to be my plus one more often, Javi. Then you could see all the dresses in my closet,” you counter, smirking playfully and biting back the desire to mention something akin to a real date for both of you.

“Guess so, querida. Might have to make this a regular thing.” Javier sends you a wink before clinking your glasses together in another smaller toast, a smirk painting his face as he lifts the tumbler to his mouth for a sip.

With every exchanged glance and teasing remark, it’s evident that you’re tiptoeing on the edge of uncharted territory, yearning to express feelings that had long been confined. It’s unclear if Javier feels the same, but soft touches and gentle words ply you open even further, teetering with falling completely.

Then, amidst the dance of emotions and flirtations, a coworker appears in the corner of your eye, sauntering toward the table and bursting the privacy bubble that you happily curated with Javier. His name’s Jake, a man around your age who is friendly with you in the office, sociable guy with one of those “winning” personalities the partners would compliment endlessly. A guy’s guy. But one that had no problem approaching the women in the office. With a warm smile, he extends a hand towards the man at your side, introducing himself with an easy charm that seemed almost too perfect — of course, referring to Javier already as his ‘buddy’. The hint of jealousy that flickers across Javier's face doesn’t escape your notice, and you can’t help but feel a tingle of endearment for his slightly soured mood from being interrupted.

As the night progresses, Jake's alcohol-infused attempt at camaraderie with you grows increasingly unwelcome. He’d been watching you like a hawk so far, cutting in whenever Javier left to grab more drinks or when another coworker pulled his attention away to try to pick his brain about all that’s happening in the government right now. Inching closer to you, Jake leans against the hightop table, making conversation with slurred words and uninhibited want behind his eyes.

When you shift slightly away, attempting to remain civil enough at a work event, you feel yourself bump into Javier. 

At that moment, Javier turns to see if you tapped him to grab his attention, but is met with the clear look of discomfort on your face. Jake leaning in closer, eyes wandering as you responded in the conversation, clearly attempting to check you out. Frustration toward the man in front of you lit in his chest, holding himself back from confronting him and instead fully embracing his purpose for the night. If he was invited as your date, he could act like it, right?

His arm wraps around you possessively, his lips pressing kisses on your temple, and whispered words meant to keep you close. Surprised at first, but happy to feel closer to him and to relish in the protective boyfriend persona, even if it is only to keep a creep away from you.

Jake, seemingly oblivious to the change in dynamics, spoke up louder, laying a hand on your arm and squeezing, “So you ever wanna cut out of work early and get a drink? Maybe end up back at my place? You can wear that dress.”

The proposition sends a ripple of discomfort through the air. Other coworkers turn away, ignoring the advance that left you shocked and speechless. But, Javier, now fully immersed in his role, takes a stern tone, cutting in and gently maneuvering you behind him.

“Hey, cabrón, why don’t you apologize for speaking to her like that?” Javier instructs, nodding to you while your hands wrap around his arm closest to you. “Or am I going to have to find one of your supervisors and tell them all this shit myself? Don’t speak to her again, or even look at her. And I will know if you do — I’ve got eyes everywhere, buddy.”

The look on Jake’s face makes you laugh softly from behind Javier, shaking your head as he backs away and leaves with his tail between his legs. Javier turns to you, wrapping you up in one of his arms and brushing his fingers softly against your cheek.

Concern softens his eyes, the same look that he greeted you with when he found you waiting in the cold, “You alright, cariño? Fucking asshole. You shouldn’t have to deal with that, should report him or something.”

“I’m alright, Javi. Thank you…You didn’t have to—”

Javier shakes his head, smiling with one side of his mouth and kissing your forehead, “‘Course I did. Can’t let anyone talk to you like that.”

You lean into his chest and smile, lightening the mood with a playful comment, “Seemed pretty comfortable being threatening. Did it bring you back to the good ol’ days being a sheriff?”

Ever the master of evasion, Javier shrugs it off with a casual demeanor, attempting to maintain the façade of indifference with a nod, “Sure did. But they weren’t the good ol’ days.”

Hearing the smile in his voice causes a wave of affection for him that washes over you, coming to the realization that it’s either now or never. A surge of courage propels you to take the leap, confessing the fact that you see more with Javier, that you want more with him.

“I know we said no strings, and it was like that at first, but the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I’ve found that I love you. And you can absolutely walk away and nothing will be held against you, but I can’t keep up with this if I can’t tell you how I feel.”

The atmosphere between you shifts, and for a moment, the world seems to stop entirely.

Javier's eyes softened, and with a sincerity that catches you off guard, he shares a confession too, “Querida, I fell in love with you in the first moment I met you. The second I kissed you for the first time was when I realized it. I thought maybe I could keep it all in, ‘cause I didn’t want to lose you as a friend and just as a part of my life, but I love you, cariño. Have since I heard that laugh of yours and saw that gorgeous smile. And I haven’t felt the same way I feel about you for anyone else before.”

In that moment of vulnerability, the boundaries that confined your actions shatter, opening up a door, wide and clear, for you to walk through and never close.

Away from the crowded party, you find yourselves standing in a doorway adorned with sprigs of mistletoe, a symbol of serendipity. Under the soft glow of the festive lights, Javier takes a step closer, and his lips meet yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. His hand caresses your cheek, one arm wrapping around your waist while yours rest around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

As you break apart, Javier looks into your eyes, a sincerity shining through that mirrored the twinkle of holiday lights.

"I love you," he confesses, the words hanging in the air like the melody of a cherished carol.

“I love you, too,” you return, a glowing smile and feeling giddy for the rest of the holiday season with Javier.

taglist: @northernbluess @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @thereaperisabitch @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic

[lokischocolatefountain]

Seven

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: Gen (kind of a crack fic if you ask me)

Summary: You and Javi discuss children

“How many?”

“Hmm?”

“You keep saying children plural. How many do you want?” You asked, flipping through the pages of the magazine idly. You weren’t even reading, just looking at pictures and reading a gossipy headline about some of the other actress.

“Hmmm seven?”

“Fuck no!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? WHY NOT?” You asked, horrified. “Javier, I’m a human being, not a baby making machine. You have a government job and I’m just a lab tech. We will never have 7 kids money unless you pocket some of the cocaine you seize. God, can you imagine if they all wanted to go to law school? Or medical school?”

“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” he said, taking the magazine from you and setting it aside. He pulled you into his lap, kissing you neck from behind and making you squirm. “I was focused on how hot you’ll look pregnant.”

“Of course you were. Horndog,” you scolded, pinching the arm that held you close. He hissed, but didn’t loosen his hold, only pulling you in closer.

“Can you blame me? With such a hot girlfriend, a man is bound to let his imagination run wild.”

“Shut up.”

“Five?” He asked, making you angrier.

“Are you trying to have a family or form a basketball team?”

He laughed before kissing her lips. “Four?” He bargained.

“Three is the absolute maximum for me.”

“Then three is good.”

“Yeah?” You asked, softer when you heard the sincerity in the reply that came with no hesitation.

“Mhmm.”

“But everything is up for debate after the first one,” you added, just in case. Pregnancy did not look fun and you didn’t want him holding you to this if you were too fucked up from the first pregnancy to try again. “I might hate being pregnant and never want to have another one again. We might have to be satisfied with one baby.”

“That’s good too, baby. I only want as many children as you’ll give me. Whether that’s one or three or seven.”

“Definitely not seven.” You smiled, adjusting yourself to sit back on the sofa with just your legs in his lap. “And no bargaining on gender either. If we have three daughters, you can’t ask for another one just to try for a son.”

“I would love three daughters. Why do you think I’ll ask you for a fourth one after that?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “Men usually want sons. To teach them soccer or go fishing or whatever.”

“I’ll teach our three daughters soccer. Girls have legs. And I don’t care for fishing anyway. If they want to be with animals, they can take care of the ranch.”

“God, I planning my life out with a ranchero who wants a million kids!” You said, laughing.

“You’re just realizing that?”

“Oh god, I don’t know what’s worse— ranchero or DEA agent. Do you like chop wood shirtless or something? Cause I can’t handle that. I will end up having 7 kids if I saw that.”

“You’re mixing up rancheros with lumberjacks, baby. But I’ll learn to chop wood if you want. And I’ll teach our daughters to chop wood too. And how to shoot. And how to fix a car. Teach them plumbing and everything. So that they don’t have to call their boyfriends at midnight to ask them to fix their sink,” he said, making you giggle at the recollection of that night.

“Oh please, you weren’t complaining,” you scoffed, reminding him of the night he came over to fix your sink and ended up staying all night and all day in your bed.

“Exactly. No boy is slithering into my daughter’s bed like that. I won’t allow it.”

You scoffed. Oh you poor little fool… “You think my father didn’t teach me how to fix my sink, Javier? That I didn’t break it just to invite you over?”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. Let’s have three sons.”

.

.

.

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas || Chapter 1 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, reader has a shitty husband, domestic violence, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, javier pines like a mf, FLIRTING, referenced PIV (protection implied), food as sexual tension, angst, so much fluff, some light touching, steve being a little shit, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 8.8k

a/n: HOORAY! it begins! since this is my oldest fic, it lacks some polish, but neverthless!! i'll be posting new chapters every couple days so your dashboards don't get clogged up, but i sincerely hope you enjoy this series!! to my lovely friends who have already read this series and given it so much love, words cannot express how much i appreciate you. to my newcomers, i am kissing you through my screen rn for giving this fic a chance. i hope you like!! xoxo

chapter one: for all the coffee beans in colombia

The café, Las Mañanas, makes stellar coffee. Javier Peña knows this; everyone in Bogotá knows this. That’s why he comes in at seven o’clock every morning and pays 30 pesos for a cup. Black. Then he sits at a table and sips it while he watches her move. He leaves at seven-thirty and clocks in at the Embassy ten minutes later. He does it again the next morning.

Two months ago, he would come in twice a week. Two weeks later, three times. Now, it’s daily. He thinks he might have an addiction, but so does every other bastard in the city. It’s not his fault the coffee wakes him up just right, striking his tired bones like hammers and making him sit upright all day, alert as a rearing cobra.

She’s got eyes like that: bright, sharp. They cut incisions into early-morning brain fog and part the haziness like curtains. Then she sutures the edges with that smile and turns every man in the café complacent, cheery, harmless. Javier goes for the coffee, but it’s nice to look at her. It’s not his fault she’s so nice to look at.

She doesn’t own the place. Her boss is a family friend and doesn’t share her last name; he knew her father, who died. The records don’t say how, and Javier had to sneak out before he could find out more. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to be snooping around in records that didn’t have explicit relevance to his job, but he was just being safe.

He knows this because he likes to know things. He’s proactive. It reassures him to know that his thorough background checks on each employee and regular produced nothing of concern, that she’s around safe, innocent people all day. When she brings his coffee to him, she smiles at him, and her eyes shine. He knows that when he leaves for work, she’s safe. It’s real fucking hard to be safe in Bogotá these days.

Javier drinks. The coffee goes down hot, always the same temperature, always strong. He lifts a cigarette to his lips, watches her, lights it. He keeps it in his mouth when she raises her eyes from her notepad at the counter and smiles. From this corner of the café, he has a perfect view of her. She’s relaxing to watch. She walks with a sway to her hips; she bags pastries so delicately it’s like they’re strapped with C4; she writes little notes on her customers’ receipts and her handwriting is impeccable. He keeps his receipts.

She puts her lip between her teeth and worries it, like she’s debating something in her head, pen pausing over paper. Javier narrows his eyes playfully at her, and then she moves. She ties her apron tighter around her waist, tucks her hair behind her ear with the pen, and grabs something from behind the counter before she’s moving. Toward him.

Javier panics for a moment, but he feels stupid when he does. He forces himself to adjust minimally, sitting up straighter and tucking his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. She’s carrying a pastry bag. “Here,” she says, “for when you leave.”

Her honeyed voice seeps bone-deep. They speak in English, but he’s heard her use the local colour with her patrons. “What’s the occasion?” he asks her.

“I want to see how long the poison takes to activate inside a human body.” She thrusts the bag out farther. “It’s a thank-you. Empanadas. New recipe.”

Javier takes it, looks inside. “You poison all your customers, or am I special?” he says, inhaling the fresh burst of warmth. “These smell incredible.”

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“God, no.”

“More coffee?”

He glances at his watch. 7:23. “I can’t,” he says, and it gives him pause when his voice carries a faint whine. “Work.”

She bites her lip again. Instinct tugs his eyes down to it. “You’re certainly the most mysterious customer I’ve ever had.”

He stands up so he can look down at her, puffing at his cigarette. She puckers her lips and blows the smoke away from her face with a teasing glare. “And the only one special enough to try the new recipe for free,” he says lowly. “Isn’t that right?”

She shoves the bag into his chest and rolls her eyes, beckoning him back toward the counter. “Who said it was free?” she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. It stops him, stunned, in his tracks.

He comes back the next day. He makes sure to learn her name this time.

~

At some point in the seven months since he first entered the café, Javier makes a friend.

He does not remember how it happened. His life is not conducive to friendship. But this half-hour routine inside the café doesn’t give a shit about his life. She’s begun to call his name when he steps through the door.

“Javier!” She shimmied around her coworker as she hurriedly untied her apron. He barely had time to open his mouth before she continued, “I took my break early. Now come on, I made churros.”

“Fuck, cariño, I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I met you.”

She just grinned at him and shooed him toward his usual table while she grabbed a plate with two sweet-smelling churros on it. “My father would say that’s a good thing. Go, go!”

He obeyed her without further complaint and put out his cigarette so he could sip at the coffee that was already steaming on his table. She slid into the chair across from him. He knew churros for breakfast were a terrible decision for his digestive system, but he physically could not refuse her. Her leg bounced excitedly when he picked one up and took a bite. He closed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re fucking magic. Where did you learn to bake like this?”

She grinned and took a bite of her own churro. He noticed she liked to hold her free hand underneath her chin to catch any residue that would make a mess of her apron; preventative measures. She was careful, meticulous. “My father lived in Spain most of his life; he taught my sister and I to cook from the second we were able to walk.” Her head tilted as she watched him eat, her smart eyes travelling in latitudes across his face like she was memorising a script, line by line. “I’m lucky to see other people fall in love with my food the same way I loved his.” She smiled suddenly, warm. “You’ve got churro dust in your moustache, viejo.”

He raised a brow. “You learn enough Spanish for that, huh, smartass?”

The bell above the door chimes when he walks through. She’s tending to a customer at the back of the room, but she looks over her shoulder. Smiles and waves. Gestures with her eyes to his usual table.

His table, which now has a very new, very handmade sign on top of it: RESERVED.

Javier sits down and touches the black ink. It smudges on his finger.

“I almost had to rugby-tackle Jorge for sitting there during his break,” she says when she arrives.

“All this for me?” He clicks his tongue. “Bad for business.”

“You’re a paying customer, viejo,” she says teasingly. “You are business.”

Javier slides his sunglasses off his nose and stares her down, dropping his voice all low and mean. “You better knock that nickname habit quick, baby. Could get you in trouble.”

“More trouble than the man who comes in every morning with a gun in his pants?” She bites her lip when she grins. “I think I’ll be okay. Oh, and here’s your coffee.”

She places a mug in front of him, snatches the RESERVED sign from his hand, and carries it with her to the counter.

~

“What is it you do at your big, scary, gun-totin’ job, anyway?” she asks as his coffee pours. He’s at the counter, waiting this time, knowing no one’s going to take his table. Not if they know what’s good for them, what with the leopard behind the counter.

Javier lights his cigarette. “Don’t wanna have to kill you.”

She cocks her head. “Can’t kill me, viejo. Who’d make your coffee?” She leans in real close and whispers, “Jorge can’t treat you like I can.”

He does not focus on the way her breath knocks against each knob of his spine.

“Janitorial services,” he blurts out, not so much suavely, “at the Embassy.”

“Hmm. Didn’t know they let janitors carry guns nowadays, but I guess there’s always something new to learn.”

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

“My doctor says I’ll never be able to get the smell of coffee out of my nose.”

Javier laughs, plucking the dish rag from her hands so she stops cleaning the counter and looks him in the eye instead. “Gonna need more than that. Tell me something I don’t know, cielito.”

She flushes. “You have to pay extra for that.”

“Then pour one on me,” he says, sliding the coffee pot toward her.

A wicked smile overcomes her face, one she tries to tame by chewing on the inside of her cheek. She spots a customer waving her down, so she turns quickly to Javier and says, “Give me two minutes. Pour it for me.”

He fills the cup she’s just cleaned until it’s almost overflowing.

~

The first day something goes wrong, Javier is unprepared.

She’s all smiles and flowy skirts when he walks in the door, but he feels out of sorts when he spots the men she’s pouring coffee for—mostly because he recognises them, and they’ve never been in here before.

His heart swoops down into his gut when he remembers where he’s seen their three faces before.

It stings to watch her smile falter when he ignores her familiar greeting for him, pretending like he doesn’t know her. He heads straight for the counter, sits down, waits twenty seconds, and then accidentally knocks a mug to the floor.

A few people idly turn, but it’s her excusing herself to clean up the mess that matters. He lowers himself to the ground with her when she grabs the broom and dustpan. “Keep smiling at me,” he says under his breath. “Don’t let your face change.”

“Javier…” His name is an exhale from her mouth. “What’s going on?”

“Those men are involved in some bad shit, and I don’t want you in it.”

To her credit, she does not look at the three men at the table, nor do her eyes widen, her mouth drop. He knows her mind is chewing on this, working it through, judging whether or not she can trust him. At last, still cleaning up the ceramic shards, she asks, “What do I do, Javi?”

That’s his girl. “I need you to take your break until they’re gone. Can you do that for me?”

She breaths out a yes and looks up at him for one brief moment. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers. “Paying customer, remember?”

“Always and forever, baby. Now go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She stands up with the dustpan and thanks him loudly, that bright smile still on her face. She takes the broken mug into the back room, and she does not reappear.

Javier has backup waiting when the three narcos leave, filled with his waitress’s coffee and pastries. Javier stays inside, sipping his own coffee. They won’t know he called for backup. They’ve never seen his face. But they’ll be ambushed once they’re a safe distance from the café, and they’ll go away in handcuffs for the couple kilos of cocaine inside the trunks of their taxis.

Javier comes in the next day and expects her to cuss him out. She’s had every opportunity to call the police, to report him for being somehow involved with bad men, to ban him from her little safe haven. Instead, she just sets down the coffee at his table and shakes her head.

“Janitor, my ass.”

~

He wishes he could shut his mouth every now and then, but he finds himself telling her the truth about his job before he can think to stop.

He rationalises.

He owes her this much. The strange men may not have harmed her, but in a line of work like Javier’s, people have to learn to be cautious. In his case, he may have been uber-cautious, but his senses become a whirlpool when it comes to her.

She takes it all in stride, same as yesterday. She’s a rapt listener, tuning out the world as he stumbles through the truth, and when he’s done, when he thinks he’s laid out all she needs to know for now, she nods. She understands.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, unusually sombre, brushing a knuckle under his chin the way he does her.

“Can’t stand the thought of you mad at me, cielito.” It’s the truth—he thinks he would forsake all his manliness and beg on his knees for forgiveness.

But he doesn’t need to do that with her. “It was scary, Javi,” she says earnestly, “but it would’ve been a lot scarier if you weren’t there, talking me through it.”

He grins up at her where she stands on the other side of the counter. “Any chance that means free churros for life?”

She hums like she’s pondering the thought. “For you, viejo? That’s only two more years at your tender age.”

Javier leans in close to her and glares. “Keep it up, honey.”

She drums her fingers on the side of his mug and smirks. “Plan to. More coffee, Agent Peña?”

~

She’s talking to another man when Javier walks into the café. He’s average height and muscled, around her age or a bit older, wearing a black leather jacket that matches the beard and hair on his head (the stuff that’s not greying), and he’s speaking rapidly, tautly. She keeps shaking her head, her lips pressed tightly together, furiously wiping down the counter and nudging his elbows away when he tries to set them down. Javier tries to eavesdrop, but they’re speaking too quietly, interrupting one another, so he settles into his chair at the back with his sunglasses still on his nose. And he watches carefully.

He's never seen this man before. He isn’t a customer, and his scowling face was not one Javier had combed through during his dubiously ethical background checks. It unsettles him enough to lean forward in his seat when the man abruptly tears the rag from her hand. Javier instinctively reaches for the gun in his waistband, but he will not fire here. He bites down on his cigarette when she aggressively wipes under her eyes and storms into the back room. Moments later, she emerges with her purse, fishes out a wad of cash, and throws it square at the man’s chest. He leaves once the money is tucked inside his pockets.

Javier approaches the counter with his coffee. She is visibly shaking, but she smiles at him like he’s a relief to see. “Javi,” she says in one long exhale. “Good morning.”

“Thought you might like some company,” he says, setting down his mug.

He doesn’t press her to tell him about what he’s seen, even though he knows she saw him walk in. Her shoulders loosen. “I… I didn’t have time to make you something, Javi.”

Her eyes are watering, and her irises undulate like they’re caught in a swell. Not for the first time in seven months, Javier reaches out and touches her. Lays a hand atop hers and squeezes her fingers. “You’re gonna make me fat, cielito,” he says softly.

She doesn’t let the tears fall. She just laughs and rolls her eyes, her cheeks warm.

~

It’s another month before Javier sees the man again.

Javier has been very good at keeping his life behind a wall, and while it’s obvious she notices, she doesn’t press him. He is profoundly stupid to give her the information he does; he’s told her about his father (she smiles like she’s remembering an old friend), bitched about Murphy (constantly), and told her about his hobbies. He told her that he reads in his spare time, even though nobody expects him to and fucking backwoods-hillbilly Murphy gives him constant shit for it. She knows he likes Tolkien, that he’s a fan of Lewis and Fleming. She gives him shit for reading so many “manly” books, but she laughs while she does it, and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

He knows he is older than her. She’s never read Tolkien. He finds himself promising things. He’s going to lend her his copies. He wants to share his interests with her, to watch her face light up with excitement when she tells him how much she loves Marilyn Monroe and Gloria Estefan and Selena.

She moved to Colombia two years ago, but he doesn’t know why. There is the switch. He’s found it: the moment of closure, when her spine stiffens and her smile trembles in an effort to hold on. Everyone has their switches. Javier understands.

But for the first time since he came to Bogotá, he wants to know someone. He wants to get attached. He wants a friend. Why the fuck shouldn’t he have that?

“Javi.”

He looks at her over the rim of his mug. “Hmm.”

She bites down on her smile. “It’s seven-thirty.”

Shit. He says as much, downs the rest of his coffee (she watches him with a raised brow), and begins to haul his jacket over his arm. He’ll have to put it on on the move; he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now.

The bell above the door chimes.

He’s dressed the same as last time, but Javier knows his clothes are expensive. When he doesn’t see her at the counter, he peers through the employees’ door, then scans the café until he spots her, sitting across from Javier.

He stalks over and goes off immediately. “Whoring around, guapa? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

He doesn’t even spare a glance toward Javier.

She looks more angry than embarrassed. “Nicolás, you need to leave.”

Javier settles back into his seat. No way in fucking hell he’s leaving her alone with him.

His dark eyes blaze at the woman, and he crowds her space, frowning. “I’m not signing.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she says calmly, though her skin is stretched over her knuckles as her hands clasp each other.

“You don’t just get to leave me.” The man’s scowl deepens, and when he grabs her by the wrist, she yelps, slapping a free hand over her mouth so nobody notices.

Well, Javier sure as fuck notices.

Last time, he stayed back, let the situation diffuse. He didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. This time, he doesn’t give a shit.

This time, Javier sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

He stands up and clasps his own hand around the man’s wrist.

“I don’t see you letting her go,” he says gruffly. “Let’s try again.”

“You fucking son of a bitch, trying to tell me what to do with my wife,” grunts the man, letting go of her wrist with a jolt. She stands up and pushes him squarely in the chest.

“I am not. Your. Wife,” she says, spitting a large glob of saliva in his face. “Sign the papers, Nicolás. I don’t love you. I don’t even give a shit about you.”

Nicolás moves like he plans to smack her across the face, but Javier is quick—and itching to knock him unconscious.

The punch cracks his jaw. He howls while the owner emerges from the back room and another customer helps drag Nicolás out the door. They throw him on the street and cuss him out. Javier shrugs on his jacket and sniffs, feeling accomplished.

“Cielito,” he mutters, offering his hand. Trembling (more with rage than fear, he suspects), she holds out her wrist and he gently prods around the area, feeling for disturbances. She winces, but it will only bruise. Still—

“I should have been faster.”

“Javier,” she whispers. “Don’t start.”

He lets out one frustrated sigh through his nose and nods. “Is it a judgment against your character if I say you married a complete fucking asshole?”

She laughs softly, like sad little bells. “Wasn’t my choice in the first place.”

He frowns down at her. “Cielito—”

“You’re already late for work, Javi. They’re gonna chew you out.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, brushing a knuckle over her chin. “I’ll lay on my charm.”

She hums. “Maybe you’re the asshole, Javier Peña.”

~

It’s been a year since he met his waitress. Tonight, for the first time, he pictures her face to make himself come.

He’s in the shower when it happens. Standing under the stream of hot water, he's unable to quell the image that bubbles up in his hindbrain. He imagines her lips around him as he hardens, and when he takes himself in his hand and juts out his hips roughly, he grunts, pretending he’s pushing past the seal of her pretty lips. Her face—so beautiful, so smiling and kind—sweaty and ruined, more radiant than ever. Her body: its curves and its delectable softness, its taste like coffee beans and flowers, if he can imagine it. The tempting, unknowable skin under that waitress’s uniform. He wants to make her feel good. He wants to lick every inch of her, savour every drop of her wetness when he gets her ready to take him. Tangy sweetness, twilight and the calm of the water at dusk. Flashes of teeth, lips, skin. 

That's it, baby. You can take me. I’ll make you feel good. 

Javier… A rush of breath, the distant cry of a swan over the water. Please. 

He doesn’t think until he’s spilling over his hand and the wall, harder than he’s come in a long time, of how wrong this is. How wrong of him to imagine a claim on her body, her life. Underneath the steaming hot water, his mind sharpens. He wants her, and he feels so filthy for it.

He turns up the heat some more and lets himself scald. 

Seeing her in the little café after fucking himself to the thought of her naked is a surreal experience. He’s never even seen the more intimate areas of her; she wears an apron and a dress, and he can only ever see her knees, her arms, her collarbones. But now he wants to trace them with his fingers, watch them hollow out when she inhales, watch the curve in her throat as she swallows and sighs. He wants to get on his knees and lift up her dress so he can make her fall apart on his tongue. He’s fucked everything up.

Him and his stupid goddamn dick.

“I’ve figured it out,” she says triumphantly, sitting down at his table across from him. There’s a cup of coffee for both of them; he figures she’s taken her break. Which means she likes to spend this half-hour with him. Which means she likes him.

“What have you figured out?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses further down his nose to peer at her.

“That DEA disguise might work for you, but I see all.” She reaches for his glasses and puts them on her own face, pantomime-lighting a cigarette. “You’re a spy, Agent Peña,” she says mischievously. 

He really, truly, desperately wants to kiss her.

The sunglasses slip down her face, so he pushes them onto the top of her head. Stares her in the eyes. “You got me, honey. What are you gonna do, huh? Lock me up?”

“How much money can I get for a spy?” she muses. “Guess it depends how good you are.” Her eyes narrow when a grin slithers up the corner of his mouth. “Javier, do not—”

“Oh, I’m very good,” he says, toasting his cup of coffee.

With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her own cup in toast, and takes a sip. The sight of her lips on the rim while she meet his eyes is enough to make Javier wish he owned looser jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Her eyes ask the same question, but she phrases it sweetly, the way she always does. She’s a fucking tonic to his bones and the reason he’s so goddamn tense. “Blinking is very important, you know.”

He does just that, clearing his vision and letting her come back into sharp focus. The morning sunlight adorns her skin like jewellery. She’s a vision. Even someone with a single sense out of the five could tell how beautiful she is, but it doesn’t make his life any easier. It doesn’t lower his heart rate, doesn’t cool him down, and it definitely doesn’t help the tightness in his pants.

He fucks his hand in a bathroom at the Embassy, and then he brings an informant home and fucks her, too. He makes sure she enjoys it when she’s on her hands and knees, because all he’s doing is picturing his waitress. He hates himself for the way it makes him grasp her a bit tighter, pump her a bit harder: imagining her syrupy whines, her flushed chest, her smooth skin all for him. He tunes out the noises she makes and pretends it's her. When he makes her come, he pictures her brows scrunching up, her eyes squeezing shut when she can't take the pleasure he gives her. He’d make his girl real happy, make her satisfied and dazed and fucking drooling.

Javier completes the transaction and cleans up in the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while, at his dishevelled hair and his tired eyes. Sex didn’t help.

She’s still in his blood. She’s in his system for good.

He doesn’t want a quick fuck. He wants her: his friend, his secret. His girl, whether she knows it or not.

The next day, she’s working on the books when he comes up to the counter, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, so engrossed she doesn’t even notice he’s arrived until he sits down.

She’s so fucking cute, he thinks, with her glasses and her thinking face, brows pinched together. But she smiles up at him like always. “Good morning, Javier.”

His mind is really a bastard, feeding him flashbacks of last night's wet dream. On her knees, taking him so well, so perfect, on her back while he left marks that would let everyone know she'd been fucked and who’d done it, on top of him, writhing and gasping and collapsing next to him. In his dream, he kissed the top of her head, laced their fingers together, and mumbled how well she’d done until they both fell asleep.

“Morning,” he says. “Don’t you have people for that?”

She huffs. “We’re short-staffed. Which means there’s me, one other cook, and Jorge. So I’m stuck making sure we won’t get audited.”

Javier whistles lowly. “Jorge’s got a real soldier working for him.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. He likes making her nervous. “Maybe if you say that to his face, he’ll give me a raise.”

“You need money?”

Fucking moron, he thinks. Way to scare her off. Her eyes widen, but then she’s saying, “Oh, Javi, no. I’m doing all right. I promise. Just some… marital strain.”

His jaw may snap off if he clenches it any tighter. He can’t meet her eyes when he asks, “He been bothering you?”

It doesn’t piss him off that she’s married. She hates the guy, never wants to see him again. She’s been trying to get him to sign the divorce papers for over a year. What pisses him off is that any mention of her husband sucks her cheer away like blood from a wound. Javier has a real problem with someone making her frown.

She rests her cheek in her palm. “Every time I try to pay him off, he comes back saying it wasn’t enough, that he can’t afford a lawyer. Which is bullshit, by the way. He makes a hell of a lot more than me.”

“What does he do?”

She shutters off again, looks back down at her books. “It’s not a moral sort of work.”

Javier would know all about that.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, whirling around, the glimmer in her eye back again. “I forgot—I made you something.”

His chest feels tight. “ Bonita—”

She slides the books aside and places down a piece of blueberry pie. “You can’t say no,” she says, producing two forks, “because I’m helping you eat it.”

He’ll prod about her shitty husband later. For now, Javier enjoys the half-hour he has with her. They finish the pie in minutes.

~

Steve Murphy is a dick.

Javier knows it was a mistake to bring her up to him, because now Murphy has forgotten all his paperwork for the night, and he’s got his eyes set on making his partner’s life hell.

“Does she know you got those narcos arrested a few weeks ago?”

“She’s not stupid, Steve.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Yes.”

“Is that because you told her, or because you stole her personal file?”

“Murphy, if you don’t shut up—”

“You’re not fucking her, are you?”

For some reason, that pisses him off the most. Javier grits his teeth. “Knock it off.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Jesus, Javi.” When he leans back in his chair, he’s still watching Javier with a smile spreading slowly across his face. “You really aren't.”

Javier puffs his cigarette and tries not to fly across his desk at his partner. “And how do you know that?”

“’Cause if you didn’t respect her so damn much, you wouldn’t get all defensive.” Murphy whistles lowly. “You’re so fucked, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t look up from his typewriter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. You don’t wanna fuck any random girl.” Murphy hides his mocking laugh with his hand. “You want to fuck your friend.”

Javier flicks his cigarette and it smacks Murphy in the cheek. “Pendejo.”

Murphy’s still laughing when Javier grumbles about going somewhere. He doesn’t even know where he’s planning to go, but it’s his lunch break and he needs fresh air. He definitely doesn’t want to linger on the reality that Murphy is right.

There’s a market across the street and down a block from the Embassy, which itself is a block away from the café. It’s not strange that she’s there, tediously browsing apples like choosing the wrong one will poison her customers, but Javier’s heart still kicks up, watching her as he waits for the traffic to clear.

She’s real fucking pretty in the daylight. Her hair is down, no longer in its clean ponytail, and the breeze picks it up like it’s watching her, too. She smiles at the vendors she passes; some call out to her, trying to sell or flirt. Javier crosses the street and gets giddy at the thought of seeing her outside.

He strolls up behind her and watches her inspect an apple. “If you stare any harder, it’ll wither.”

A little gasp leaves her mouth. “Javi!” she says brightly, eyeing him without a modicum of shame, her hand over her brows to shield herself from the sunlight. “So this is how you look in the light.”

She’s dressed in a flowy skirt that forms around her thighs when a breeze rolls by, and her shirt shows more of her cleavage than he’s ever seen before. He knows she notices his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t particularly care to look away. Watching her roll her eyes above his sunglasses delights Javier to no end. “You’ll get arrested walking around like this, cariño,” he says, leaning in real close and feeling her shiver when his breath reaches her ear.

She steps backward and holds onto the lapel of his jacket. “If you’re going to flirt with me, Javier, do it while you help me shop. I don’t have all the time in the world like you and your fellow superheroes.”

It only spurs him on. He lifts the canvas tote off her shoulder. “Fine by me,” he says. “What are the apples for?”

“Pie,” she says, picking two more apples from the cart. “You ever bake?”

“I cherish my place too much; don’t wanna see it burn down.” He steps in front of her when she reaches into her pocket to pay the vendor, slapping his own pesos into the man’s hand. She slowly lowers her hand and smiles at him in thanks. He lets her put the apples in the bag. “You want to teach me?”

Her face glows at the thought. “You’d really want to learn?”

It feels so good to make her happy that Javier doesn’t give a shit if Murphy finds out he offered to bake with this girl. “Will you put your hands over mine to show me how to knead the dough?”

Her hand trails across his stomach when she passes him. “Anything you want, honey,” she says.

Javier feels like he’s in high school again. He shuts his eyes for a moment to reset his brain, since the imprint of her hand on him shut it off. When his eyes are open again, she’s three vendors away. Javier scrambles to catch up with her. “So,” he says, “come here often?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” she says. “You and your big, scary bloodhounds.”

“They only allow one bloodhound for a partner, and he’s pissing me off. Besides, how could I just let you walk around by yourself out here? It’s dangerous.”

She pokes him in the stomach. “You’re the dangerous one, Peña.”

She stops between two vendors’ carts and stares up at him with her hands on her hips. For a moment, Javier worries he’s in trouble, and he’s about to open his mouth to apologise, when she asks, “Are you free tonight?”

It is frankly humiliating how fast he blurts out a yes.

“Good,” she says plainly. “I’ll teach you how to bake.”

~

Javier is practically salivating when he arrives at her door for dinner. There are two reasons for it.

One: whatever she’s cooking smells incredible. It’s a lot fucking nicer than the shit he eats at home—on the rare nights he remembers to eat after all the long nights at work.

Two: she’s dressed in loungewear. It’s a pair of shorts and a too-large sweatshirt. It should not make him half-hard. But she’s adjusting the bun on top of her head when she opens the door and beams at him and Christ, he’s going to be lucky if he lasts the night without excusing himself to his car to relieve his situation like a horny teenage boy.

A grin splits her face, and she leans on the door. “You brought flowers.”

He did. He thrusts them out in front of him and grimaces, his face warm. “You like lilies.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, squeezing the hand that holds the bouquet of white flowers, “I do. Come in, Javi.”

He thinks of himself as a gentleman where it counts, so he bites his tongue when he takes in the state of her apartment. She isn’t messy—she’s clearly done her best to keep up appearances, despite the fact there are leaks bleeding down the walls and peeling wallpaper and her bed is mere feet from the puny bathroom. Javier feels suddenly embarrassed by his own swanky place, set up for him by the DEA. He’s hit with a burst of cold air when he enters the room, and she crosses the room, flowers in hand, to fiddle with the thermostat.

“I’m sorry it’s so chilly,” she says sheepishly. “This thing needs fixing. Unless the problem is behind the wheel.” She tries to dial the heat up by two degrees, but the dial falls off and lands next to her feet. She just sighs. “You ever go undercover as a handyman, by any chance?”

He chuckles, closing the door behind him. The broken chain lock worries him; there’s nothing but the lock on the door to stop someone from breaking in, and picking this sort of lock is too simple. “I don’t go undercover,” he tells her, “but I can smack your landlord around.”

She hums. “They’ll trace it back to me. Gotta be careful about those things, Peña. There should be a vase in that cupboard behind you.”

He finds it, fills it with water (which sputters for a while before it runs), and places it on the dining table (barely big enough for two). She places the flowers inside and smiles fondly. “You have an eye for décor.”

“Wrong,” says Javier, “I have an ear, and it listens to what the woman likes.”

She swats him gently in the chest. “Flattery doesn’t excuse you from helping the woman in the kitchen. Get an apron on those hips.”

~

Javier decides he hates baking. But she makes it tolerable.

His job is full of tedium. He likes to leave that behind in his personal life. She’s so easy to be around, to talk to. He likes leaving the Embassy, leaving behind the narcos, and knowing she’ll be the first person he talks to the next morning. There’s no politics, no bureaucracy, no bullshit with her. He trusts her.

Baking is tedious as shit. It’s precise, all about waiting, timing, and the end result is only good if you’ve worked like hell for it. It’s too much like work.

She has flour on her nose, and he lifts his thumb to wipe it away. The look she gives him makes him forget why he hates baking. 

Javier tried to knead the dough for the pie crust but ended up treating it like an interrogation suspect, so she did as promised and placed her hands over his. He remembers her cheek resting against his arm as she leaned around him, felt her breasts on his back, her impossibly soft hands, her warmth. 

“Be nice to it,” she whispered. “We don’t want our food to bite back.”

“It’s delicious, Javi,” she says, finishing her last bite of the apple pie. They made it, together. Javier is proud of that no matter how much sweat he wasted slaving over that oven. “Worth all the pain and swearing?”

“Fucking malparido,” he hissed. She whipped around, eyes wide. He rubbed his elbow. “Burned myself.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, wetting a cloth with cool water and wrapping it around his arm. She was always quick to react, quick to soothe. “¿Mejor? (Better?)”

He liked the way Spanish rolled off her tongue. It was sweet and smooth, not quite fluent but proficient enough to fake it. He grinned down at her. “Eres demasiado buena para mi, bebita (You’re too good to me, baby).”

She looked away and he pretended not to notice her smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it.”

It is a damn good pie.

~

He’s still in her apartment four hours later, and she hasn’t given him a hint she wants him gone. It’s the longest he’s spent at a woman’s home without getting into bed with her. Sure, he wants to, but Javier’s content here, on her small sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.

“So. Want to tell me how you ended up working in a café in Bogotá, married as far down as someone can possibly go?”

She shoves him lightly. “Don’t rub it in, Javier.”

“Just can’t get my head around a guy like that marrying a woman so far out of his league. You’re you, cariño. He’s—”

“A moron?”

“You said it, honey.”

She traces her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Javi, I trust you. I honest-to-God trust you more than I’ve let myself trust anyone in a long time.”

He lifts a brow and ducks his head to meet her eyes. “That’s a good start.”

She lets out a shaky sigh. “I came to Colombia to help take care of my sister. She was sick. Nicolás approached me one night while I was out for her medication. He offered me work, told me it would pay more than anywhere could. I was desperate and stupid enough to buy it.”

Javier doesn’t like where this is going. Still, he places a hand atop her knee and lets her continue. “He turned me into a whore, Javi. I don’t care about that, not really. It paid, it gave me work. But the things he would make me do…” She breathes in harshly, like the memory pains her. “He made me believe he loved me. I married him, and my sister died anyway.

“My brother-in-law is a lawyer. When I served the papers, Nicolás took all the money and ran off. He only started coming back a few months ago, trying to make me believe he’s broke.”

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. His rage, horror, and sadness are a cocktail in his aching head. Her husband was her pimp. He forced her into sex with men and then put her money in his pocket. Javier wants to act—he needs to help her, to pull strings with folks outside the DEA and get the asshole to sign the papers. If not, a restraining order could work. But there are tears falling down her cheeks, and Javier’s plan of action retreats to the back of his mind. He smooths back her hair and places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers, nearly chokes out, voice strained. “Thank you.”

She sniffles. “I can see your wheels turning, Javi. What are you thinking?”

“I know how it feels to be trapped in a marriage,” he tells her. She frowns.

“You were married?”

“Nearly,” he amends. “The kid wasn’t mine.”

“Ah.” She nods in understanding, like that’s all the explanation she needs. “We’ve both been truly fucked over, huh?”

He lifts his glass in toast. “That we have.”

She clinks their glasses together. “To making bad decisions.”

He chuckles. “I can toast to that.”

~

“Like… none?” Steve peers at him from across their desks. It’s times like these Javier hates being forced to sit right in the bullpen with Murphy. “None at all? How long?”

“You wanna play this game, Murphy? Really?” Javier glares. “When’s the last time you got fucked by your wife, huh?”

Murphy throws a pen at him, but Javier catches it. “Don’t talk about my wife, Peña. And since you’re curious, last night.”

Well, fucking good for Steve Murphy. Javier hasn’t cared to get in bed with a woman for weeks; even in the weeks before that, the sex was nothing inspiring, nothing good enough to make him forget about how badly he wants his waitress’s sweet body beneath him.

“Fuck your hand later, man,” says Murphy, “we got doors to knock on.”

Javier rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m sitting this one out. Got another lead to look at.”

Murphy grunts. “Sure. Make sure you pay her well.”

“Fuck you.”

Javier waits outside the unassuming house, drumming his fingers beneath the driver’s side window with his sunglasses pushed down to the tip of his nose. He has triple-checked the address, memorised the routine of the man he’s watching, but it still unnerves him when he finds himself waiting for a long damn time for him to emerge.

When he does, Javier steps out of his car and walks right up to him. “Nicolás.”

The man curses when he sees Javier, surging forward. “You want to assault a DEA agent?” Javier challenges, choosing Spanish. “I just want to talk.”

“You assaulted me, you son of a bitch,” says Nicolás. “She send you?”

“No. But you’re going to sign the papers.”

Nicolás scoffs. “Just because you’re fucking my wife—”

Javier itches to pull his gun and press it to the asshole’s forehead until he shits himself in fear. “I’m not fucking your wife,” he says, “but it doesn’t seem like you are, either.”

Nicolás snarls. “I’m not signing the papers.”

Javier feels dirty when he reaches inside his vehicle and pulls out the divorce papers he stole from her bedside table. Nicolás’s brows come down in a furious line. “This is coercion,” he says.

“It’s a warning.” Javier’s patience is waning. “She’s not going to be nice forever, and neither am I. I won’t lose sleep if you go to jail.”

“Let me tell you something,” says Nicolás. “I own her. I have owned her from the moment she signed her contract and I will own her even if she’s not my wife. I have shit on her that will destroy any chance she has at a life, a career. You’ll have to do a lot better than fucking divorce papers.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, but he’s already tucked away the information he needs. He’s going to get her out.

~

That night, she shows up at his home.

Javier opens the door when a soft knock sounds. He’s not expecting anyone, which is why his gun is tucked into his waistband.

Her face is puffy with tears, and Javier is on red alert. His hairs stand on end and he steps into the hallway, crowding her gently so he can place his hands on her shoulders. Her lower lip trembles when he touches her. “Oh, cielito,” he murmurs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She shivers. It’s raining outside, and she’s soaked to the bone, her pretty skirt clinging to her thighs and her knit cardigan a blanket of sopping fabric. He knows she doesn’t have a car, that she walks everywhere, but he feels like an asshole for not tracking her down and picking her up anyway. “Went to the Embassy,” she says, teeth chattering. “I found your friend Steve; he gave me your address.”

“Oh, shit, honey.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole.”

She tries to laugh, but tears are still rolling down her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, Javier. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Javier ushers her inside and she stands timidly on the mat while he closes the door behind them. “C’mon, take your shoes off. Can I…?” She nods, and he helps her shrug off the heavy wet cardigan while she slips off her tennis shoes, still hesitant about stepping onto his hardwood floors. “A little water never hurt me, honey. I don’t pay for this place. C’mere, I’ll get you some clothes.”

She holds herself reserved and taut as she follows him, but does not step beyond the threshold into his bedroom. He roots through his closet and refuses to look at the bed. Javier does not let himself imagine her lying there, both of them rolling around in hazy desire, morning laziness, and close talks while squinting against the morning sunlight. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old, shitty sweatshirt emblazoned with Texas A&M spirit. She smiles down at it and says in a wrecked voice, “It’s gathering cobwebs, viejo.”

He wants to fire something back about her smart mouth, but he doesn’t have the heart. Not when she’s crying. “You can change in here,” he says. “I’ll make you some coffee. That okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll make some for myself, too. How about that?”

Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

He leaves her just as she’s beginning to pull off her shirt, and he warns his heartbeat to settle before working on the coffee pot. Javier doesn’t let himself think much when he’s working. He tries to get the job done, accomplish what’s necessary. If he thinks… Well, if he thinks, he’ll think about why she’s crying. He’ll wonder what happened to her that was so bad she didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’ll want to track whoever did this to her down and the things he’ll do to them will be horrific enough to land him in jail, let alone fired. No. He’ll make coffee. He will assure that she’s comfortable. He will not—

Fuck.

Javier’s brain goes blank, like he’s wiped all the chalk off the board, when she emerges wearing his clothes. Her feet are bare, the sweatshirt too big, her arms hugging herself as she pads over to him. It’s almost domestic; it’s his fucking dream, seeing her in his home like this, and he can’t enjoy it because she’s in trouble.

He hands her a mug and waits for his brain to restart. They sit together on his sofa and she watches him for a while, scanning his face.

He doesn’t realise until a minute passes that he’s fucked up. Royally.

Her gaze is soft. “I don’t blame you, Javi. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose and curses at himself in Spanish. “I… Fuck, I just wanted to help. I promise you.”

She reaches out and grasps his hand. “I know,” she says. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice raspy, “he did.”

She shuffles closer, and he can feel her fresh warmth, smell her dewy hair, watch her irises shimmer in the dim light. He clenches her hand tighter. “I’m okay,” she says, reassuring him even though he’s the one who brought the wrath of her husband down upon her. “Just had to see you.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“Knocked on my door and told me off for getting involved with a hijo de puta like you.” She smiles wryly, looking down at their joined hands. “His words. Then he told me you showed up at his house, threatened him.”

He tries a joke and feels even more rotten inside for it. “Couldn’t help it. He’s easily threatened.”

Now, as the initial panic subsides, Javier begins to think.

There isn’t a noise inside his home besides the sound of their breathing. He’s wearing jeans, a button-up, and he still feels like he’s on fire. She’s on his fucking couch. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she’s sipping his coffee, and she’s so close to him her arm brushes against him whenever she shifts. Her face is a foot away from his; there are little specks in her eyes, tear tracks on her face; she parts her lips to say something, and his ears begin to ring. He needs her. He needs her close.

Javier cups her face in his hand and brushes his thumb along her chin. She leans into his touch like it’s the most natural thing he could do, like they aren’t crossing a hundred lines. Both of the mugs are set down on the coffee table. She turns her body to face him, looking up at him with doe’s eyes, and his entire body hums for her.

“He knows, Javier.” Her voice is a whisper. “He knows what you mean to me. He said if I don’t start working for him again, he’ll kill you.” She licks her lips, curling her fingers around his forearm. Her eyes are welling up again. “I can’t…”

“Shh, cielito.” He wants her out of her head, wants his girl back. He drops his voice, too, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Gonna get you out of this.”

She’s butter beneath him, soft and sighing. “Javi, I—”

“I know.” His other hand slips around her hip, fingers teasing the skin beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. She’s so soft.

He drinks in her little gasp. “We can’t—”

“I know.” He brings his hand forward, pressing gently into the small of her back and enjoying the way her warm body curves to him. He slides his hand back around the curve of her waist, memorising, relishing, making a map of the places he wants to explore.

She whimpers when his hand leaves her skin, only to rest between her hip and thigh. “He’ll use it against me.”

“I know, baby.” She’s close enough now that he can brush his lips to her temple in the mere suggestion of a kiss. “We’re gonna do this right,” he says, trailing his hand back up her side so he can grab her other hand and squeeze. “Hey? You and me.”

She nods fervently. “You and me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says into her ear.

“What do I do?”

“It’s already done. I just need you to do the final step for me.”

She traces her fingers along his jawline and he feels the tremor through his spine. He’s at home, here, melting under her touch. He nudges the pads of her fingers with his nose, and she smiles at him like he saved her life. “Anything,” she whispers.

~

next

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

CONGRATS 🌟🌟🌟

Don't go on that date for Javier Peña?

Jealousy, Jealousy.

2. "Don't go on that date."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. this is entirely inspired by the fact that i am obsessed with javi's nose. that's all.

Pairing - Javier Peña x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 604

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Javier rolls sideways and lands on his back next to you. The both of you are drenched in sweat, chests heaving, sheets are strewn around you, legs tangled together.

You catch your breath and sit up, shuffling to the edge of the bed. Just as you go to stand up, he grabs your wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"We don't do sleepovers, Javi."

"I know that. But you usually at least lie here for like 5 minutes."

"You going soft on me, Peña?"

"Quite the opposite, actually," he winks.

You scoff and stand up, ignoring the way you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your body.

"If you must know, I have a date."

Javier is stunned into silence.

"I've just fucked you within an inch of your life, and you're going on a date?"

Now you're stunned into silence.

"Javi... I'm allowed to date. We agreed that this... thing was casual. You suggested the whole 'no strings attached' idea."

"Forgive me if I don't like the thought of you going to see some guy with my cum dripping down your thighs."

You wince at his crudeness, but it also weirdly turns you on. He rarely gets possessive with you, but when he does, it's a sight to behold.

"Hermosa," he drawls, low and sultry. He's still got a hold of your wrist, and he tugs you back towards him.

"Javi," you half plead, half whine.

"Don't go on that date."

"Javi-"

"Sit on my face instead."

"Javi."

"That's my name, cariño."

The arrogance is rolling off him in waves, confronting and unavoidable. His cockiness is almost suffocating you. It certainly doesn't help the ache between your legs.

"I can't cancel on him, Javi. He's a nice guy. He's actually looking to date, for a relationship - not whatever this is."

Instead of protesting, Javier just laughs.

"What is so fucking funny?"

"It's just sweet that you think anyone could make you come the way I do."

You roll your eyes at him, and beg yourself to wriggle loose from his grip before he breaks down your barriers.

"Well, I won't know until I try."

Javi doesn't like that. He pulls you closer, grabbing at your hips so you're straddling him. He rocks you back and forth over his hardening cock, making you whine.

"Don't go on that date," he whispers against your lips. "Stay here, and I'll let you ride my face the way I know you like."

How can you say no to an offer like that?

"You better make me come so hard I see stars, Javier Peña."

"Always do," he winks.

In one swift motion, he lies down and pulls you up his body. You're hovering over his face when he pulls you down, grabbing fistfuls of your ass.

That man knows how to play you like a fiddle. Within mere minutes, he's got you writhing and moaning, tongue lapping at you like he's starved. Your clit drags along the gorgeous curve of his nose, hitting it just right. He wasn't wrong. No one can make you come the way he can.

He groans against you, and the vibrations send you over the edge. You're gripping his hair, rocking your hips back and forth with reckless abandon. He loves when you get needy like this.

"Fuck, I love when you use me," he rasps when you lift your hips slightly. "Good fucking girl."

You go to roll off of him, but he pulls you back.

"You didn't think I was going to make you cancel your date for just one orgasm, did you, hermosa?"

[palioom]

day five - sweat

pairing: javier peña x f!reader word count: 614 warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; sweat, cowgirl, spanking (briefly), unprotected p in v, creampie

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

She hated the Colombian heat. Worse than the weather back home in Texas, sweltering and suffocating. Drenching everyone in sweat.

Maybe that was a part she enjoyed though, the sweat. Thinking about Javier, how sweaty and nice he looked coming home from work, especially after he had been hunting someone. The front of his shirt darkened by it, beads forming on his tan skin, his dark hair sticking to his forehead.

He looked more than hot like this, and he smelled amazing, too.

Tracing her tongue over his exposed neck, straddling his waist where he laid on the bed, tasting the saltiness of him, humming at it.

“You taste so fucking good, Javi baby.” She moaned, working the buttons of his pink shirt open, drenched in his sweat. “Can chase the bad guys more often.”

He chuckled, his thick fingers moving to unbuckle her belt, then popping open the button of her jeans.

“I’m happy you’re getting something out of this, bebesita.” His fingers dipped below the hem of her shirt, feeling her hot skin, the movement of her stomach as she breathed, excited to have him. “My back fucking hurts.”

Her eager tongue dipped lower, over his bare chest, teasing his nipples briefly with a small giggle. She couldn’t get enough of him like this.

“That’s why you’re on your back today, baby.” 

Dripping wet just from this, her clit throbbing in excitement as she undressed him, tugging his pants down his legs, his underwear following quickly.

Javier helped her out of her pants, throwing them to the side as his calloused hands roamed over her beautiful thighs, her pussy hovering over where he needed her most. Already aching for her, groaning when her tongue went back to lapping up his sweat, her body lowering down, rubbing over the length of his cock as if to tease him.

She looked fucking beautiful like this, just as sweaty as he was, skin flushed red.

“C’mon, bebesita, know you wanna ride it.” His voice was gravelly, trying to sound composed while he watched the head of his cock appear and disappear between her wet folds as she rocked back and forth. “Stop teasing me.”

She smirked, raising her hips and reaching between them to grab his thick cock, guiding him to her aching hole. Slowly she sank down onto him, letting him fill her until he was buried inside of her entirely.

Leaning forward to kiss him, tongue licking into his mouth as she began to move on top of him, her hands gliding over his sweaty chest. She couldn’t go long before her mouth attached to his neck again, though, the salty taste only helping in building that pressure inside her abdomen, getting her closer.

“Love you all sweaty.” She moaned, moving her hips faster, his hands helping her. “So fucking hot like this, Javi.”

He lost himself in her quickly, grunting and groaning as he bounced on him, feeling sweatier by the second.

“My dirty girl.” Javier rasped, raising his hands briefly just to give her ass a soft smack, feeling her tighten around him, her hips erratic as she came suddenly.

Teeth sinking into his skin with a high-pitched moan, feeling him spill inside of her shortly after, unable to resist her tight pussy any longer.

She collapsed against him, a breathy laugh leaving her, loving the feel of his skin against hers.

“I’d say we should shower but…” Looking up at him, she brushed some hair from his forehead, licking her fingers after while he watched. “...you’re too delicious like this.”

In a way, she really did like the Colombian heat. As long as it let her enjoy Javier like this.

[devilmademewriteit]

thinking about jealous reader and jealous javi

Jealous Girl

gif via @javier-pena

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

warnings: roughy sex/smut (fem penetration) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; dirty talk; jealous!reader; jealous!javi; sort of dom!javi; allusions to reader having long-ish hair; pet names (baby, babygirl, hermosa, cariño); slut-shaming (reader uses the word ‘whore’); dubcon (no explicit consent, Javi is… forceful).

no use of y/n in this fic

thx 4 the drabble / short fic request!! once again this is FERAL !!! feel free to keep sending me lil drabble requests. they’re so fun to write while I work on my longer fics.

reminder that I am not using the taglist for these, but you can turn on notifs & join the list in my pinned post for my longer works !

-em <3

—

“You broke it off with me, baby, remember?”

What does it matter? What does it matter when you lock eyes with him getting head in his car, parked in some barely-hidden side-street, one block away from your dad’s salsamentaria?

What does it matter when, ten minutes later, he finds you, alone in the back room of the store, forcing back tears of frustration as your shaking hands busy themselves with fresh inventory?

You spin around, prepared to bark curses at him for trespassing into sacred, employee-only territory. He’s leaning against the door, beige suit-jacket a little roughed-up, hair slightly out of place.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying your freedom,” you reply coolly, mirroring his pose against the far wall.

He smiles. You’d known him long enough to recognize that condescending expression — the wolfish twitch of his mustache.

Toying with you for sport.

“And you’re not?” Javi asks, the casual raise of his eyebrows deceptive compared to the darkness overtaking his gaze. “Everybody’s seen you, y’know, leaving bars half-naked with guys twice your age.”

Always an opportunist, the agent pushes on, taking advantage of your stunned silence. “N’ you used to be so shy, babygirl.” A chuckle. “The fuck did I do to you, huh?”

You stammer, wanting to tear into him for his crudeness (though he was right — mixing the breakup with tequila hadn’t failed to strip you of your inhibitions), but the man denies you the chance, gliding forward in a slow, wide step.

Softly. “You wear my gifts for them? Let ‘em fuck you in all those lil’ lace sets I got for you?”

He’s close now, and you’re beginning to see red. This was part of the reason behind the break-up in the first place — neither of you knew how to manage overwhelming care without dousing it in cruelty.

Those long-awaited fighting words finally manage to breach the threshold of your lips. “Yeah, actually, I do,” you drawl, arousal levelled by a red-hot rage coiling tighter and tighter within you, “Ruined a couple pairs.”

“Bullshit.” His consonants slice through his vowels, accusatory and harsh. “Bet that pussy doesn’t even get wet after bein’ trained by me, does it?”

Try not to choke on your snarl, girl. “‘Least I don’t have to get head a block down from my ex’s shop — z’that the only way you can still get hard, Peña?” You muster up a daring smirk, shouldering his challenge head-on. “Hoping you’ll see me walk by so you can finish inside your whore?”

Bull’s eye.

“Don’t act like you give a single fuck where I’m gettin’ my dick wet, cariño.” Every inch of him bristles something fierce, but with skill and practice, he keeps his anger in check — maintains the upper hand — looming over you to consecrate the threat.

“Just pissed that I’m fuckin’ another bitch’s throat when we both know that’s what yours’s made for, right?”

The coil snaps.

Before you can stop it, your hand is in the air, gunning straight for the tan skin over his cheekbone.

In a blink, he’s strangling your wrist, holding back your palm from making punishing contact. The following pause is thick and heavy, quickly overflowing with Javi’s rage-soaked hunger. Dark and dangerous, the man hones in on your glare—

And speaks, voice low.

“Y’know, I let her swallow my load—”

“Let go of me.”

“—but you can take the next one.”

And then he flips you over, brushing off your indignant whine, flattening your back against his chest. Javi is strong (he always has been) and there’s no point in resisting (there never was). He’s unzipped himself, hiked your skirt up, wrenched your panties to the side and forced himself inside you in a matter of seconds.

Dear God, forgive me for getting my fix.

A big hand wraps around your throat while unforgiving arms form a prison around your body. He tilts your head back to face him, savouring your tightness, your suffering, and the strangled moan of pleasure dripping from your lips with his hips’ every rough throw.

“Always gonna belong to me, huh?”

His whisper settles over your skin, heightening that already-unbearable bliss. Your muddled mind and slackened mouth scramble to form words beyond full full full, yes yes yes.

“F-fuck you, Peña—” you spit through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut in concentration. You fingertips grow sore, pressed to bruise along his forearms. “You’re worse than me—you-you know it.”

Javi responds with a tightened grasp and diligent, skilled digits falling to manhandle your clothed breasts. “Yeah, fuck you, too—” and it’s strained, etched with long-awaited relief, “—fuckin’ spoiled—jealous brat.”

An all-encompassing jolt to your system — he’s found that aching bundle. He carves words into your sensitive clit: you were never going to be anything but mine, mine, mine. The arch in your spine deepens; the back of your head falls helplessly against his collarbone. And despite yourself — despite his venom — you grin, catching the broken hallelujah underpinning every vowel, every touch of his desperate, repressed desire.

It’s a symphony you both sing, a thought hanging so heavy in the room it almost becomes a tangible part of your filthy entanglement.

“If I can’t have you, baby, no one else in this world can.”

—

[thetriumphantpanda]

i only wanna worship you | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Seven

Chapter Summary | When a promising lead for your story turns to dust, you find comfort in the only person you know can make you feel better these days.

Chapter Warnings | mentions and discussions of drugs, drug consumption and the drug trade, swearing, flirting, explicit smut, oral sex (f), protected piv sex but nothing else.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

Authors Note | GUYS I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Thank you so much for being so patient - my new job and the festive period kicked my ass, but we're back, and it's the one you've all been waiting for! I'm having so much fun weaving in the story along with these guys' relationship, and I hope it was worth the wait for you. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

You’ve been sat in the parking lot for what feels like ages. Turning up at the office that morning, you’d stared blankly at the article you’d written, listening to your managers voice in your head telling you that you could go and get your story, swirling the dregs of your coffee in your mug. It was almost like a switch had flicked in your brain and before your head could catch up with you, you were stuffing your supplies into your bag and swiping your car keys off the desk.

Now, your car is surrounded by others in the parking lot of Laredo’s biggest factory - one of the towns biggest employers of people who hadn’t gotten sick of it and left for college and never come back - waiting for Tyler Johnson to appear out of the front doors for his lunch break.

You watch the clock on your dashboard, counting exactly seventeen further minutes until his tall, lanky frame comes through the door. He’s fishing in his jeans pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He leans up against a brick wall just down from the front door, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. It’s now or never.

You get out of your car, deciding against taking your notepad and pen, you don’t want to spook him before you’ve had a chance to talk. You can feel the familiar nervous bubble in your stomach, something that hasn’t gone away when you blindly go up to someone to interrogate them.

“Tyler?”

He turns his head towards your voice as you come to a stop a few steps away from him.

“Depends who’s asking,” He looks you up and down, “But for you honey, sure thing,” He puts the cigarette into his mouth, reaches his hand out for you to shake which you do, “What can I help with?”

You take a deep breath, the speech you’d rehearsed in the car suddenly blanked from your mind as you try and figure out how to explain to him why you’re here.

“This is so strange, but can you remember hosting a party a few months ago?” You ask, “It was in town?”

You watch him think for a second, taking another drag on his cigarette, “Yeah I think so, was pretty wild if I remember, were you there?”

You reply with a nod, “Yeah, with my friend Liv,” You sigh, “Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but you know that place was raided a few days ago, right?”

“Whole place knows it was raided,” He shrugs, “Been the talk of the town.”

“Right,” You’re thinking, how can you catch him in the act? “So, why were you hosting a party in a house that was empty, that was then raided for drugs?”

“Family own it,” He shrugs again, “Guy who rented it died and it needed doing up before we could get someone else in, so seemed like the best place to do it.”

“And the drugs?” You push.

“Listen, lady,” His tone sharpens but he doesn’t move towards you, you don’t feel threatened, “I haven’t got a clue as to why there were drugs there, okay? I haven’t been there since the party.”

“So you have no idea how they got there?”

“Not the faintest.”

“So it wasn’t you?”

“What the hell is this, twenty fucking questions?” He sighs again, flicks his finished cigarette to the ground, stamping on it with his boot, “I don’t know anything about the drugs, I’ve never taken drugs, I can’t even if I wanted to, we get tested here for them.”

“When was the last time you got tested?” You ask, eyebrows raised.

Tyler snorts at you, “You and everyone else in this fucking town are so predictable,” He shakes his head, “Just because I’m not a golden boy like my brother means I take drugs?” You’re about to open your mouth to reply when he started talking again, “I got tested about three weeks ago, and then probably six weeks before that too, clean as a whistle, always have been.”

“Do you have the test results?”

“You think I’m gonna show my drug test results to a random girl?”

You nod your head because it his trepidation makes sense, “I’m a journalist,” You finally let on, “I wrote a story about the drug bust but figured there was probably more to it than first meets the eye so I’m just digging around a little,” You shrug, “If you show me, it puts you in the clear though, means people’ll stop talking about you.”

Tyler rolls his eyes but starts walking towards a car. You follow behind him, waiting as he unlocks it and looks through the glove compartment, pulling out a couple of pieces of paper. He hands them to you, which you look through and just like he said, there are the result of his last three random drug tests, everything negative. Fuck. You try not to let your disappointment show as you hand them back.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.”

“S’alright,” Tyler responds, putting everything back in order to lock his car back up, “I know how it is, but just…” He trails off, “Be careful, okay? I don’t know what’s happening either but this could be dangerous.”

“I’m a big girl,” You counter, “I’ll be fine,” You take a few steps back, “Sorry for bothering you though, I hope the rest of your day is alright.”

There is a part of you that would love nothing more than to roll over, push your face into your pillow and scream. When did having meltdowns like that become frowned upon? You’re sure when you were little they were cathartic, but what use was that at three years old? You needed to be able to scream at this age.

Instead, you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, frustrated that the one lead you had turned out to be a dead fucking end. Were you wrong about this whole thing the entire time? Were you barking up the wrong tree? Did you just need to cut your losses and publish the story as is, without needing to dig around further? You had no fucking clue.

Before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach over, pluck the phone off your nightstand and press the redial button. You don’t even need to tap in his number anymore, he’s the only number you really call these days. The phone rings three times before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Javi?” You ask, although you don’t need to, you’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“You alright, cariño?” There is just a sigh that you let out in response, then his voice is back in your ear, “I’ve had enough bad days in my time to know that sigh, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Is your response, you know you can’t tell him what’s really up because you know the deeper you dig into this, the more dangerous it’s going to get, “Just work stress.”

He’s silent for a moment, “What can I do? I can listen.”

“Can you come over?”

Even over the phone, you can hear him thinking it’s a bad idea. You can hear him thinking about how weird it will look if your parents find him in the house with you on your own, how you’d explain it, even if they didn’t necessarily catch you doing anything.

“They’re out at the moment,” You offer, “Dinner with some people on the force, and I won’t make you stay long, I promise.”

You can hear him do that thing he always does when he’s thinking - clicking his tongue against his teeth. He’s done it for as long as you can remember - a real tell that he’s battling with something in his head.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” You hasten to add, “We can just talk like this if you’d rather.”

“Need someone to make you feel better, huh?” His tone is lower now and it makes you squirm, all you can reply with is a small mmhmm sound, “I’ll be there soon.”

Then all you can hear is the dial tone. You lie there for a moment, listening to the sound through the phone, then glance around your room and panic. You slam the handset back onto the receiver and hop out of bed, dragging the sheets up to make the bed properly, aimlessly throwing abandoned clothes into the laundry basket, shoving half-read books back onto their shelves and generally tidying up enough so as to not look like a total slob.

Once you’re sure there’s nothing on display that you wouldn’t want Javi to see, you pace around the living room, drawing the curtains a little whenever you can see headlights bleeding through, until one set of those headlights are Javi’s truck. He pulls into the drive and sits there, before he’s reversing back out and driving off. Your heart sinks a little, until you can see his frame walking back up the street. You let the curtains fall back into place and stand by the front door, smoothing your hair and your clothes when he knocks twice. You don’t wait, just tear the door open.

“Waiting for me, huh?” He asks, stepping across the threshold, one hand slipping around your waist, the other letting the door close behind him.

“N-no, I was just by the door when you knocked.” You breath, so close to his mouth.

“That so?” He asks, eyebrow raised, “Someone else looking out the curtains then?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer. Instead, he dips his face to yours, lips pressed softly to yours. You can feel the aches and the stress leaving your body as he does, you bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, as Javi’s palm on your lower back presses you into his body fully.

“Y-you wanna m-maybe go upstairs?” You ask, lips still a hairs breadth from his, you don’t want to look at him whilst you ask.

“Is that what you want?” He asks, free hand cupping your cheek to make you look at him.

“I think so, yes.” You breathe.

“Well then, lead the way cariño.”

I don’t deserve this, is all Javi can think as your hand is clutched in his, leading him into your bedroom. He doesn’t deserve the flutter in his stomach when he looks at you, or the way your eyes look at him like he’s the best thing the world has ever offered you, and he certainly doesn’t deserve the opportunity to do what he thinks you’re going to let him do in the next few hours. All of the bad he’s done, veiled as something good, all of the shit he’s fucked up before, the people’s he’s hurt, the people he’s killed, whether at his own hand or as a knock on from his actions, he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you.

You’re stood at the door to your room, back pressed up against it, hands clasped behind your back as he stands in the middle of your room. He knows you’re nervous, you always are around him, and he wishes he could say something, express that he feels exactly the same around you, that you make him nervous too, but he thinks it would sound wrong if he tried to explain it, so he doesn’t, just holds out his hand and beckons you over to him.

The warmth of your hand slipping into his, the way he knows those hands feel when you touch him, the way your lips are soft when you kiss him, all of it makes him a weak man, a man who knows you need someone with less baggage, because he can’t say no to you, he doesn’t want to say no to you.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, manoeuvring the two of you so you’re sitting on the edge of your bed.

He watches as you shake your head, “No, it’s honestly nothing, it’ll be fine.”

“What do you want then?”

You lift your head, flash those beautiful eyes at him and instead of fighting the strength to stay upright, he takes a single step towards you and drops to his knees, settled on the floor with your thighs spread to accommodate him. He puts his hands on your knees, looking up at you, and spreads them a little wider.

“This what you want?” He asks, trailing his hands up to your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up with his hands as he goes, “Something to take your mind off things for a while?”

“Y-yes,” You gasp when his hands hit the material of your underwear wrapped around your hips, “Yes please.”

Javi hooks his fingers into the band of your panties, watching as you lift yourself off the bed a little so he can pull them down. He’s slow with it, making sure that the hem of your dress keeps you covered as he can. It strikes him now how much he wants this, how much he’s craved the opportunity to get you like this so he can really hear you, really see you for once, without having to worry about getting caught.

“You wanna show me that pretty pussy, hermosa?” He speaks lowly into the skin of your thigh he’s nuzzling at.

He watches from between your thighs as your cheek drops to your shoulder, trying to hide how bashful you’ve become, but it does nothing to help the growing bulge in his jeans. Javi lets his fingers push the hem of your dress up your thighs, pooling at your waist, your legs widening.

Javi thinks he might audibly gasp at the way you’re already glistening for him. He leans forward, puckers his lips and presses a single kiss to your clit. It’s gentle, he revels in the small gasp you suck in, then he’s on your properly, tip of his tongue flicking gently against that little bud. He can feel your hand gripping at his hair already, hips moving in time with his mouth, and he wonders if anyone has ever blessed you like this. He needs to know.

He pulls away, letting his thumb gently replace his mouth, looking up at you, “Anyone ever done this for you?”

You shake your head, “No, but even if they had,” You’re biting at your bottom lip, “I don’t think it would have felt like this.”

He can’t help but smirk as he brings his mouth back to you, suckling your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, listening to you the way you whine for him, the way you start moving your hips in time with the movements of his mouth again. You taste divine, he thinks, as his tongue drops a little lower, drinking up the slick you’re creating for him, dragging it back up to run over your clit again.

“T-that’s so g-good.” He hears you moan.

“Yeah?” He replies, barely pulling off you.

He hears a noise in reply, lets one of his fingers trace up the skin of your thigh until he’s slowly pushing it inside of you, amazed at how easily you let him in just like he had been in the alley. He slips another in, curls them up gently, moves them until you tip your head back and really cry out for him this time. Javi can tell you’re close - he’s made enough women in his life feel good this way to know the signs - the way you’re tightening around his fingers inside you, the way your hips are moving but your thighs are starting to tighten around his shoulders and the way your moans are louder but more breathy, he’s addicted already, he knows it’s bad, but right now he can’t find it in himself to really care.

“J-javi,” You breathe, fingers gripping at his hair, “I’m gonna-”

“Go on, cariño,” He urges, “You can come for me.”

And you do, God alive you do, and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever been party to. Your cunt goes tight as a fist around his fingers, slick drooling down into his palm, he can feel the way you flutter around them as you say his name over and over again in some sort of fucked up prayer, and he thinks about how it would feel around his cock. Your entire body convulses as he works you gently through the aftershocks with his mouth, fingers slipping from inside you to rest, wet and sticky, on your thigh.

All of a sudden, he can feel you gripping his shoulders, pulling at the material to try and drag him up to you.

“Slow down, baby,” He says, but he moves anyway, pushing you back onto the bed, settling himself between your thighs, “We’ve got all night.”

“Javi, please,” You beg, and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything nicer in his life, “I want you,” Your fingers are fumbling with his jeans, trying to move his belt, “Inside me.”

Javi moves, taking your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head, letting his hips grind into your own, front of his jeans grinding into the soft wet of your sensitive cunt.

“Do you have anything?” He breathes right into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe.

“Top drawer.” You say quietly, whining when he pushes himself up onto his knees to reach into the draw.

Javi fumbles around a little until the familiar crinkle of foil hits the tips of his fingers. He pulls it out, places it into his mouth as he works to undo his jeans, pushing them down only far enough to free his aching cock. In an ideal world he’d strip the two of you off, but there’s something about this image of you, laid out on the bed in your sinful little sundress, tits heaving as you breathe, that means he just can’t wait.

He almost cries when you reach up, smooth palm stroking at his cock, so slowly he thinks he might die. Tin foil packet between his teeth, he tears it open, rolls it into his cock like it’s muscle memory. He leans back down, feeling the head of his cock nudging at your aching pussy, gathering your wrists back into his hands to pin you down again.

Javi is looking right into your beautiful eyes now, looking at the very soul of you as he stills. He’s damning the both of you to hell with this. He thinks if he’d been stronger, he could have stopped this - sure your mouth around his cock in the bar had been like silk, and the way you’d let him touch you against the brick wall had him seeing stars, but he knows, once he’s sunk himself deep inside you, he won’t be able to come back from this.

“You sure?” He asks, lips pressing softly to your own.

“Please.”

And it’s all he needed to hear to start slowly sinking into you. He watches closely as your eyes flutter closed, head tipped back, throat exposed to his mouth. He listens as he inches in slowly to your panting breaths and your little moans, until he’s buried fully inside you. His hands are gripping at your wrists tightly as he stays still, your hips wiggling underneath him.

“Hermosa,” He pleads, warns with his tone, “Don’t m-move, please.”

Like the devil himself, you don’t listen, and when he pulls his face from the crook of your neck, you’re smirking, you know exactly what you’re doing.

“Javier,” You use his full name and he swears he feels himself throb inside you, “Fuck me.”

He should have known the whole time that this wasn’t going to be a shining star performance, it’s been too long since he’s felt like this, felt the warmth of someone like this, but he knows this is different, he knows that look in your eye, not quite love, definitely not quite love, but it’s something different to the girls of Colombia. He can’t offer you a lifeline, he can’t offer you money to get yourself out of a country that’s trying to kill you, they needed him for something, and he needed them for something in return. But here, he just needs you, no whistles, no bells, just you.

Pushing himself up a little, letting go of his grip on your wrists, he puts his palms on the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs back, folding you underneath him as he starts moving a little faster, fucking you a little harder, you let out a proper moan into the air of the room and he finds himself smirking.

“That what you needed, baby?” He coos as he fucks you, feeling himself reach the very end of you with each thrust, “Just needed me to fuck whatever was in that pretty head of yours away?”

He can feel you tightening around his length, can feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, and that tell-tale tightening he feels when it’s almost time. He wishes he could hold on, wishes he could string this out, make it better for you, but god he needs to feel you again, he needs to feel the way you come around his cock.

“Touch yourself,” His tonne is demanding, but he watches down at you as you smirk, bringing your hand to your pussy, finger circling your clit as his hips start to falter, “Come on baby, one more just for me.”

It happens all of a sudden, the way your body snaps under him, and that feeling he’s been chasing, the feeling of you clenching around him, arching your back into him. He can feel the effect it has on him, just seconds later he’s following you over the edge, stilling inside of you as he finishes, banishing the tiny thought in the back of his head that says he wishes he was filling you up without a barrier between the two of you.

Once he’s caught his breath a little, he pulls out of you, groaning into your skin, listening to you whine at the loss of him. He takes off the condom, ties a knot in the top, wrapping it along with the packet in a tissue to put in the bin. He puts his clothes right, before crawling back onto the bed with you, pulling you into his chest, sighing at the feeling of your arm draped over his stomach, your leg entwined with his own. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did that help?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You reply softly into the material of his shirt, “Thank you.”

“You feel okay?” He’s slightly worried he was too rough, maybe that you didn’t enjoy it, “Was it okay?”

You move your head, looking up at him with sleepy eyes, “Javi, please,” You whisper, “Stop worrying, it was perfect.”

He lies there for a while, wishing he could strip the two of you down, press your warm bodies together and fall asleep like this is all normal and you aren’t younger than him, or the daughter of one of his closest friends.

“I should go,” He muses, “Not that I want to,” He adds quickly, worried you’ll think he wants to make a quick escape, “Just need to leave before any eyes are around to ask questions.”

You move slightly, letting the warmth of your body drag away from his own, “One day we’ll be able to do this properly, I hope.” You say, pushing yourself up on your palm as he rises from the bed.

“I promise the next time I have you like that,” He’s looking at you now, chin held in his hand, “I’m going to strip you down, take my time and fall asleep next to you, I promise.”

He kisses you then, slipping his tongue into your mouth and it takes every inch of his strength to pull away.

“Go on,” You smile at him, “Before my dad comes home and shoots you.”

“He wouldn’t shoot me baby,” He smiles back at you, “He wants me back on the force too much.”

“Before he gives you a black eye then.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, giving you a small salute as he turns to leave, but there’s something niggling at that back of his mind as his hand reaches for the handle of your door, something he needs to ask before he leaves, “If something was bothering you,” He asks, turning back to you, “Or you were getting into something at work, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

He’s looking right at you as you answer, searching for anything that says you’re not telling him the truth, and as you answer, he doesn’t find a reason to doubt you, “Of course I would.”

When he’s gone, twenty minutes later your parents are falling through the door, laughing at each other, too many glasses of God knows what over dinner have made them jolly and you find yourself smirking, biting at your bottom lip in the dark, that the two of them have no idea that Javier Peña left just twenty minutes ago after fucking you better than anyone else ever had.

It’s something that keeps you smiling, even as you fall asleep, eyes closing, any thought of work and dead-end leads forgotten and replaced by dreams of what else that man might be able to show you.

[ourautumn86]

all in (javier peña x fem! reader)♡

please minors don’t interact!! +18 content<3

my head is spinning, ‘cause get this.

i’m obsessed with the idea of javier fucking you so senseless that you’d be unable to say his fucking name. like i swear to god, this man would have the most disgusting filthy dirty talking in bed and i’m eating it all up.

“fuck, baby. so goddamn good for me… so wet and perfect. taking it so good, honey.” he’d be grunting in your ear, his lips on your neck, teeth leaving marks on your skin and his fingertips branding new bruises on your hips due to his harsh grip. “gonna cum, baby. where do you want it?” you would be quickly to answer needing him to fill you up to the brim, to fuck his cum into you.

“inside, please, inside…” you’d babble out, your moans being cut by each of his harsh thrusts.

“yeah? you want me to cum inside, mama? breed you? fuck a baby in this tight cunt?” you’d be seeing stars, ‘cause just the mere idea of it had you clenching down harder on his dick. “yeah, you’d love that. would love to have you here tied up and with your legs open for me when i get home every goddamn night, to fuck this pretty pussy of yours and use you, wouldn’t you?” you’d nod, your stomach growing in knots. god you were so close…

“javi.” you’d whine, and his thumb would be on your clit, making your nails dig on his back and him groan.

“i know baby, i know. why don’t you come for me, hm? be a good girl and maybe i’ll give it to you, i’ll fuck it into you so good and deep you’d be dripping for a week.” your moans would only get louder, your thighs trembling and your back arching. you’d cry out when your orgasm hit you, making your whole world go blank, the pleasure so big you’d feel like dying. “atta girl. milking me fucking dry.” he groaned as his thrusts started to falter, fucking you through your orgasm and making your eyes roll to the back of your head when his cock brushed your cervix in a deep and harsh thrust as he came inside of you, his warm and ragged breath along with his panting hitting your neck.

he’d hold you tight, close, no drop of his cum leaving your cunt. and he’d keep it there the whole night, his cock softly snuggled up your cunt to fuck you full of him again first thing in the morning.

♡

pedro pascal masterlist! <3

xx

[millerscoffee]

soft spot for trouble | hbf!javi

lit a cigarette and gave it a kiss.

6.3k | javier peña x f!reader

masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings: dub-con: drunk sex, honey this is all S-M-U-T, husband's best friend, infidelity, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, squirting, piv (protected), brat tamer!javi, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, size kink, praise kink, this is just so horny, smoking (lots of it soz, and shotgunning cigarette smoke – OOPS). no use of y/n.

summary: javier peña is back from colombia and decides to spend some time with you and your husband, his best friend since college. after telling a story you know nothing about, an argument ensues between you and your husband, and you get drunk... both on whiskey, and on javi.

A/N: what can i say, i'm just the worst for narcos's very own javier peña and there's nothing you can do. enjoy!!!!! || [when you click keep reading you don't see the chalkboard i have stashed away stating "i will not make this a series" over and over 🤭]

"Bebita, I know your husband. He's not exactly notorious for making women cum. When was the last time he even went down on you?" Your cheeks absolutely flush at the tone of his voice, the truths he's spilling from his lips. Truths so intimate, you hadn't even told Gabbie about them. You swallow a knot in your throat. "Not saying it's me who should do that for you," finishing off his statements and drink Javi stands up, slipping on his leather jacket. "I'm saying I could." Stepping closer, he bends down to catch your ear. Goosebumps litter your skin as he whispers: "Could make you forget all about tonight." And you very much would like to forget all about tonight.

"Okay – okay! Would you have a threesome?" Your best friend is reading these conversation cards you got her some birthday ago, and you can hear her partner and your husband laugh amongst themselves.

A dinner party is going on at your house, and you and your husband have invited your best friend, Gabrielle, and her partner, Kris. Along with them there's your husband's best friend, Javier.

He was meant to bring a date, but for reasons that were more mumbled out of his mouth than spoken outright, they aren't here.

You're all sat around the dining room table with after dinner drinks and a game everyone agreed would be a fun way to end the night.

"Oh, gosh!" You laugh with Gabbie, both of you shaking your heads in anticipation of what would be said next.

"You gonna tell her or should I, pendejo?" Javi refers to your husband, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

The one you explicitly told him to smoke outside. You heard your husband, Julian, veto the request as you left, allowing the DEA to do what he wanted.

Julian undermining what you wanted... again.

"Tell me what?" You raise your brow, wafting smoke from your face dramatically as if to say, I told you not to do this. Javi doesn't seem to pay it much attention.

"Me and this guy...," in fact he points to your husband with the cigarette, flicking ash into the tray. You blink in annoyance.

"No! You didn't!" You gasp. Your mind races at the thought of them taking someone back to their dorm in college. You curb the ache that tempts your middle at thought of Javier and Julian sharing a woman between the two of them.

But that excitement is fleeting when a more sinister, grueling feeling creeps up your stomach.

"You're right. We didn't. Well, I didn't. I just played wingman. Julian here isn't as much of a saint as you thought." Javi says this to make you laugh, but it does the opposite.

Your eyes catch Julian's who now is looking at anywhere else but you. Knowing damn well before the two of you got married, this man prodded and practically bullied sexual information out of you.

Said it was only fair to know each other's pasts before making such a big commitment.

Within a sentence, a simple – stupid – game, the perception of your husband could shift before your very eyes. Your jaw ticks forward and you take a long, contemplative sip of wine.

"O-kay, let's just put these away," Kris muses, taking the cards in her hands.

"No, let's keep going," you antagonise. Your eyes become dull, tongue sharpening by the second. "I think Julian has a story to tell. It's good to know who you're married to."

You remember the way Julian said those very words to you while he was digging your own history of who you've slept with. Like a secret call directly to him... in front of everyone.

You can see Peña shifting in his seat out of your periphery.

"Well, it was in college," Julian speaks now after shooting the rest of his bourbon. His body language involving everyone in the story, but he finally has the courage to look at you. Somehow that hurts worse.

"There were these two girls at the bar we used to go to, and–"

That's when the tear spills over your cheek.

"Alright, I think she's heard enough." Javi's voice is low to Julian and your head snaps in the direction of him like a vulture who's making a meal of something dead.

"You don't get to decide that."

It's only when Gabbie whispers your name do you take heed. "I think we should leave you two to talk about this."

The guests in your home pack up their things until it's you and Julian. "I'm sorry, Jul–"

"Peña just go, man."

Javi nods sadly at your husband, his hand touching your shoulder as he slips out. He's the last one to go, and as the door closes it feels symbolic.

It's silent for a long time.

You go between wanting to cry, wanting to scream, wanting clarity.

Since your own husband didn't bother to give that to you.

"I never cared," you let out an uneven sigh, searching over your husband's features.

He looks defensive, annoyed and it's totally misplaced. You should be the annoyed one. You are the one who got betrayed.

"It never bothered me to tell you my partners. I agreed with you, even. That we should be open and honest to have a better relationship–"

"You really think you're in the position to be on a high horse when you fuck Javier with your eyes?"

It's deflective. A defense mechanism to take the heat off of himself, and unfortunately, it works. Your mouth is left agape.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"I mean," he begins, tilting his glass to where Javi sat, "whenever this guy is over, I don't exist."

"This guy, is your best friend. Someone you've known way longer than you've known me. Excuse me for being hospitable."

"There's hospitality, then there's throwing yourself at the first man who walks through the door. It's embarrassing."

His words make you feel small for the first time in your relationship.

It causes a crack, irreparable in nature, and you feel a shift.

Because you don't cry, it makes you angry. Puts you back on track as to why you were having this conversation in the first place.

"Embarrassing?" You stand, wine glass in hand, "Embarrassing?! You just confessed something you knew would make me irate in front of our very best friends. Something personal that I should have known in private. You lied to me and you admitted it in front of people we care about. Made me look like a goddamn fool! Don't tell me about being embarrassed, you don't know the first fucking thing. Fuck you, Julian!"

You could throw the wine glass, but you decide to slam it down instead. Grabbing your purse, keys, and jacket to escape without letting him finish his thought. Door slammed. You've heard enough.

Mature. But you were pissed off, and you knew staying in a house that you made a home together wouldn't solve anything.

Maybe getting some fresh air would help.

Maybe walking to the bar in town would be even more helpful.

Your thoughts were swirling, clouding your judgement on the walk in, sneakers on. Your pleated white skirt brushes above your knees that paired with the black top that made your breasts look concealed more than shown off.

As if the forest green bomber jacket didn't help in making you look modest.

What the fuck did Julian know?! You weren't throwing yourself at anybody.

Because you were not thinking about Javi with his shirt off moments before the truth was told, and he did not infiltrate your dreams occasionally with sexual undertones.

It couldn't happen, and it was not happening.

You had been to this bar a few times before. It's dimly lit, a variety of music pumps through the speakers. There's plumes of smoke, and there's something about it that feels safer than when you experienced it in your home. Like a part of you enjoyed it.

Studying the room, you discover Javier Peña on a barstool, staring into his glass of whiskey. You knew Peña to play dirty, but there's something about the way he's contemplating – or at least looks like he's contemplating – that gives off remorse.

"Didn't know you could do that," you kid, taking a seat beside him. Your eyes scan over his jeans, the buttons undone from his red shirt. The way his chest and neck and NO – no!

"Oh, hey," and his dreamy crooked smile, puppy eyes. Jesus Christ, you needed a drink and fast. "Didn't know I could do what?"

"Think." You try to cheer him up, but it doesn't seem to work. You both keep doing that to each other tonight.

Instead, Javi huffs out a fake laugh through his nose and downs the rest of the amber liquid. His eyebrows flash quickly, showing hints of regret, "You're tellin' me."

"Hey," your say lowly, eyes softening at the signs of his guilt. It feels different from your husband's accusatory behaviour.

It makes you feel like Javi actually cared that he hurt you, or at least hurt his friend. You can see him run his tongue atop of his teeth through his lips when he looks at you. It makes his jaw jut out, strong and chiseled, and you fail at averting your gaze.

"You didn't know that I didn't know. It's not your fault. For either party." You reach out to touch the top of Javi's hand in a friendly manner, and you catch a glimpse of your wedding ring.

A twinge of guilt hits your gut, and you pull away from the warmth as soon as you land.

"You really didn't know?" Javi peers over to you before finding eyes of the bartender, holding up the number 'two' with his fingers.

"Not only did I not know, he insisted on knowing every person that I've ever slept with, where they live, and how many times. Yes you heard that correctly," you nod a thank you to both the bartender and Javi before taking your drink.

Whiskey's not typically your first choice, but it's like he knew you needed something stronger. It's not a typical night.

The alcohol feels good on your tongue, as if it washed away what you just said.

You conveniently leave out what your husband threw at you about Peña before you left. Tonight was awkward enough already.

"Mierda, what a fucking idiot." Javi snickers in disbelief, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I think you taught him some interrogation skills you didn't warn me about." You don't mean for that to come off so flirty, but you see Javier's face change minisculely and it makes your thighs to squeeze together.

"Didn't know I had to look out for you, cariño," he says, charm dripping from every syllable. He offers you a cigarette and it's hilarious, really – him handing this to you after telling him time and time again not to do it in your house.

Even more hilarious that you take it from him. He seems a little surprised by that.

You press the stick between your teeth when Javi has his lighter ready. Pour your stare into his as he starts your cigarette. Allow the inhale to sting your lungs.

You're very composed about it all, really. Really.

Exhaling the air from the side of your mouth, away from his face, you shrug slightly. "I guess you know now." Your words not making complete sense as you dizzy from nicotine, alcohol, and deception.

"Two women...," you trail off, focusing on the neon lights of the bar that create reflections on the shiny, hardwood floor. "Can barely satisfy one." You weren't saying it to chide Julian, you mostly said to to yourself, but of course nothing goes unnoticed with Peña, and he chokes a laugh.

It feels nice to hear a light sound in the midst of something so heavy that you can't help but partake in it, too. The two of you chuckling and you shake your head, taking another drag of the cigarette.

"Well, here's to the ones who can," Javi lifts his glass, and you do the same, just barely picking up what he's hinting while you down the rest of drink. Head swimming now.

The two of you sit in conversation as the piles of people in your town fill seats for a good ten minutes. Most of them know the both of you, and that keeps you on track. You abandon the butt of your cigarette in an ashtray that has at least three of Javi's since he arrived.

Kept on track because the more you drink, the more you realise you want to act on your impulses. Want to go against the things you were keeping yourself from thinking. To make some of those dreams come true.

"You know what your fuckin' problem is?" Javi starts, and it makes your blood boil. Breaks you out of your reverie.

"Maybe start that sentence off differently."

"No," he's quick to reply. So quick you don't notice you fold your own argument. "You're too uptight, that's your problem." he shrugs casually and you shove his shoulder lightly.

"Making it worse, Peña."

Javi brings his hand up to tap his index and middle finger at to the side of your head lightly.

"You're operating too much from here," his arm sweeps down, those two same fingers brushing against your panties from underneath your skirt. You jump back in your seat, gasping in response.

"Need to operate from here."

And there it is. It would seem out of place if it were anyone else but Javier Fucking Peña. Known for debaucherous ways. Known for his vices.

"W-what... what are you doing?" You stare wide, not quite sure you even felt what you did. It happened so fast that when you look around, no one saw a thing.

It wasn't as much of a record-scratch stop to them as it was to you.

You notice that you don't tell him to stop. And so does he.

"Bebita, I know your husband. He's not exactly notorious for making women cum. When was the last time he even went down on you?" Your cheeks absolutely flush at the tone of his voice, the truths he's spilling from his lips. Truths so intimate, you hadn't even told Gabbie about them. You swallow a knot in your throat.

"Not saying it's me who should do that for you," finishing off his statements and drink Javi stands up, slipping on his leather jacket. "I'm saying I could." Stepping closer, he bends down to catch your ear. Goosebumps litter your skin as he whispers: "Could make you forget all about tonight."

And you very much would like to forget all about tonight.

It's only when you stand do you notice how drunk you are. Not completely wasted, but not sober enough to make decisions with your brain. Exactly how Javi wants you. The walk to Javi's apartment is remembered in jolly splices.

---

Your mouth greets the shoulder of Javi's jacket playfully while he unlocks his door. You detect his aftershave in mix with the cigarettes, alcohol, and leather.

A whine escapes you and slick gathers in your panties, even more from the bar if that were possible. Especially when your noises and eagerness pull a baritone laugh from him, "Tranquilo, tigre."

He says that, but as soon as you've crossed the threshold of his door he has you against the other side of it. Fingers playing in your hair. Ever the gentleman, sliding off your jacket to put it... on the ground. Great. You like that jacket!

But you're just as careful and kind to his things as you tug on his belt. Your fingers playing with the brown leather and metal and finally, finally your mouths touch.

A sweet moan, high in octave and breathy, eases out of your throat and it's met with the gravel of his groan in the pit of his own. He feels and tastes nothing like your husband which makes it much easier to forget him.

Truthfully, he hadn't been in your mind since fresh air hit your face on the walk to Javi's.

Smoke, alcohol, and the faint likeness of gum moves over your tongue while your hands multitask in untucking his shirt from his jeans.

"That fuckin' easy?" He quips, but his breath as shaky as yours. Large hands palming the smushed shape of your breasts from the modest top, and it produces a whimper in the middle of your panting.

"It's that fucking easy, Peña. Could've been doing this a long fuckin' time, now." Your hands eclipse his, pushing them further into your tits in effort to obscenely massage them.

This stirs a groan from his lips. In awe of how in control you are like this. How it's different from the woman allowing her requests to be denied in her own home.

Javi disobeyed you on purpose at your house earlier, so maybe you could get it through your thick fucking skull that this is what you really needed.

To watch your desires bubble to the surface, and moreover to let them have space here. He wants you to act on them.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he rolls over the bone. Moustache twitching in a smirk, "Javi, baby."

To say you're wet now is an understatement. Your clit tingles with anticipation, thighs shaking without even being touched.

"Javi," you say it back to him, but it comes out more like a moan. A catalyst for a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and brushing of his facial hair against the top of your lips while he towers above you. Palm flat against the door above your head.

Somewhere between that and undoing each button on his shirt, you end up in the kitchen – bent over the island. Pouting at not getting the chance to see him shirtless fully.

You shiver against the granite, claw at the edges of furniture for something to land on. To find purchase. A cheek is pinned against the cool texture and you choke a breath the second you feel air flow against your ass. Your skirt riding up just for Javi to view.

"Motherfucker," you hear Javi behind you. The tone amused, saturated in desire. That's when you get your first taste of relief.

The edge of his index finger runs between your legs, rubbing the obvious wet spot of your panties. Your folds, even through the fabric, wrap around the length of his finger from how deeply he's pressing against you.

It flicks a flame in the pit of your stomach and causes more hunger than relief. Your pores open from how hot it's making you.

"You get this wet for him?" Javi's simple question evokes a mewl you've never heard come from yourself. Your hips lift back and roll in need.

"No... no. J-just you, Javi. Just you."

"Just me," he repeats, head tipping to the side as he examines you.

How easy it is for you to handover claim of your cunt. It's instantaneous, him pulling your undies down. Wasting no more time in what the two of you came here to do.

The pad of his thumb collects your slick between your folds. From the top of your hole all the way to your clit at the bottom from how you're positioned, and you bite your lip hard. Cheeks flushed while your ass peeks out from your skirt.

"Is that because this is mine?"

You confidently say Julian has never talked to you like this. You don't think you've ever been addressed like this in your life.

Never been made to feel special in this way, or that your body was someone's because they wanted you. Not because they wanted to have some icky claim of you.

Even more, you don't feel guilty. Not yet, anyway. There's no time for it. No time to pretend from what you've wanted from the very moment this man, whose warmth now radiates behind you, entered the picture.

"It's yours," you say in a rush as your torso drapes and digs into the side Javi's kitchen island. Makes you think you'd say this even in a sober state. "It's all yours, Javi!"

"What's mine?" He's deliberate and torturous, and his voice alone could make you cum. Your ass pushes back languidly, giving him a good view to curse at under his breath, of your cunt and the velvet of your asshole.

"Me, Javi. I'm yours. Everything." Hot tears swell over your cheeks from how horny and desperate you feel. Like if you don't get him now, you could combust.

"Javi!" you gasp, rutting against the outline of his hard cock in his jeans when he grinds against you without warning.

"Get used to fuckin' saying that," he cautions, and it's cocky, but unlike all the other broken promises you've been given, he's true to his word.

Because he pulls away from you, and you're now his ragdoll – putting you wherever he wants. Hoisting you up on the kitchen island, and it feels cold against the heat pooling at your core.

Javi watches as you bring your bare feet onto the counter, leaning back on your hands, and spread your legs apart like he's being called for dinner. And, fuck, that's exactly what he wants.

Because as soon as you do that, as soon as he sees just how wet and pink you are at the core for him, he can't say no to you.

Not that he was ever planning on it.

"That's it, that's fucking it. Jesus fucking Christ."

You get a good view of Javi's chest all the way down to his stomach and jeans in their disheveled state from this point of view. The bulge of his cock difficult to hide in pants that tight, and you are grateful for it.

You shiver at a mixture of the view of him and the air against your soaked skin.

Your cheeks and lips are painted crimson when he pulls up a seat. He wasn't kidding. He was planning on eating you out, going down on you like you were his own personal meal – as if his eyes devouring you weren't enough.

Your manicured nailed comb his hair back once you get the chance to reach him. Feeling exposed, throbbing by the time you feel the smooth skin of his cheek proceed the inside of your thigh. He takes you in, marveling at the way your cunt pulses and clenches over nothing. Fluid floods right from the source. The way your clit peeks out from its hood, just enough that his teeth could brush against it.

It makes his mouth water, and yours too now that you think about it. Pressing slow, teasing kisses on your thighs you sigh in frustration and alleviation. You can't help but wriggle your hips up towards him. "Please," you whimper, and that makes Javi's eyes grow even darker if you could believe it.

"Please what?"

"Javi, please eat me out!"

He doesn't miss a beat. Using his nose and face to breach your folds apart, to take a mess even further, Javi digs in. His tongue flattens against your slick and your sounds are immediate. It's all too sensitive, too unfamiliar for you to fully register how to feel.

He was right when he called your husband out at the bar. Julian made sure you came, but it was rarely with his mouth. Most of the time you were left rubbing yourself off during sex.

So to have someone, to have Javi – your husband's best fucking friend, between your legs. Servicing you with the sluttiest smile on his face, you can't help but slump back on the counter.

To be under his stare is almost too much. Perfect and needy for you. You slip your eyes shut from the intensity.

"Eyes on me, princesa," Javi rolls off his tongue easily, the tip of it digging right underneath the hood of your clit. Making you gasp, eyes wide, popping back open to meet his gorgeous features.

"Did my pussy like that?" He hums in satisfaction, wrapping his mouth around the all-too sensitized nub before mercilessly sucking it.

This leaves you with your mouth hanging open, your eyes crossing as they roll into the back of your head. The same head that's now reclining in sheer ecstasy.

But Javi's quick to make his point as he goes off of you and replaces his sucking with a harsh slap to your cunt. It makes you spring up, makes you pay attention. You pout and writhe at his power over you.

"I said fucking eyes on me. Don't you dare think about anyone else."

"I-I," you try, you really try to say something, but you can't. It feels too good, and you're too drunk to understand you can't use your words right now.

So you comply, watch him as best as you can. Your mouth split open, eyebrows knit together. And he's kind in the way he goes right back – sucking on your clit like it's his fucking job.

Like he hasn't eaten in weeks, and you're sitting at his kitchen counter, on display.

Not using your brain to think, but using your pussy.

"JustyouJavi," you manage. It's slurred, but you manage it because while he's sucking on your nerves, he's rolling the edge of his tongue against it too. Methodical circles, a tempo to die for. Doesn't switch it up, or make awkward transitions. It's just right.

It's inevitable, screaming his name. Feeling your toes curl, the heels of your feet grind into Javi's shoulders. Damn near pornographic in the way you keen your mantra of: yeah, yeah, yeah. The ache explodes into an uncontrollable fit of passion as you gush all over Javi's mouth.

But as he pulls back, you see that it's not just his mouth that's coated. His cheeks, chin, nose. You're spilling down his neck. And he smiles at you like a blood-soaked lion polishing off its prey.

"I know what you can do, princesa," the sentence has far too many words for you to understand what's happening during your comedown, so that's why it happens as a surprise when you feel Javi's two fingers prod against your cunt.

Standing from his chair now, he pushes it back with his heel. Hand in a loose fist around your neck as he makes you watch what he's doing to you. "Don't fucking blink," he grits, and it makes you want him to tighten his grip. To be possessive while he fucks you.

Your head is slightly angled down while he starts. Eyes looking up, mouth wet but not as wet as Javi's and it makes you come apart to watch his skin glisten still from you. Index and middle fingers press inside your wet hole. His wet hole.

"Fuck!" You exclaim, slipping your top lip above the bottom, you open easily for him to plunge deeper, his fingers curling up with no trouble at all in finding that spongy spot of pleasure right at the tips of them. Your eyes gloss from how overwhelming it feels, the repetitions.

"You can squirt for me, baby." His echoes have you in a trance, but that request makes you nervous. "I've... I don't know how...," you manage the words and he massages your insides in a way that makes you discern you're being primed for something.

"You can do it," Javi leans down, and the encouragement makes your mind reel at how simple words can create such an affect on you.

"Pull my cock out and slip those pretty lips around it, hermosa. You'll forget about anything else."

A part of you isn't ready. To see his cock would mean that things were progressing, and if they were in a standstill you could soak up this moment for longer. But the way you can hear your cunt slosh in between thrusts has you curious if he actually could make you do this.

You look down first. See the bulge more prominent and close in his boxers from his unbuttoned jeans. Eager to break out, you pull the fabric down enough to send the leaking head of his cock to slap against his abdomen before it springs out in front of you to tease.

"Holy fuck," the moment before the freefall, your body becomes alert of the sheer size of him. It was even better than the dreams of you getting railed by him from behind.

You can't help but take a moment to appreciate this. To brush your face sluttily against the warmth of his cock. Your lips teasing him until the precum lands on your tongue and your jaw instantly burns from how sore it is to be open like that.

Saliva falls on your shirt, not yet found the time to take it off.

He tasted heavenly, your hand cups his balls while his moves from your throat to the back of your head.

And it's delicious to watch his face. The way his jaw relaxed open before grinding it back shut, exhaling sharply through his nose. Javi tests your gag reflexes then, gripping the back of your head and sending the shaft of his cock down your throat.

"Mierda," he falters in keeping both rhythms from how hot your wet mouth is. "Knew you could handle my cock, baby, but fuck."

Between the sounds of you gargling him and the squelching of your pussy he is relentless in using, your body is distracted and slack enough for him to pull out of you.

"Ay dios mio, bebita. That's fucking it, there you go." The way he's nodding, proud and spasming in your mouth has you cumming again. This this time clear liquid sprays from you when he tugs his skilled fingers from you and you vibrate such moans from Javi's cock he has to pull out to stop himself from cumming, too.

A wail replaces your moans as the sound of your voice is more prominent in the space. "Javi!" You can't help that you're crying obscenely now, tears flowing from the intensity and the treatment he'd been giving your throat. Mascara running down your cheeks.

---

"Good fucking girl, bonita." You don't realise it straight away from you cum-drunken stooper, but he's picked you up now. Showing you how strong his lean frame is by carrying you to his bed. Tossing you onto the mattress like it's nothing.

"All of this off. Now." Yes, sir. You bob your head yes frantically, knowing how fucked you must look. Mascara running, your panties... somewhere. Your skirt soaked from a new trick Javi just taught you.

You catch a glimpse of the man who did this to you, equally a mess. His hair in all directions, neck red as beads of sweat tempt his broad shoulders, and fuck, he was naked now. You don't mean to, but you drool – this time without a cock in your mouth – too fucked to notice, or care.

"Take a fuckin' picture, baby." Javi softens his knees to curve down at your ear, "Off. Last warning."

You begin to wonder what he would do if you didn't do as he said.

"And if I don't?" You challenge, a lascivious grin crosses your face and you raise a brow.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Because that makes Javi's grin fade. Ripples a new sense of foreboding into the air when he takes your skirt off just as easily and swiftly as he did your undies, but the skirt isn't unzipped so it bursts from the force and you yelp at the sensation.

"Javi, you broke my skirt!" You whine. Naked from the waist down he ogles you before tutting his teeth sarcastically.

"It really bothers me, hermosa," Your shirt is slung overhead and abandoned somewhere on the floor.

"Good girls don't talk back."

You can tell he's drinking you in from the moment he stands back, but he's pulling away more and more until you don't feel his warmth anymore and you realise the error you've made.

"W-wait... come-come back!" Your words dejected, giving him doe eyes as he mimics them way better than you could.

"Bad girls get punished. Rub your clit, get yourself off." It drives a pathetic sound from your mouth before you plead to him.

"Please, no. Please – Javi, Javi please. I'll be good. Please, Javi!" Sitting up, you beg him, undo the sheer bra so your tits pop out from it. Both of you bare in his bedroom.

You can see that makes his cock undoubtedly ache.

"Oh, querida. You're gonna have to do better than that." Arms crossed, he watches as you part your sticky legs, exposing your folds to him again and he hums in approval.

"Let me see how you do it."

You're so deep in it with him, it feels like you've been doing this regularly. How he knows your body, helps you discover little things you didn't even know you were into.

It relieves you to let out wanton moans, your fingers spanning your slick, opening yourself up on cue. Fingers roll, pinch, glide your clit in a hypnotic motion.

It sends you close to the edge, but you can't quite find it with the prospect of Javi inside you.

You keep staring at his cock.

The way precum collects at the head, the girth of him. You could only imagine how deep he would be. Unsure if you could take him all.

"I need you, Javi. Javi, please. Please give me your cock. I'm sorry, I wanna be your good girl!" Torture rocks your throat, and right before you force a dull orgasm from yourself Javi takes your wrist, pushing it away from your core.

"We have to use a condom, baby." It's his way of telling you yes, and you sit up zealously, understanding and willing to do whatever it takes.

Because in reality, he's right, and that almost causes you to stop. Like those dreams you have where you wake up and instantly flock to your husband. Overcompensating.

But this wasn't one of those dreams, and you wanted this so badly it stung.

Javi goes to his nightstand, slicking lube on his cock before sheathing it in the rubber protectant. You certainly don't feel upset that you have to use it, but it leaves you curious what his skin feels like slipped inside of you.

Already coveting his presence before it even began.

But that's the thing, there's no slipping here. When he comes around to make sure you're both lubricated enough for the barrier, you see just how fat his cock is as it bulges from the condom.

Your legs unfurl, chin lining forward as you watch him. Javi keeps you on your back for now, draping your legs over his shoulders. No, he doesn't slide inside of you, he stretches you to such completion your body pulses repeatedly, coming completely undone.

It almost feels too much at first, this position – as deep as it was, but the way you're groaning has you both believing you can take it. Just in time for your sex to push him out of you.

Your muscles all too tight, beginning to worry he's too big.

But that doesn't stop you.

"Mierda, you need it that fucking bad, bebita?" His words make you weak. Because immediately you go between your legs, inviting him back into the innermost part of you without him needing to do it himself.

Javi's lips crash against yours, taking time in burying himself all the way to the hilt. But he doesn't move a muscle.

He stays there, admiring above you. The way your mouth parts, nipples becoming alive at the sensation. "Eres hermosa," more of a mumble, his lips brush and decorate the inside of your calves. The tip of his nose slightly bending against the skin.

It starts to become unbearable, your hips shifting up, but you find it is working. That your muscles relax and are able to take. "I can take it," you incline, not noticing you're heaving shallow breaths until the words leave you in pieces.

"Can you?" Javi asks condescending, thumbprint teasing the split of your clit, rasping at the way you convulse your whole body from contact.

He can't take it anymore, your hold is too strong over him. Javi, compelled to fuck you, drives his cock in, proprietorial in its approach.

You're almost oversensitive, unsure of the statement you just announced because you find yourself swallowing hard, your throat dry. Fingernails claw at his forearms as his large paws grip your waist for leverage. Your pelvis bucking up because like his fingers before, his length is hitting your g-spot and it's too much – you have to screw your eyes.

But Javi doesn't reprimand you for it this time. Instead he hovers over you, sending your ass off of the bed and him deeper than ever before. Right against your cervix now. Causing your mandible to unhinge, pitiful sounds expel your lungs. It's just too good.

"You can take it, baby," Lustful words right there at your ear, you beg in way that makes you want more.

You stroke his hair, tugging the strands – scratching his scalp. His body mercilessly colliding with yours. All sweat and skin, balls eager to tap against the curve of your ass, and all of those sounds fill the room. The sounds of your sex.

"Javi, please. Tell me." It's magic, he doesn't hold it against you that you're not being completely direct. He's understanding, and wants this for you again. The gears connecting that you need to be talked and fucked through it.

"Tell you what, cariño? How I want you to cum for me?" His glistening covered brow presses against yours, hairs stick to both of your foreheads. "How I make this pussy feel so perfect you have to explain why you're limping tomorrow?"

Fuck, you're a mewling, writhing mess.

"Let go for me, ángel," his dark, pleading eyes invite you to jump over the edge, "That's it. That's fucking it, baby. Cum for me."

Your skin trembles like a live wire. He's pulling another orgasm out of you and you don't even know where it's coming from or how he could get you to do it again. But you are. It shows up in your fingers curling, your thighs fluttering until streams of your sex leak from around his cock in your climax.

You're speechless. Moans come from you, yes, but you're so fucked out there's no words that could be put together to describe how fucked you really are.

Your legs fall on either side of Javi's waist, and there's a moment of cognition as your hand reaches to touch Javi's face. "You are so handsome," it slips out before you can stop it, but you don't want it to. Your thumb finds the divot at his bottom lip. Recall the way he tastes of you now. The tops of your fingers stroke his clean shaven cheek.

A face so hauntingly beautiful for a human up to no good. You knew snippets of his past, but his pout nudging against your palm tells you more than any story. Lets you know exactly who he is. You knew the truth.

"Get on your back, honey." You encourage, coaxing his cock out of you – still hard and dying for release.

Surprisingly, he does what he's told, unable to stop himself from kissing your cheek and you swallow down words.

No need to complicate things further.

So you climb on top of him instead. "Shit, cariño. Look at you." That makes you blush, his warm and strong palm splays on top of your breast to brush a digit over your nipple and you shiver. Tentatively, you take him back in and make an oomph sound. He somehow feels deeper like this.

You're intentional in the roll of your hips, but the pace is far too slow for Javi. He needs you, needs the chase of something. "Let me," he grits, pulling your chest onto his and pins your arms behind you in his own bear hug.

The way he digs his heels into the mattress to fuck you, to use you to get himself off is borderline degrading but his quiet praises against your skin has you lit up again in ways you don't anticipate. He slaps your ass hard enough to leave a mark before petting where you connect. This leaves your sticky sweetness to cover his lap in no time.

"Hermosa, h-hermosa," his voice staggers at the shell of your ear, hips erratic while it feels like he's fucking you into oblivion. "So fucking good for my cock, pretty girl."

You have orgasmed so many times now it feels automatic when it happens again, but this time you take note of his arms tightening around you. A hand in your hair. "Just like that, just– fuck. Take it." It almost sounds like a resignation, but his waist pounds you both into another wave of pleasure until he emptied inside of you, filling the condom.

You both stay still. Spent. Relaxed. Eyes bleary, the two of you collapse into assuage.

A pile of shuddering, panting limbs tangle together in the wake of something devious and beautiful.

"Pretty, pretty girl." You hear him say into the top of your head. The hint of affection aches at your heart.

It's then you become acutely aware of how tight your wedding band feels around your ring finger.

---

Javi lights a cigarette in the middle of your afterglow, and it's intimate, him sharing it with you. You hold it, sobriety taking your head, and it frightens you when you don't pull away from him as you begin to think more clearly.

In fact, you roll onto your stomach. Body half-slung onto his, your tits pushed together perfectly as you sit up your elbows.

Taking the cigarette between your lips, you inhale, leaning to him as you push the smoke to billow into his mouth. He exhales the rest through his nose and your tongue tastes the plush lips in front of you because, fuck, it might be the last time you can.

"What do we do?" You ask after a while. It's quiet, and you give the stick back to him by dangling it between his lips.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing." His words muffled by it, he takes a drag before leaving it to burn between his fingers. He puffs the smoke away from you. "You stay with him, bebita. You work it out. And when you need to be fucked, you call me. When he's being a cabrón, you call me. I'll make you forget about him."

Your survey the curtains in his room, the blue glow of dawn tempting to bring another day forward. You don't like his idea, but that doesn't make it wrong.

"You mean you don't want to run away together?" You joke, your eyes conveying, no really it's a joke. I swear. And he runs his fingers across your cheek to pinch it lightly, lips pressing together when he shakes his head 'no'.

"You know we can't do that."

The words bring Julian back to life. Shows his existence in a way that doesn't make you want to push him away. Through the love Javi has for him.

Despite it all, love. A common goal the two of you have for the man who is probably worried sick over you.

Just before guilt tempts to wrap its vengeful claws around your throat, Javi stops it in its tracks.

"You took what you wanted. That's all."

You nod compliantly, not willing to argue in order to savour the moment. Your head brushes against his chest and you close your eyes. If only to capture this feeling a little while longer.

You allow his words to integrate, and swallow down the antagonist of his statement: that there was more you wanted. You were certain the chase of this, the irrevocable quench from throes you shared with Javier, would not just die down.

Terrible that you didn't want it to. You would take what you wanted.

[lokischocolatefountain]

Sundress

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Fluff, slight smut, no angst for once, slutshaming but not how you think)

She laughed freely at something his cousin said, all her nervousness from their journey to Texas leaving her little by little when his family embraced her as one of their own within minutes of meeting her. Oh and the alcohol helped too. He took her hand and played with her fingers as he sipped on his beer, smiling as he felt himself relax in the presence of the people who knew him the best.

It was unbelievable really, being back in Laredo not as the former sheriff who ran out on his bride but as a federal agent with a beautiful woman on his arm wearing his ring. She was here in a pretty sundress, sitting on the sofa in his home, laughing with his cousins as they shared embarrassing stories about him. Pops loved her, just as he expected and he just knew that if Ma was alive, she would love her too.

It could’ve just been his beer-addled mind, but he was so happy with her right there, right then that he would quit his job and just keep her right there in Laredo. He never liked the damn place, always wanted to break free and run off to explore the big bad world. But he also saw the appeal of a small town as he stared into the old picture of his parents on their wedding day. He wanted love like that. And he had it. He wanted to take care of the ranch with her, work where he lived so that he could slip into the house whenever he wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to wake up in the morning without worrying about going elsewhere for work and just bury himself in her warmth, make sweet love to her, have the big family he’s always secretly wanted.

“Why can’t I have a baby brother?” He recalled asking his parents, wishing to have a playmate at home. They’d tried. For many many years, they’d tried. But he didn’t know that. “It’s because you’re a naughty boy and I don’t have time for more naughty ones.” Ma said, pinching his cheeks before getting back to work with the newborn foal.

All his cousins had siblings and though he was close enough to them to not long for more kids his age to play with, he was jealous of them and angry at his parents. So he told himself all those years ago that when he was old enough, he would give his son a lot of little siblings to play with. It was stupid and childish really, but the sentiment hadn’t worn off over the years. He would like a big family someday. When they were away from all the dangers his job brought them.

Family and friends flitted out one by one, making Javier grateful that he didn’t have to kick them out to take his fiancé to bed. He loved his family and all but he had been around her for hours without being able to touch her inappropriately and that was getting to him. Kicking his family out to fuck his girl wouldn’t have been nice. And it wouldn’t have done well for his ‘Javi who left his fiancé at the altar’ reputation.

“I really like them,” she giggled as she cuddled into him on the sofa. He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled back to find her smiling wide. He smiled back, unable to resist the infectious effects of her smile.

“Good. And they like you too. Especially pops.”

“Wooo!” She pumped her fist in the air, making him laugh. “‘S nice to have my future father-in-law’s approval.”

“Yeah well, let’s not rub it in my face,” he grumbled, recalling how unimpressed her father was with him. But he couldn’t fault the man. If his daughter came home with a guy who got shot at everyday for a living, he would be more than just unimpressed.

“Aww, Pobrecito,” she cooed before pressing wet kisses to his cheek. “He’ll come around. He’s just annoyed that you would be such a slut and have sex with his daughter under his roof before marrying her.”

“And whose fault is that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d teased him all day, fucking grabbed him beneath the dinner table while carrying on conversation about work with her family.

“Whose fault?” She asked, making her eyes all soft and sweet just like the night she sneaked into the guest bedroom of her family home and begged him to fuck her. How was a man supposed to resist those sweet eyes and their filthy requests that contradicted their innocent act?

“Yours.”

“Mhmm?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay then,” she said, smiling sweetly. Nothing good came out of that innocent act. “I’ll be a good girl tonight. I’ll take my bag to the guest bedroom. Sleep there for our entire week here.”

He rolled his eyes at her and snatched her bottle of beer before emptying the contents in one gulp. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy.

“Rude!”

“Better rude than cruel, you absolute demon of a woman.”

“Cruel!? How dare you! I’ve been on my best behavior all day. I made your family fall in love with me faster than you made my family tolerate you. Miguel loves me so much that he would marry me if you didn’t. Linda invited me on a shopping trip and José didn’t move from me for hours.”

“José is two,” he said, laughing. Babies loved everyone, right? They were just innocent little creatures who loved everything. Or that was just what he told himself when his base instincts told him to take her to his room and put a baby in her immediately.

It wasn’t his fault. It was the goddamn sundress making her look all sweet and homely and just like something he’d want to put a baby in. He was going insane. Just the sight of her fitting in so well with his family and cradling his cousin’s kid while wearing a ring that declared her his was enough for him to stop thinking practically about all the things they needed to get out of the way before having kids.

“So? He loves me. I’m just so dang lovable,” she said, poking his chest with her index finger. “Not my fault that I’m perfect and you’re a big grump my father doesn’t care for.”

“He doesn’t hate me for being a grump. He hates me because he heard his innocent little girl screaming my name at night.”

“Asshole!” She gasped and shoved him away from her, but he returned right back and kissed her on the lips. Before she could call him more names, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, laughing as he felt her grab his ass immediately. Becoming boring was one of the reasons he didn’t want to get married, but with a girl like her who wanted him so openly, there wouldn’t be a boring day in his life.

“You make me fuck you in your family home, I get to have you fuck me in my childhood bedroom,” he said, carrying her to his room.

“Around all the posters of half naked women?”

“You offended, baby?” He asked, slapping her ass. He wasn’t the half naked women plastered all over his walls kind of guy anymore. But it made him feel giddy to think she might be…jealous?

“Nope! Just regretting taking down my John Wayne and Sydney Poitier posters. I had a John Wayne poster where he’s on a horse, wearing a cowboy ha—” she gasped as he dropped her on his bed.

“He was just a fake cowboy, baby. I’m the real deal. Got a ranch and all. I’ll put on the clothes if you want me to. Get on a horse, wear the damn hat. You want that?” He asked, hovering over her as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“I don’t know, Javi…” she tutted, twirling his hair around her finger. “You might look like a clown in it since you gave up the cowboy life to be a slut in Colombia.”

“I gave up the cowboy life to chase Escobar,” he corrected, giving her a pointed look.

“Yeah, but you spend more time being a slut than chasing Escobar.”

He pinched her ass, making her shriek and slap her hand over her mouth. “Javi! Don’t make me scream. I don’t want your dad to think badly of me!”

“Oh that’s one thing I can’t do, baby. Making you scream and making you cream comes naturally to me,” he said, making her gasp in horror. She had no reason to react so dramatically seeing that he’d definitely given her worse lines in the past. But it was fucking cute.

“Slut,” she chided, pushing him away but then pulling him down to her immediately. She gave him a peck on the lips before blessing the rest of his face with her kisses. It had him smiling like a kid, laughing like he used to when he was a permanent resident of this room.

“How many girls you fuck on this bed before me, Peña?” She asked as he shrugged his shirt off and got to work on her sundress. She looked pretty as hell in it, the white cotton with lemons printed on it giving her the look of the chaste woman she was not. But she looked the part in front of his family, hair down and neatly combed, pink on her cheeks and lips, and a pretty dress that made her look the part of a fiancée any group of Tias would approve of.

“You’re the first. The only one,” he said, pushing the elastic off her shoulders and kissing the swell of her breasts. He breathed in her distinct scent mixed with her sweat and took her breast into his mouth. She tasted salty from sweating, but he was not one to be disgusted by that. He came home to her sweaty and disgusting every damn night and she took him anyway. He buried his face between her breasts and took in her scent, groaning as his cock twitched in response.

Images of her with her knees bent by her head, still wearing the damn sundress as he drilled into her cunt filled his brain.

“Riiight. Totally believe that,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t trust me? You’re the only girl— woman, on this bed.”

“I don’t believe you. I know for a fact that you were a slut in high school.”

“Oh I was,” he agreed, hand diving beneath her skirt. “But I never brought girls back here. I sneaked into their bedrooms and sneaked out when we were done.”

“Of course you did,” she laughed, fucking herself on his fingers. It was sweet, having her in his family home, learning more about him and being delighted in what she found.

“It’d been a fantasy for a while actually, to bring a girl home, sleep with her on my bed. I just hated having to pull my pants up and run out before my girlfriend’s parents caught us and shot me.”

“You absolute menace!” She scolded and shook her head. He wondered if she would’ve given him her time of day had they gone to school together. He was quite the lanky kid with none of the muscles of his current body that she loved so much. He didn’t have much game either, not enough to impress her at least. She was a big city girl and all he knew at fifteen was Laredo and its oppressive walls. The Agent Javier Peña of now had slipped a diamond ring on her finger, but Javi from Laredo would’ve made a fool out of himself trying to get her to just talk to him.

Or not.

Maybe she would’ve liked him back. Maybe stupid boys with the worst pickup lines and too much confidence were her teenage self’s type.

“Would’ve sneaked into your room too,” he teased, bunching her skirt up at her waist before sucking her clit between his lips.

“Javi!” She squealed and not from pleasure. He apologized for hurting her with his desperation and placed a gentle kiss on the nub.

“My dad would’ve killed you for sure,” she said, running her hand over his arm. He flexed his muscles for her benefit and she took his offer, lavishing his arm with attention before moving a hand down his back as far as she could reach.

“Worth it for this pussy.”

He spent the night with his head between her legs, making her cry his name into her hand and then his pillow. In his head, he gave Javi from two decades ago a pat on the back. He’d gotten out of Laredo like he always wished, no matter the circumstance. He landed a pretty girl who wanted to fuck just as much as he did. He had love like his parents. He’d have a wedding he wouldn’t walk out on and someday maybe the grandchild his dad mentioned in passing.

Life was good.

.

.

.

Series Masterlist

[tieronecrush]

part of me, apart from me

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

word count: 14k....its a whole thing okay?

summary:

kindly requested from a lovely anon "You and Javi had one kid together when you were very young, maybe you broke up due to his work schedule. You reunite at their college graduation 👀"

javier & you had daughter right after he graduated college, you with a couple years left yourself. when she was 15, he got the call to head to colombia, deciding with you to pursue his career and leave the two of you in the safety of laredo. seven years later, your daughter is graduating from college and javier is back home for good after cali, forcing himself to face what he finds are his failures, and hold out hope that you still feel the same as he does.

warnings (SPOILERS): BIG self doubt, self deprecation, heavy guilt, separated relationship, co-parenting, javier being in unrequited love, chucho being a king and a great grandfather & father, strained familial relationships on mother's side, discussions of death/violence/drugs, smoking, alcohol use, mentions of food/eating, use of spanish, javi has total DAD moments, he is a DILF ofc, dirty talk, oral sex (f & m (briefly) receiving), unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, becomes established relationship, etc.

a/n: i don't think the anon who requested this realized what it would do to my brain, but i have created a whole universe for this fic. i am in love with their little family and they will live forever in my head and heart. a huge thank you to my bestie el @northernbluess for screaming about javi, this fic, giving me the title for this, and beta-reading this long ass fic for me. love you friend!!!! hope you all enjoy, and that you love them as much as i do!

The engine of Javier’s truck cuts as he turns the ignition, the loud rumble of its mechanics quieting to reveal the sounds of birds chirping. For Texas in May, it’s a pretty mild day, sunlight shining bright against the blue sky. There’s a handful of wispy clouds above him as he opens the door and steps down from the cab, shutting it with a metallic click. He rolls his shoulders and swings his arms to loosen up, the sweat at the nape of his neck is from his nerves more than the temperature.

It’s been two years since he has seen his daughter, Liliana, in person. He’d come back from Colombia after everything that went down with the Cali cartel and the government only a mere 48 hours ago. He’s exhausted, but he made the drive from Laredo to College Station to see his princesa, the light of his life for the last twenty-two years, graduate from college. Specifically, his alma mater, Texas A&M University.

He has been counting down the days until he was back for this occasion, after repeatedly reminding everyone in the embassy that he would be out of the country. It just so happens that he doesn’t need to return to Colombia as he had originally planned.

A deep inhale and slow exhale attempt to calm the jitters that are trembling his fingers.

Fuck, he really wants a cigarette.

But Lili would kill him if he showed up smelling like burnt tobacco when he had promised a week ago he was on the Nicorette thing.

Instead, he shakes his head to himself and hooks his sunglasses in the open chest of his light blue short-sleeve button-up. Out of habit, he reaches to his lower back to feel for his pistol, his touch brushing denim.

Another inhale, slow exhale.

He can do this.

It’s you and his daughter. Two people that he loves. Two people he’s been working for.

Maybe that’s why he’s so fucking nervous.

How can you welcome him back every time he makes a visit? How can his daughter be excited to talk to him every week from across the equator? He’s been gone for years. Most of her teenage life, and nearly all of her college career. He’s only been back once since she moved to university. Once.

What a fucking asshole.

Certainly not a good father.

His boots tick against the pavement of the front path up to the dingy, weather-worn two-story house. He remembers getting photographs of Liliana in front of this house a couple of years ago, sent from you and stuffed in an envelope along with photos retelling her entire summer. That one of her standing proudly in front of this house hung on his fridge until he packed it up two days ago.

Every day he looked at it, he wished nothing more than to have been like one of her friends’ dads that helped with moving in and fixing up the house, maybe slipping her a hundred dollar bill to spend on groceries or alcohol on his way out to the car after saying goodbye.

Instead, he was stuck in Colombia under the thumb of the U.S. government and sleazy CIA agents that were controlling him like a puppet.

He’s here now, though. And he’s trying so hard to get over the tightness in his chest, to clear the lump in his throat, and to dry his sweaty palms when he gets up the creaky wooden steps and up to the front door. His middle finger presses the doorbell aggressively, taking a step back and shaking out his shoulders again.

Gaze focused on his shoes, he looked up as he heard the door unlock. A wide, genuine grin breaks out on his face when he sees Liliana in the threshold, that same smile copied and pasted onto hers, even down to the dimple on his right cheek.

“Tata (Dad)! You’re here!” she exclaims, jumping out of the door and hooking her arms around his neck. He laughs as he catches her, one arm wrapping around her waist and his other hand reaching up to hold the back of her head. He pets her long, brunette hair, squeezing her in a tight hug against his chest.

“Oh, Lili Pad. Missed you so much, mija.” He kisses the side of her head before loosening his hold on her, taking in the sight of his daughter after seeing her only through photographs for years.

“Tata, I’m graduating college tomorrow. Not little Lili Pad anymore.”

Her eye roll gives Javier’s attitude a run for its money.

Damn, she really got a lot from his gene pool.

The same deep brown eyes with hints of amber, softened and round give away their every emotion. The same mouth that finds a perfect pout, combined with those eyes he was always pushed over when she was younger. Anything she wanted, he would give to her. Even now.

She has your nose, though. Your ears. Your feminine facial structure. Your charming, warm personality.

“You’re always gonna be Lili Pad, amorcita. Always gonna be my babygirl,” he presses another kiss to her temple, unraveling her from him, “But you have grown into such a beautiful woman, Lili. You remind me of your mamá when she was your age.”

“There’s that Peña charm.”

He looks over his daughter’s shoulder and sees you leaning against the banister, arms crossed over your chest with a smirk playing at your lips. His heart rate increases to double speed, his now dry hands clamming up again as he drinks you in from head to toe.

Years away and he is still so fucking in love with you.

Another reason to curse his time in Colombia.

It was a mutual decision, to split up before he left. There was no timeline for how long he would be gone or when he could come back that first time he went down there.

And there was no way in hell he was putting the two most important people in his life in the middle of what was basically a fucking warzone.

So, that was that. Co-parents, and close friends.

And an agonizing ache every time he saw you since he left.

He grins right back at you, Lili waving him inside after her. Crossing the entryway to you, he opens his arms with a quirk of his brows.

Your smirk reaches its full stretch, shifting into a gracious smile as you drop your arms and step into his, snaking your hands around to his back. He holds you tightly, a shorter embrace than the one with Liliana but long enough for your signature scent to pull him back to being a young, dumb college student who was madly in love. A chaste kiss is pressed to your cheek before he pulls away.

“I’m pretty sure she gets that from you, amor. I don’t recall a time when you weren’t able to get what you wanted — everyone you meet thinks you’re a delight.”

“See? More charm. Laying it on a little thick, Jav,” you tease, hitting your fist against his bicep gently.

He glances at your arm when you lower it back to your side, catching the glint of the bracelet with Liliana’s initials in gold charms that is always on your wrist. He gave it to you after she was born, once she was taken home from the hospital and the two of you were standing over her crib watching her sleep. Ever since then, he’s never seen you without it.

“Alright, alright. Enough of the weird, complimentary back-and-forth you guys do. Do you wanna see the place before I move out, viejo?” Lili cuts in and Javi’s eyes leave your wrist to look at her with a smile.

“Ay, no soy viejo, princesa (Ay, I am not old, princess). Now lead the way and no more making fun of me,” he nods for her to walk ahead of him, taking a few steps and glancing back at you, “You not coming on the tour, amor?”

You shake your head and give Liliana a look that says ‘Care to explain?’. Being on the receiving end of that look many times, he knows it a bit too well coming from you.

“Mom is being amazing and helpful and wonderful like Mom always is and is packing my closet for me.” Lili cringes as she admits it to her father, Javier shaking his head and letting out a long exhale.

“Liliana, you have known you’re moving for months and you’ve waited until the day before graduation to pack? Dios, somos demasiado parecidos (God, we are too much alike),” he nods for her to continue walking as you laugh behind him, the sound traveling as you walk upstairs and bringing a faint smile to his lips as he follows his daughter.

He hovers around Lili’s room as you pace from her closet to the cases laid out on the floor, organizing everything and folding as you walk back and forth. Your daughter is downstairs, tasked with packing up her items from the kitchen and the living room. Javi’s been given the whole tour, now dropped off to “catch up with Mom”, as Lili put it.

Across the surfaces and walls, he spies the little gifts he’s sent her over his years away: all of the birthday cards he’s hand-picked and written letters in stacked in a box on her desk, the mola depicting lilies framed and hanging on her wall, the brightly colored Wayuu mochila that he’d bought from one of the open air markets in Bogotá hanging off of the door knob to her closet.

There’s a sharp pain in his chest when he sees the small picture frames sitting on her nightstand. He sits on the edge of her bed and picks them up one by one to study them. The first is a photo of you and Lili, smiling from ear to ear. He recognizes the photo as one he took on his visit before last, the one he made before Lili went to college. The pair of you are standing in the middle of an overgrown field on the Peña ranch, sun setting in the background. Lili insisted on watching the sunset all together on Javi’s last night at home, and he snuck the camera out with the three of you.

He has a copy of the photo right next to his bed, too.

Setting the frame down delicately, he picks up the next one, this one of Lili and him alone. It’s from years ago, the wide smile on Lili’s face showing off her missing front tooth. Javi grins back at his little girl in the photo, his eyes combing over to the younger version of him, way back when he was a sheriff in Laredo. It must have been during the holidays — there’s a shiny plastic red gift bow on his chest and Lili is wearing a knit sweater with a snowman on it.

Where did all the time go?

The last photograph grows the lump in his throat and the ache in between his ribs. It’s a photo of the three of you, one from his most recent visit a couple of years ago. Dressed up for a Dean’s Award ceremony that Liliana was nominated for. She looks like the spitting image of you, and you are absolutely glowing with pride for her. You two are so beautiful. He looks exhausted, anxiety in his eyes that never seems to have left since his first year in the DEA. It was around the time when he thought he was going to be able to stay, to be around for Lili and for you. He told you what happened in Colombia that got him sent home; you understood, of course, you understood why he did it all. And he admitted it all with the faintest smile on his face, the thought of getting to settle was appealing more and more to him.

And then he got the call.

He battled with the decision.

He talked to you about it.

You said, “We’re always gonna be here, Jav. You need to go. What’s a few more years?”

Everything. A few more years was everything.

He missed so much.

“You okay, Jav?”

He looks up from the photo in his hands, eyes focusing back on the room instead of a million miles ahead. You are kneeling next to one of the suitcases, carefully placing some of your daughter’s clothes in neatly. Those eyes you’re giving him turn his brain to mush, all of the escalating thoughts dripping away.

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Reminiscing,” he nods to himself as he turns the photo for you to see before setting it back down, pulling a grin onto his face, “Do you remember when the three of us would all go out to dinner or meet up with my tíos and tías when Lili was a baby? And they would always ask us when we were getting married?”

A gentle laugh comes from you as you think back, knowing how many times you got asked the same question over and over again.

“Yes, I definitely remember that. I also remember you getting so annoyed one day that you just—”

“Lied and said that we got married at the courthouse?”

“Yes! I got such an onslaught of questions after you said that. That news, which wasn’t even news, spread like wildfire throughout your family.”

“Well, at least it got people off our backs, esposa,” he winks, grin lifting to one side to meld into a smirk.

You roll your eyes dramatically, the wide smile peeling your lips apart making Javi’s heart race faster.

“You want some help, amor? Feel like an imbécil not doing anything,” he slaps his hands on his knees as he stands from Lili’s bed, taking the handful of steps that separate you. One knee is bent to bring him down to the ground, huffing out a sigh as he gets fully onto his knees.

“Sure you’re gonna be able to get up from the floor, viejo?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you continue to put rolled clothes into the luggage. Javier rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“I think I can handle getting up from the ground, bromista. Been jumping off of roofs and trekking through fucking jungles for seven years.” He doesn’t wait for your response, grabbing one of the unfolded shirts from next to you and attempting to fold it as neatly as you’ve done with the rest of them.

“Alright, alright. I believe you. How about I roll, you organize what I hand you into the suitcase? Sounds good?” You hold a hand out for the shirt in his hand, a small laugh as he resigns his attempt and passes the fabric over.

“Sí, jefa (Yes, boss),” a soft grin pulls one side of his mouth up, deepening the dimple on his right cheek. You look at him with your own tender smile when you hand him a rolled pair of jeans to put away, reaching your hand up to poke the little crevice in his cheek like you always do — like you always did.

The two of you work quietly for a few minutes, falling into a rhythm. Liliana makes noise from downstairs, cabinets open and closing, sounds of bubble wrap being ripped echoing throughout the house.

“How’re you doin’, Jav?”

The question strikes him, slumping his shoulders and training his gaze on the shirt in his hands as he rubs his index and thumb over the softened cotton.

It’s a simple enough question; he expected you to ask when you first saw him. In a greeting, he thought it would be easy to brush it off, tell you ‘Estoy bien’ or that he was happy to be home.

But right now, packing up his daughter’s clothes to move her out of college and back into your home — the day before his little girl’s graduation — it feels too difficult to lie.

Sitting alone here with you, the mother of his daughter, the beauty that gave him his greatest gift, the woman — the strong, commanding, warm, gentle woman that he is still so incredibly in love with — is drawing the truth out of him before he can fully catch up with what he’s admitting.

“Feeling like a real pendejo. I missed so much. Too much, amor. I’m sorry.”

“Jav. You are here now. You always show up when she needs her Tata. Even if it’s not physically, you show up for her every day. No more of that talk this weekend, do you hear me? You’re here. That’s it. Not missing anything.”

How do you always know what to say to him?

How did he ever walk away from you?

Javier nods his head, pressing his lips into a tight line as his fingers twitch for nicotine. He would kill for that slow drag of smoke filling his lungs, relaxing his racing mind and heart with a break that lasts as long as the burning paper and tobacco.

Instead, he stands on his knees, grabbing the plastic pack out of his pocket and popping out a chiclet of gum, tossing it into his mouth, and chewing furiously. The look on your face is observational, a twitch of your lips into the faintest grin calms him nearly as much as a cigarette would.

He sits back on his haunches, one of his hands reaching to touch you, faltering when your head turns down to fold the item of clothing in your hands.

“Te quiero, esposa,” his hand grazes his fingertips along the denim covering his thighs, twitching to move the hair curtaining your face, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Jav,” your head shakes back and forth subtly, eyes lifting from your lap and softening as you smile at him, “Love you, too.”

“Jesús Cristo, Liliana, you have a lot of shit. I went to college with a suitcase and a duffle bag — and left four years later with just the duffle bag,” Javier shakes his head as he carries the last piece of luggage downstairs to the living room where the rest of her packed belongings are accumulating to pack up in your three cars the day after her graduation.

“God, Jav, you sound like my father. ‘I walked twelve miles to school with rocks in my backpack and in a foot of snow’,” you drop your voice to mock him, laughing with your daughter as she walks in from the kitchen and stands next to you, “Getting to be an old man, Peña.”

“Mamá is right, Tata. You’re the youngest dad out of all my friends and you sound the oldest right now,” Lili says through a wide smile, and you laugh with her now, sending Javier a brightly teasing grin.

He grumbles and rolls his eyes, waving a hand at both of you dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Enough from you two bromistas. Y’know, I didn’t miss you two ganging up on me — it was one thing through the phone, but in person is just too much.”

Your tongue clicks and you walk over to him, pinching his cheek as you pass by him, “Aw, Jav, it’s all love. You’re just easy to rile up, makes it fun.”

You wink at him with your back to Liliana, slipping out of the room to grab more of her boxes from the kitchen. At your touch and the minuscule flirtation, his heart rate thumps louder in his ears. His eyes follow you out of the room, snapping back when Liliana asks him a question. He shakes himself out of the trance, looking over to his daughter and stepping over to where she’s stood in front of an open box.

“Qué pasa, mija? (What’s up, my daughter?)” Javier reaches an arm up and wraps it around her shoulders, holding her against his side as he presses a kiss to her head. His eyes drop to what’s held in front of her, a chill running down his spine when he sees a photo of Escobar across the front page of the newspaper, the headline reading ‘ESCOBAR KILLED IN MEDELLÍN’.

“Do you want this copy, Tata? I kept two of them, but I think the other one is already packed away and I don’t know if I need both anymore really. Kept one to show my professors all about you,” Lili turns her head and looks up at him.

Javier shakes his head, a tight smile facing his daughter before he drops his arm from her shoulders.

“No, no thanks, mija. No need to keep the other one either. I wasn’t even there for that, amorcita. I think I was actually about to come over to Mamá’s house to see you when I got the call,” he tasks his antsy hands with sealing a cardboard box with packing tape, “May as well toss them out. Or send them to Mr. Murphy if you want them to be kept safe.”

“I don’t want to get rid of the other one. I want to keep it. Even if you weren’t there for it, you still did so much work to get to that point, Tata. I mean, you doing all of that in Colombia is what made me want to do criminal psychology,” she carefully slips the newspaper into one of the open boxes, closing it up and holding her hand out for the tape roll.

“Mi princesa, you—“

“I know, Tata. I promise I am not going to be running on rooftops or caught in the middle of shootouts with the DEA. No fighting cartels, viejo. I just want to work with profiling and behind-the-scenes stuff.” She takes the tape, closing up the box completely as Javier’s heart cinches in his chest.

He is so incredibly proud of his Lili Pad, but he can’t deny how angry he got when Liliana chose her major finally — of course, it had to be criminology. She explained she was drawn to it because of his work, but assured that she is not interested in doing the same thing he has done for years. Behind the scenes, possibly going into forensic psychology or helping to profile criminals. Office jobs, for the most part. But he couldn’t shake that anger inside for months; never been angry with his daughter, and he knew she was as headstrong as him and would achieve what she wanted. He was angry with himself, for even planting any sort of seed, even unknowingly, for Lili to get into this type of work. He knows that eventually her end of the promise might not be kept — he knows her, how easily excitable she can get with new opportunities. She’ll likely end up climbing ranks or even getting into some agency like the FBI or something.

The thought of her out there, in a tac vest or with a weapon, makes bile burn his esophagus.

“Alright, I think we’re done here for today. Better go check into the hotel and we can get ready quick, then we can swing by and pick you up for dinner, Lili.” Your voice pulls him out of his spiral, stare focusing back into the room and glancing over at you in the doorway from the kitchen.

“Sí, jefa. Sounds like a plan,” he pats the pockets of his jeans and feels for his truck keys, “You gonna be ready if we come in an hour, princesa?”

Lili rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and popping her hip out, a stance all too familiar to Javier.

“Sí, Tata. Besides, I’m not the one you should be asking that to. Mom is always the one who takes longer to get ready.”

Javier laughs when you walk over to your daughter, pinching her side playfully. He shakes his head and gives Liliana a knowing look.

“Mija, I have known that fact about your mamá for longer than you’ve been alive. I’m guessing it will be an hour and a half until we’re back, but wanted to make sure you were actually ready. An hour to you women is at least an hour and fifteen to the rest of the world.”

Javier smiles with a loud laugh as both you and Lili approach him and swat his arms, pinching his sides without causing any pain whatsoever. There were protests on either side of him, his daughter and her mother annoyed with the judgments on their time management but all three of them knew he was right.

“Alright, alright, I apologize…” he surrenders from the assault with his hands up, taking deep breaths as he recovers from his laughter before continuing with a smirk, “But we all know I’m right!”

Javier makes a quick exit out of the room and through the front door before any other hits or pinches can be given to him, hearing the stifled laughter from you and Lili from inside the house.

“Yeah, you better run, Jav!” you call out as you gather your purse and fish out your car keys, saying a quick goodbye to Lili and following his path out of the house, “Now I’m gonna be ready in an hour just to prove you wrong.”

“That would only make me overjoyed. Maybe we could make our reservation in time then,” he waves goodbye to Liliana before turning to continue down the front path of her house, to his truck parked in front of your small SUV.

“You wanna follow me over there?” he asks as he unlocks the driver’s side door, watching you open yours and nod to him.

“Yeah, sounds good to me. Don’t be driving like a bat out of hell, though, Javier.”

“Hey, I can’t make any promises. Used to driving all around Colombian cities, it’s a lot different on those roads,” he jokes before making sure you get into your car, hopping into the truck, and listening to the engine turn over before he leads you both over to your accommodations for the rest of the weekend.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Peña. We would normally be absolutely willing to find a solution for you, but we’re fully booked for the graduation weekend. We only have one room for you.” The front desk receptionist looks terrified of Javier at this moment, his glare that he has perfected, normally reserved for serious criminals or dirty agents, is aimed directly at the young college student working here.

When the two of you were trying to check in, they had been informed that the reservation Javier had made for the two of you, two standard rooms, had been double booked, resulting in the parties involved only getting delegated one room each. 

His jaw notched to the side, hands gripping the edge of the front counter with his arms wide and head dipping down in annoyance. He picks it up, addressing the hotel employee again.

“I made a reservation months ago. I called from fucking Colombia — I paid about forty dollars wasting twenty minutes on the phone with whoever was working that day just to get this booked—”

“Jav,” your hand finds his chest as his eyes find yours, the rapid heartbeat thumping in his chest definitely not slowing down at what was supposed to be your soothing touch, “It’s fine. We can survive with one room for two nights. It’s either taking this or sleeping on the floor at Lili’s.”

Holding your gaze, he can see the words unsaid in the look you’re giving him.

Shut up and take the room key.

And there’s no way he is continuing to argue with the kid in front of him as he squirms under your own stern stare. With a grumble, he straightens up, your hand leaving his chest and cool, conditioned air chilling the spot that was covered in your warmth. The rest of the check-in process is painless, with Javier paying for the stay and taking the room keys. He turns around to face you, handing you one of the access cards and nodding toward the elevators.

“Let me take that, amor.” He leans down and grabs both duffles from the floor, one his and one yours, following your lead over to the elevators. The two of you stand and wait for the doors to open, the familiar ding alerting them to which one will be taking them up to their floor. When the doors slide apart, a large group of people started to spill out into the lobby. You step back to avoid a collision with a man not watching where he is walking, and Javier’s hand immediately finds your lower back to steady you. It lingers as the rush of people clears out — he makes no move to take it away until he guides you into the small square space, dropping his touch to press the button for your floor.

Once the two of you make it into the room, he sets your bags down on the desk and dresser, walking over to the thermostat to turn it down for you without a second thought.

“You remember,” you observe with a grin, rifling through your bag to find your toiletries and a change of clothes for dinner.

“Course I do, always had to have the air blasting in our apartment or the house. You never could sleep without a massive blanket and your toes under my legs. Never did understand your need to be freezing, always,” he chuckles at the memories of every night with you, until the separation when he was assigned to Bogotá.

“I dunno why either, just was always the most comfortable. Felt cozier, plus it always gave an excuse to cuddle.” Your giggle sends a tingle from his ears down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, a shudder easily blamed on the intense fans of the air-con.

“Go ahead and take the first shower, esposa. I’ll wait so that you can have more time to get ready and all that,” Javier crosses the room, saddling up next to you to rummage through his own weekender bag. In his periphery, he can see you flash a smile as you gather your things in one arm, using the free hand to brush across his shoulder blades when you walk behind him.

“Very kind, Jav. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom and he picks his head up, turning it to look at you. Head to toe, he scans you quickly before settling on your face, shaking his head.

“Take your time, amor. We both know I can be ready in ten minutes if I need to be,” he sends you a wink and half a smirk appears when you laugh, shutting the door behind you.

He hears the water run, kicking off his boots and sitting at the edge of the bed with an extensive sigh. Rubbing his eyes of exhaustion, he’s still for a moment. Shoulders drop, limbs feeling heavy as the day catches up with him. Moving, packing, even fighting with himself has drained him over the course of the day.

He loved spending time with his Liliana again, seeing her eager to walk the stage tomorrow and collect her diploma. And being around you again, drudging up all of the feelings and desires and words that he has tamped down for the last seven years. But it all comes with reminders of how absent he was, thousands of miles away, how undeserving he is of being welcomed back into the arms of you two, how his daughter was so proud, idolized him so much that she chose to study a major that puts her in the same field of work. He deserves distance from her, a cold shoulder from you — aloofness of some sort for the choice he made.

At least that’s what he’s told himself over and over for nearly the last decade. No matter how much you or Lili continually proved those thoughts wrong, they always came back.

He glances at his watch before standing and moving toward the bag again, hearing the water shut off and moving to grab his toiletries. Taking out the leather Dopp kit jostles something else in the bag loose, flinging it out onto the floor. Bending down with a sigh to retrieve it, he’s faced with the metal badge emblazoned with the DEA seal and ‘USA’ carved into it. It must have been in the bag from his plane ride earlier this week, and it serves as a blatant reminder of what he needs to talk to you about on this trip. What he needs to tell Liliana, too.

The badge gets thrown back into the bag and he walks toward the open bathroom door, stopping short within the threshold. You’re standing at the counter, products splayed around you to do your makeup. Even after living with you for 15 years, he barely has a clue what any of it does besides lipstick and mascara. He’d spent many mornings and evenings listening to you explaining your routine, but never quite getting down all the product names. There’s a pang in his chest, felt deep in the bones of his rib cage; the sight gives him major deja vu, nostalgia wavering over him. Even his subconscious longs for a time when you were his.

A humorous smile reflects back at him with your eyes glued to his in the mirror. Your fingers tap a rogue-colored product across your cheeks, giving you a bit of a brighter, subtly flushed look.

“Sorry, Jav, promise I’ll be out of here in like five minutes. I am trying to be quick.”

“Cálmate, amor. No hay prisa.There’s no rush, really…” he clears his throat, setting his toiletry bag down on an open space at the counter. He leans one hip against it, body facing you and studying the motions of painting your face while his mind works up the courage to bring up the pressing conversation.

“I, um, I actually have to tell you something.” His eyes cast down to the side, the grout of the tiles suddenly interested him.

“What is, Jav? You can tell me anything, you know that.” The compact in your hand is forgotten, clicked closed, and set down next to you as you mirror his stance. One hip against the counter, facing him.

“I know. I know. There’s just—It’s kind of a big thing and I wanted to tell you as soon as it all happened but I didn’t know how things would exactly shake out…”

“Javier. Take a breath,” you instruct him, hand against his chest with purposeful pressure, taking a deep inhale along with him and letting it out slowly. You don’t remove your hand, and he’s grateful for the gesture.

“I retired from the DEA two days ago. The morning before I left to come home. So, uh, I’m back at the ranch with Pop and I’ll be here now.” A mess of emotion comes out of his voice — fear, anxiety, relief, disappointment. Painfully, he drags his eyes up to your face, seeing your eyes wide with surprise and your brows relaxing from shooting up at the news. It’s an unreadable, unfamiliar expression; he watches as it all morphs behind your eyes before sympathy washes over every feature of yours, tender tone speaking up in the tiny bathroom.

“What happened?”

Everything was spilling out after that — information that was surely spreading across the US over the last 48 hours, not that he paid any attention to the news right now. Ambassador Crosby told him that he had won, that the Cali Godfathers would be locked up, at least for the foreseeable future. How dirty he felt when Crosby said the words, “You played the system like a goddamn fiddle…” The ledger proving the Colombian president’s campaign donations from the Cali cartel in exchange for immunity, the knowledge that the US government allowed all of it to occur, how he had spoken about it all to the reporter from El Tiempo.

“Javier, Jav, oh—I’m so proud of you.” The air is knocked him his lungs when the sound of those words reaches his ears, the next second being wrapped up in your tight embrace. It takes a moment to register your hug before he relaxes his weight against you, tension melting as you speak to him right next to his ear, “You told the truth. You helped every single Colombian citizen know what their government was doing to them. Just, holy shit, Javi. That’s fucking badass. I’m so, so proud of you, honey.”

Kindness, understanding, and comfort ooze around him and break down the stoicism that he’s been masked with for the last two days, tears welling in his eyes and spilling a few over that he quickly wipes away.

How can you always seem to find endless compassion for him? He’s just told you he quit his job with no real backup plan and all you said was how proud of him you are.

You’re a really good friend.

A great friend, actually.

Fuck, he is so in love with you still it hurts.

“Thank you…I don’t deserve your pride though, I did so many bad things,” his voice is hoarse on the last word, tightening his arms around you to quell his emotion.

“None of that, Jav. You uncovered a whole fucking…political scandal. Told people what their governments were doing. That’s honest; it’s ethical and respectable. You did the right thing, Jav.”

The last few words grow the lump in his throat, a slow nod against the side of your head. His lips brush your ear, confiding as if it is something he hasn’t said many times before, “Te quiero, amor.”

The smile is evident in your voice despite the fact that the hug keeps your face from his sight, and the saccharine sweetness of your voice sends his heart racing again, “Love you too, honey.”

At dinner, once there’d been a few drinks and some food served, Javier told Liliana the news he broke to you in your hotel bathroom. Albeit, it was an abridged version, details of his mistakes and pains of guilt left out for his precious daughter’s sake. She was eager to get out into the world and make a difference, and he had all the faith that she could, unlike him. He didn’t want his story to taint her view of what she was going to be able to achieve with her sheer determination.

He had that at one point. Probably lost it sometime in the last few years, slowly and then all at once when those tapes were found.

Liliana was understanding of her father resigning, chalking it up to his years down there catching up with him and teasing him for being an old man now. He took it gracefully, laughing along with the two of you and riffing on his own, with self-effacing jokes. As the conversation wrapped up, questions from Lili were answered by him — he was home, for good, living with Chucho and helping run the ranch. He would absolutely be around to help her get ready for her first day at work and help her move into her new apartment in San Antonio. And yes, he would be delighted to come over for dinner once or twice a week to spend some time with her, and you. Liliana had formulated the idea herself, earning a nod of approval from you and a warm invitation seconded.

After he accepted, Liliana changed the subject to rant about whoever the university had chosen for the commencement speech and how random of a choice it was. He listened intently, always hanging on every word from his Lili Pad, but he couldn’t help but be distracted by your hand coming to the place on his thigh closest to his knee, resting there for a moment before giving him a supportive squeeze. Nothing was spoken about the gesture, no looks were exchanged when your hand stayed there until the food came.

Sitting in the booth, observing and listening to his girls bounce back and forth in conversation, he finds the first moment of resounding comfort that he’s felt in seven years.

The last conversation he had with Spencer just days ago after the recent trial in D.C. rings in his mind, the two men standing at the displayed photos of Special Agents from the DEA.

He had asked Javier, “What else is a guy like you gonna do?”

At the time, Javier wasn’t too sure.

But now, with two of his favorite smiles beaming, one identical to his own, and the chorus of laughter that soundtracks his life, and his heart racing, the heart that bleeds for his family sitting here with him, he knows what he’s gonna do.

Be a father.

Be a partner.

Be a friend, a son, a lover, a teacher, a student, a listener, a provider, a protector.

Be everything he hasn’t been for nearly a decade.

He is going to be there for you two. No matter what.

The two of you are back in the hotel room, Liliana dropped off safely at her home and promptly reminded of the schedule for tomorrow. Javier threw her a, “Don’t be too hungover,” that you rolled your eyes at, the faintest of smiles on your face, knowing exactly how Javier was at his own graduation. You, unknowingly pregnant with Lili at the time, were feeling sick and extremely nervous to be seeing his parents the next day, so there was no drinking for you that night. The next morning you were rubbing his back as he threw up before dragging him into the shower and then dressing him like a doll.

He remembers the only thing he was thinking that morning was how much he loved you, how much he was going to miss you after moving home to Laredo to become a sheriff while you were finishing school the next year.

Life seemed so simple back then; only had to worry about visiting his girlfriend at the weekends, showing up for work on time, and taking care of his parents.

A few weeks later, you told him you were pregnant.

God, how fast was time moving? He feels like that was merely last year.

“Bathroom’s all yours, Jav.”

He looks up from his duffel to see you walking out in your pajamas, a smirk crossing his face at the faded Texas A&M shirt he recognized from his own closet from years before. With a nod to you, he unbuttons his shirt halfway before talking to you over his shoulder.

“I can take the floor, amor. You take the bed.”

A loud laugh from behind turns him around, and you look at him like he’s got about four heads.

“Javier Luis, you’re not going to be able to get up in the morning if you sleep on the floor, viejo. If it’s weird for you to sleep in the bed with me, I’ll be the one to take the floor.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s not weird for me, I just didn’t know if you would be comfortable with it.”

“Don’t know if you forgot, but we have slept in the same bed together before, Jav. It’s kind of how we have a daughter, you dork,” you snort and climb onto the plush mattress, slipping under the duvet and leaning up against the pillows.

“Hey, I was trying to be a gentleman, no need for the name-calling.”

“You are always a gentleman, hon, no need to try. Plus I have to call you names, who else will keep you humble?”

“Our daughter. That’s who. I think she’s worse than you with the jokes,” he laughs.

Your smile widens, laughing along with him and shrugging, “I wonder where she gets that from.”

A wink is sent his way, stirring his stomach before he clears his throat and nods to the bathroom, “Gonna get ready for bed, you all done in there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go for it,” you wave toward the bathroom, grabbing your book from the nightstand.

Javier makes quick work of brushing his teeth and the rest of his night routine, avoiding his tired reflection before shutting the lights out and going back into the bedroom. Book still in your hand, he stands in his jeans again, rubbing the back of his neck. Without looking up you pat the spot next to you.

“I know you sleep in your boxers, just get in the damn bed.”

Ever since you became a mom, your power of reading his mind has gotten way too good.

Well, maybe it isn’t perfect cause if you could read his mind, you probably wouldn’t have suggested sharing a bed again with the amount of time he spends thinking about you.

“Sometimes it makes me mad how often you know what I’m going to say,” he grumbles and shucks off his jeans leaving them at the side of the bed and climbing under the covers. He stays comfortably at the side of the bed, sighing deeply as he closes his eyes. 

“Comes with experience.”

“Why can’t I do it for you then?” He opens his eyes and turns onto his side to look at you, “I’ve known you just as long as you’ve known me.”

The book in your hands is closed, and laid in your lap, looking down at Javier and shrugging, “You have your own way of it. I might know what you’re going to say, but you always anticipate everyone’s needs and you’re always one step ahead of me. I mean, you always see like four steps ahead. You saved Lili many broken bones at the playground growing up and you always used to be able to cheer me up and fix whatever was making me sad or angry before I really even knew what it was myself.”

A grin slowly pulls the corners of your lips apart, one of your hands reaching over to tap the top of his head. 

“Well, I quickly learned the signs of your hangriness. That was most often the reason you were upset,” he chuckles, one side of his mouth ticking up as he relaxes further into the bed.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you read your book for a few more minutes, Javier lying next to you and trying, half-assed, to fall asleep. He really was just sneaking glances at you every time he adjusted positions, admiring the concentrated look on your face, engrossed in the story.

At one point, the book was shut for the night and set on the nightstand, the lamp clicked off and you relaxed back into bed. You turned on your side to face him, voice whisper quiet, “You asleep, Jav?”

He hums lowly, vibrations absorbed by the mattress before his eyes peel open and adjust to the darkness.

“Not yet. Qué pasa, amor?”

“Did you quit smoking?”

“Uh, I guess so, yeah. Why are you asking that now?”

“Just curious. I didn’t see you dip outside to smoke at all today and you got a non-smoking room, too. Very un-Javier.”

“Oh, is that all I am to you, esposa? A smoker?” He has a lilt of teasing in his voice, raising his eyebrows as you laugh faintly.

“Shut up, I didn’t say that.” There’s a gentle shove to his shoulder before your hands are back by you, tucked under your chin as you curl up again.

“I was going to congratulate you on quitting, but now I’m not sure if I want to, meanie.”

“You’re the one randomly questioning me about my habits! Meanie.”

“I am not a meanie, I had no bad intentions!”

“Sure, and what would you have said if I told you I didn’t quit?”

Javier gives you a satisfied smirk when you’re silent, shaking his head to himself.

“Knew it,” he rolls onto his back, hand resting on his stomach and turning his head to the side, “I quit ‘cause Lili called me before I came home and asked me to. She’s asked for a while, but I kept putting it off with the stress of work and everything. Thought now’s the time after I resigned.”

In the darkness, he suddenly feels your hand on his bicep closest to you, rubbing up and down slowly.

“You’re a good dad, Jav. The best. Glad you’re the one I got to have a kid with.”

If he says anything now, it will come out incoherent from the lump sitting in his throat. Instead, he hums in response, nothing else spoken until you’ve fallen asleep.

“I’m glad it was me, too.”

It is hot as fuck.

He’s trying so hard not to sweat his ass off while in the cattle of people funneling into the arena at this moment, attempting to keep his light beige button-up dry. He was going to wear his normal uniform of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt when he heard the weather report on the TV this morning, but your face when you saw him pull out navy slacks and his long-sleeved shirt that he packed, was too excitable and adorable to not wear anything else — “We’ll be matching! Our pictures will be so cute with Lili in her white dress.” Standing in your floral, mid-length navy dress, who was he to deny you those coordinated photos? 

Things had been much more…familiar since last night and this morning. It was the back and forth that was effortless, the fall into a perfectly choreographed routine — him anticipating your moves and you knowing what he was thinking before he could even ask a question. The close quarters of the shared room suddenly felt much too large to Javier; he was desperate for too small of space so he could stay close to you, but with 15 years of experience living together, and even longer dating, you moved too in sync with each other to collide.

He was close to you this morning, though, waking up at the sound of the alarm clock next to his side of the bed; his arm moved to shut it off, coasting along your hip and thigh before reaching behind him to stop the noise. A grumble from you pulled him back, positioning himself again on his side and adjusting the arm that ended up underneath your head, his chest enveloping your back when his other arm slung around your waist. If he closed his eyes, he could swear it was any other morning from before Colombia, stretching all the way back to his bed in his shitty college apartment that you tolerated spending nights in.

There isn’t a thing in this world he wouldn’t give to be able to have this wake up every day from now on.

He knows he needs to talk to you, to tell you all that he is feeling, but he can’t bring himself to do it now. Not before his daughter’s college graduation when the two of you are getting along like old friends. The peace shouldn’t be disrupted by you potentially rejecting him.

Which has brought him standing behind you in the crowd of parents and families, a hand on your lower back to keep a tab on you as everyone filters in through the doors. He keeps his eyes scanning out of habit, searching for a danger that surely isn’t there, while you chat away with Chucho walking directly next to you.

His attention is elsewhere, anxiety creeping into his bones at the masses gathering here, impossible to keep tabs on everyone. The three most important people to him are in this building, and he has no means to protect them if something happened—

No. Enough. This isn’t Colombia. There are no sicarios here.

It’s supposed to be an enjoyable day.

The thoughts circle in his mind as a mantra while the three of you find seats, Javier tailing with you in the middle of him and his father. You sit at the end of one row, holding the same order when you finally take your seats.

Smoothing your skirt, Javier watches as you turn to Chucho, giving him an update about something that was recently repaired in the house.

“Wait, you had to get a new water heater? Why didn’t you tell me you needed one?” he interjects with an edge, brow furrowing as he grills you.

“Jav, it was fine, Pops helped me call around for quotes and we found a good deal. It was solved in like two days. It didn’t seem like it was something I needed to make a long-distance phone call for,” you sigh defeatedly, leaning back and looking down at your nails, fidgeting with your fingers at his harshness.

Javier rolls his eyes, grumbling under his breath, “I should have known. Could’ve helped with it…Eres tan terca. Nunca pides ayuda, incluso si la necesitas. Terca. (You are so stubborn. You never ask for help, even if you need it. Stubborn.)”

Chucho stretches an arm behind your back, hitting his shoulders to sit up and addressing him with a stern tone.

“Mijo, no te pongas tan quisquilloso. Ella no quería preocuparte todo el camino allí abajo. Disculpas. (Son, don't be so oversensitive. She didn't want to worry you all the way down there. Apologize.)”

His jaw ticks to the side, sitting up straight, and shaking his head. With a sigh, he turns to you, leaning closer to speak without his father overhearing.

“I’m sorry, amor. I didn’t mean to be rude; I get frustrated not being around to help you with stuff like that. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that. ‘M glad Pop was there to help if I couldn’t.”

Your hand rests on his thigh, patting lovingly as you respond at the same level as him, “Next time, I’ll call you first, Jav. And then you can be the one to call Chucho for actual help.”

A smirk grows at your jest, and he falls back into his seat with a scoff.

“God, you are ruthless. Always with the jokes, esposa. Don’t know if I should be sticking around if it’ll be like this,” he chuckles, stretching an arm behind you and resting it on the back of your chair. 

“Yeah, yeah. We both know you’re gonna be around a lot more now.” His head snaps to the side to see you looking ahead with the faintest of smiles, biting back a much wider one as you lean back into his arm.

After a processional to Pomp and Circumstance, all three of you waving madly to Liliana when she spotted you in the crowd, the ceremony proceeds with little fanfare. Speeches are made, congratulations extended to all of the students from various faculty members and the special guest speaker. When it finally came time for conferring of degrees, Javier awaits the long line of A though O names. The three of you stand, watching the handful of students ahead of Lili cross the stage.

The dean of her college stands at the microphone, saying with a rehearsed smile, “Liliana Raquel Peña, Summa Cum Laude.”

At the announcement of her name and honors, the three of you erupt in cheers for the young woman crossing the stage. Javier whistles with his fingers, holding out the sound as long as he can before clapping his hands together wildly. Once Lili is descending the stairs and back to her seat, you all wave to her again as she beams up at you and shows off her diploma folder.

The moment he’s seated again, he turns his head to the side, seeing your faint tears streaking your face. On instinct, he reaches for your hand before he can second guess it and laces your fingers together with a gentle squeeze. A pitiful laugh slips out from you when you look back at him, a blubbering smile parting your lips.

Javier leans closer to you, centimeters from your ear to confide, “I think you did an amazing job raising our girl, amor. Thank you.”

In the back room of a local restaurant, the Peña extended family mills about, filling the room with sound from the music over the speakers and everyone chatting and catching up with each other — especially congratulating the guest of honor.

Aunts and uncles and cousins that were available have all flocked together to celebrate Liliana, and despite the overwhelming urge to Irish exit this party because of the constant comments and questions about Colombia, Javier is staying until you’re ready to leave. Which undoubtedly will be until the end of your reservation.

He sits at one of the tables pushed to the side of the room, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms and crossing his limbs over his chest as he reclines in the wooden chair. Buttons of his shirt have been undone post-photos with the grad, the air conditioning cooling his sun-baked skin. His fingers can still feel the phantom of your linen dress, his hand affixed to your lower back in all of the photos taken.

Easily, with a quick scan of the room, he finds you talking to his mamá’s sister, Tia Rose. You’re smiling brightly, the crinkles at your eyes showing off your joy as his aunt surely is congratulating you or complimenting you on how you raised your daughter.

He really meant what he said at the ceremony. There is no way he could have done what you managed if you were the one to have left for work. You were a fucking hero to him, not himself. He’s been hearing it over and over every time he returns home — “You’re a hero, Javier.”

It’s complete bullshit.

His results were rigged, the system played him as much as he supposedly played it.

When he thinks about being a hero, he doesn’t think about anything close to what he’s done. He thinks about sacrifice, compassion, strength — you have it all. You’ve saved him from himself time and time again, and you’ve done it all while being a working mom and dealing with your partner, your co-parent, being thousands of miles away for years.

“Ay, mijo, estás tu cabeza en las nubes otra vez? (Son, is your head in the clouds again?)” Javier looks up to his right at the sound of his father’s voice, standing to offer him help into the chair next to him but waved off with a grumble from Chucho.

“Is it that easy to tell, Pop?” he asks, a half-hearted smile on his face as he retakes his seat.

“Eh, to me, yes. Probably to your girls, too, but I think anyone else would think you’re doing your sulky, pendejo act.”

“Pendejo act? Don’t think it’s an act at this point, Pop. Been feeling like one more and more.”

“Sí, y por qué es eso? (Yeah, and why is that?)”

“Estoy ausente (I’m absent.)”

“Dios, Javier…” his father sighs and shakes his head, turning his head to look at his son, “You are not absent. Quit telling yourself that, or you really are going to be. You’re home now, so be home.”

“It is a blessing to have Liliana at home for this summer, spend as much time as you can with her…And you know how I feel about mi nuera (my daughter-in-law).”

Javier sighs, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees and find you in the crowd again. As if you can sense his eyes on you, you turn toward him and give him a tender smile that quells his near constant nervous energy.

God, it’s unfair how beautiful you are.

And how kind, and forgiving, too.

This conversation is making him want a cigarette. Really bad.

Instead, he pulls the plastic packet out of his pocket, popping out another chiclet of gum and tossing it in his mouth.

He prepares for a lecture from his father; Chucho seems to know a lot more about you these days than Javier. Every week since he left for Colombia, you’ve gone over to Chucho’s house for dinner at least once. With Liliana away at school, you still went. It filled Javier’s heart with a syrupy, oozing warmth whenever he thought about the relationship you have with his father. How you 're always going to be family, a daughter to him, after your parents cut you off those twenty-something years ago.

“She’s still coming over every week, y’know. Didn’t seem to be doing too great until about two weeks ago. Came over after she received a phone call. Was all excited and basically bouncing off the walls. I asked her why, and she said she got some exciting news. You know what it was?”

“Qué?”

“You coming home. I think you called to confirm your flights with her, and she was just so excited, mijo. Cooked your favorite for dinner that night—“

“Pollo asado?”

“Sí, con mole.”

“Mierda, estoy celoso. (Shit, I’m jealous.)”

Chucho laughs from his belly, shaking a bit in the seat as he reaches up and adjusts his cowboy hat.

“It was delicious, as always,” Javier hums in acknowledgement before his father continues, “But I’m not telling you all of that just to tell you what I had for dinner. I’m telling you cause I need you to get your head out of your ass and talk to her. Anyone with eyes can see how in love with her you still are. I wanted you to know that there’s something there for her, too. Hazla mi nuera de verdad. (Make her my daughter-in-law for real.)”

“I’ll talk to her, Pop. Don’t need a wingman, so please don’t say anything to her. Please.”

Chucho stands and shrugs, nonchalantly closing with, “If you don’t do it soon, I’m taking matters into my own hands and telling her myself how lovesick you are. I will not make any promise I cannot keep, so you better keep that one if you don’t want me involved, mijo.”

Javier stays put as his father filters into the party-goers, shaking his head as he smiles to himself.

Maybe he does still have a chance.

The end of the night was fairly uneventful, everyone saying their goodbyes and final congratulations to Liliana. You insisted on helping to set the room up as you had all found it, correcting the tables and chairs back to their usual positions. When you were about to start taking dishes back to the kitchen, Lili rolled her eyes and walked out to the front of the restaurant while Javi grabbed you by your hips from behind and physically directed you out of the room.

“Jav, I feel bad, we made a mess! Let me help!”

“Esposa, you are wonderful and so sweet, I’m sure they appreciate your help. But this is a restaurant, cariño, and you don’t get paid to work here so I don’t think they’re gonna want to be liable for you,” he slides his hands up and down a few inches of your sides, dragging the fabric of your dress up and letting it fall back when he takes his hands off of your sides, placing one on your back.

Javier helps you into the cab of his truck, you taking the middle of the bench and Lili following into the passenger side to be able to get out easier. He drives over to Lili’s house, dropping her off with both of you giving massive hugs and final congrats for the day.

It was a quiet car ride to the hotel, but you ended up back in the middle seat closest to Javier, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Walking into the building, he bit the inside of his cheek as he brushed your hand with his, no recoil from his touch giving him the confidence to take your hand completely in his. Fingers intertwined as you both got in the elevator, tender, unspoken words in your eyes.

Now, Javier sits at the edge of the bed, a short plastic cup in his hand filled with half a mini bottle of champagne. There’s a matching cup in your hand, standing in front of him as he looks up at you with worshiping eyes.

“Cheers, Jav. Good on us for getting our kid through college,” you say with a smile, the sound of plastic crinkling in your hands following your little toast. Each of you takes a sip of the drink, Javier leaning around you to set his down on the desk. His hands move to hover at your waist, your permission granted with a small step to stand between his opened legs.

Javier’s calloused palms catch on your dress again, inching the fabric up as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. He looks up at you while you return the stare down at him, your free hand finding the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you, amor. For taking on so much more responsibility and shouldering the weight of raising Lili Pad in her teens, and getting her into a great school, and supporting her throughout these last four years when I couldn’t—

“Jav, it was both of us.”

“No, please let me give you the credit you deserve, esposa. You did it all without ever being angry with me, and you always supported me, too. And every time I’ve come back for a visit, you make it seem like I never left with how welcome you make me feel.”

“You’re always a part of our family, Jav. Always.”

He nods, feeling his chest tighten at your words, gripping you tighter as if you’re going to slip away, as if he’ll wake up and this whole trip will have been a dream, as if he will be stuck in Colombia, or forced to go back to the DEA and work in Mexico.

“Thank you, really, thank you for always making me feel a part of it all from so far away. All the photos, all the letters, the birthday cards, and care packages…You are a great mother, and an even better woman. So much better as a person than I ever could be, and I am so lucky that you chose me to have a kid with. Lili is incredible because she’s part of you. Thank you, amor, you have given me a life I don’t think I deserve.”

His head drops, tugging you closer to rest his forehead against your stomach. Silence blankets the room, your fingers running through his hair soothingly. After a moment, you take his chin between your index and thumb, turning his head up to look at you again.

Javier wants so badly to be able to read your mind right in that second, the look in your eyes puzzling him. As he opens his mouth to say something, anything, to fill the air, you’re folding forward and catching his lips in a kiss. It’s light, too faint for his needs, and you’re pulling away much too quickly. His spine elongates, chasing your mouth before you can get too far and locking you in a breathless exchange.

His hands paw at your sides, a desperate attempt being made to pull you as close as possible while also running his hands along your curves. In the surprise of it all, getting lost in his lips, you drop the cup in your hand. Champagne splashes onto your feet, ignored as Javier lifts your mid-length dress to your hips, climbing back on the bed and pulling you over him without breaking your kiss.

Your knees cage his thighs in, settling on his lap as he slots his lips around your bottom one, tracing along it with his tongue. Parting with a gasp, your mouth opens to let him in, melding your tongues together. A whimper escapes from you when he tugs you further onto his lap, feeling his bulge in his slacks press against your core.

Javier pulls away from your lips, dragging his nose along your cheek and leaving a trail of wet, open mouth kisses along your jaw. At the spot on your neck close to your ear, he sucks a mark, smirking against your skin when your back arches and squeezes your chest against his.

“Fuck, Jav…” you sigh, fingers tangling into his hair.

He hums against your skin, pulling away and kissing under your chin.

“You’re so beautiful, amor. I missed you so fucking much. Thought about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Your voice is  shaky when Javi drops his hands to your hips, starting to drag them back and forth against his cock straining against his zipper. 

“Mm, thought about how good you smell all the time, how sweet you taste…how much I miss having you in my bed every night. Being able to have you when I need you,” a groan slips from his mouth at your moan, moving your hips faster the more he talks, “I thought about how fucking stupid I was to leave someone like you behind. Mi vida, la luz de mi vida (My life, the light of my life)…felt like I left half of my soul when I went away.”

From above, you lean down to catch him in a passionate kiss, breathy exhales and muffled moans exchanged while your fingers work as the buttons on his shirt. Javier leans forward, shrugging off the materials before his arms are around you again, snaking around your back to grip your ass.

“Jav, I missed you so much. Never felt the same, there was always something missing…I always needed you. I always need you.”

“Mi amor, lo siento (My love, I’m sorry). I’m here now. Never leaving again.” His hands roam to your sides, finding the zipper of your dress on his left and pulling it down. He bunches the skirt of it in his hands and slowly takes it off over your head; he’s faced with you sitting in his lap, no bra and only panties on.

As if magnetic, his hands fly right back to your sides, skimming up until his thumbs lay under your breasts, fingers splayed along your rib cage.

“You’re so beautiful, mi amor, so fucking beautiful. Can I make you feel good, baby?”

“Please, Jav, need you so bad.”

“Oh, baby, mi esposa, I’ve got you. Get on your back, cariño.”

Javier watches as you move off of him and fall back onto the bed, the plush duvet sinking underneath you and pillowing out at your sides.

An angel in the clouds.

No more time is wasted as he tugs you to the edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor and booting your legs over his shoulder to open you up.

“Wait, Jav, here.” You twist to the side and stretch to reach for one of the pillows, giving it to him with a thoughtful smile.

“For your knees, viejo. Not a twenty year old athlete anymore, hon.”

Javier rolls his eyes and moves to kneel on the pillow, already feeling better in his joints from the cushion. He wraps his arms around your thighs and nips close to your panties, rolling out a groan.

“Sometimes, I hate when you’re right.”

“That’s ‘cause you always have to be right, Peña. It’s always been th—“ you trail off into a moan when his fingers prod through your wetness, one hand hooking your underwear to the side.

“I don’t always have to be right, esposa. You know you’re the boss out of the two of us,” he winks before he tugs your panties off of your legs, settling back between your legs.

You nod, sitting up and leaning your weight on one arm to look down at him.

“Mhm, glad y’know your place still, Jav,” you tease as your other hand pushes his hair away from his forehead, a smirk mirrored onto his face, “Make me come, mi esposo.”

You can see his eyes darken, breaths shallowing. Feather light kisses scatter across your inner thighs until he reaches your core, pursing his lips and blowing cool air against your wetness.

“Fuck, cariño, guess you did really miss me. So fucking wet. All for me?”

“Javi,” you whine, scooting your hips closer to him, “Please, need you.”

“I know, baby, I know. I can see how much you need me.” He licks one long stripe from your tightest hole to your clit, groaning at the taste of you. “You want me to play with your sweet pussy, mi amor? Make you feel so good?”

“Please, please, Jav.”

He soothes you with circles on your lower stomach, nodding as he lays his head on your thigh, “Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you.”

Before you can beg out a response, his lips are attached to your clit, sucking hard before laying his tongue flat against it, moving slow circles around.

His muscle memory guides him to fall into the pattern that he memorized to get you off with his mouth and fingers, pushing one of his thick fingers inside of your cunt knuckle deep and stroking against that same spot he knows drives you wild.

Your back arches off the bed, pressing your clit into his tongue harder. He slurps up your wetness, sighing at your familiar taste that he missed so much. Another finger is added, the rhythm of their thrusts building up faster and faster. Right at the edge, your fingers tangled in his hair tugging hard, he switches positions, tongue plunging inside of you and fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit. Before you can even register, you're coming around his mouth, flooding his tongue and his lips.

“Javi, oh my god, fuck me…”

He leads you through the orgasm, pulling away with a boyish smirk.

“That’s kind of the plan, hermosa. Gonna fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, beckoning him to stand up. Sitting up fully, you strip him of his slacks and boxers, briefly taking him in your mouth before he’s pulling you off of him and pushing you further up the bed. Climbing over you, a heady kiss is shared as he settles between your legs. In the moment, you easily get him onto his back, moving to straddle him as he looks up at you breathless. Large hands hold tightly to your thighs, jaw dropping as you grab his hard cock and easily slip him inside of you, sinking down until he’s full hilt.

“Fucking Christ, amor. Take my cock so well, show me what you can do.”

Your hips find a slow, aching rhythm that makes you both breathless. As you continue to grind yourself around him, you lean forward and press yourself against his torso, skin sticking to skin.

“Jav—Javier, you are such a good man. I never doubted how much you loved me. How much you do love me,” you breathe out, hips faltering for a moment before you recover.

 “You were always there for us, and I’m so proud of you for going after what you wanted. Making the world a better place…” you move your hips slowly as you ride him, leaning down to press your foreheads together, stuttering but managing to get the words out for him, “You are a great man and an even better father. I couldn’t have chosen a better partner. I love you.”

Javier whimpers and stutters out a moan when you move your hips faster, your hand on his chin keeping his forehead against you. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, facing you and him whispering back, “Te amo, te amo, te amo. I love you so much, mi esposa. Mi amor. Te amo siempre.”

The sound that leaves you at that moment, hearing his proclamations of love, flips a switch inside of him. The primal need to make you his again, completely. His arm around your hips grips you tighter, feet planted on the mattress behind you. He uses the leverage to meet your rhythm with his own thrusts, sweet sounds slipping from your lips egging him on.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and he looks up at you in awe as you arch your back, head falling to the side as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck yes, yeah. Right there, ohmygod, papí…”

“Fuck, that’s right, baby,” he says in a drawn out exhale, hammering his hips up into you, “Say it again, mi amor. Say it again.”

“Papí—Feels so good, papí.”

“Yeah? Haven’t heard that one in a while, baby. Love it coming from you, say it again. Please, baby. Por favor.”

“Papí, papí, papí…Harder, please, want it harder.”

“Anything for you, mi amor. I’ll give you anything you want. Fuck this pussy however you want it, whenever you want me.”

One of your hands drops from his shoulder to the mattress, bracing yourself from his unrelenting pace. You’re a whining mess, opening your eyes and looking down at him under you, sweaty and glistening with his wild hair and mustache shiny from your come. Javier rumbles a loud moan of your name, on the verge of a growl when he feels you clench around his cock. 

“Come for me, mi esposa. Let me feel you…” he pulls you flush against him as he fucks up into you, lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Te amo, mi esposa, te amo. I love you. Love you so much.”

“Pa—Papí, fuck! Oh my god, Javi!” Your head rolls back as you come around him, bounces faltering as you slip against his chest like jelly.

“Fuck, baby, gonna fill you up. You want me inside you all night, mi amor? Want me to make you full of me again?” His lips brush against your ear, whimper and nod in response.

“Yes, yes please, papí. Want you inside.”

“Fuck yes, mi amor. One more time for me, say it one more time.”

“Come inside me…please come for me, papí.”

A moan stutters in his throat as he buries himself fully in you, twitching with each rope he spends. Grip tightening around you, he stays inside of you as he kisses you deeply, pulling away to brush your hair away from your face.

“You have no idea how long I have been wanting to do that again, mi esposa. Te amo, hermosa. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jav. Missed you,” your head lays on his chest, sigh warming his sweaty skin, “Will you be around when we’re home or—“

“Mi amor, you’re gonna have a hard time keeping me away from you and Lili now. I wanna spend every moment I can with you both. My girls.”

It’s a Sunday evening at the Peña ranch, a few weeks after Lili’s graduation. You and her have come over to Chucho’s house for dinner, Javier already there from working the day with his father. He’s mostly over at yours in the evenings, coming over to spend time with Lili, and you, staying for dinner, having movie nights, grilling out. He’s been basking in the slow life, the life of a father that he’s been so desperately craving. It’s been an itch like he has for a cigarette, finally taking an inhale and his nerves melting away as he adjusted to a balance with you two.

Tonight, however, Chucho insisted that you and he keep your weekly get-togethers, despite Javi being home for good now, and the four of you have had dinner around the cozy dining table off of the kitchen. Javier is gathering the dinner plates, Liliana standing to help him clean up.

“Anyone want any dessert? What d’ya have here, Pop?” he looks between his father and you, awaiting an answer.

Before Chucho can say anything, you sit up with a quiet gasp, “Oh, do you have any mangoes, Chuch? I really would love some mango with Tajín. Or some strawberries with honey. Or both.”

You grin up at Javier and he laughs, nodding his head.

“I’ll see what I can do, amor.”

“Y’know, mija, my Lucia always had mangoes around the house when she was pregnant with Javi. She would slice them up and put so much Chamoy and Tajín, you could barely see that it was a mango underneath it all.”

“That honestly sounds perfect right now, I bet Lucia made some kickass mangonadas, too,” you laugh softly, looking up behind you as Javi squeezes your shoulder lovingly.

“Oh, she definitely did. Whole family begged her to make them every time we all got together,” Chucho belly laughs fondly at the memories, nodding to himself, “We thought for the longest time that we were going to have a girl. All Lucia craved were sweets or fruits, and there’s some old wives tale, una fábula, that if your cravings are sweet, it is a girl, and if they’re savory, it’s a boy.”

“Huh, how funny. Guess thinking back, I did crave a lot of chocolate ice cream with Lili.”

“Oh god, I remember being kicked in the middle of the night and having to go to the town over cause they had a 24-hour gas station just to get you some Ben & Jerry’s,” Javier laughs, kissing the top of your head as you shrug.

“And now look, you’ve got the sweetest daughter to ever exist. All thanks to me,” you grin, sending Javi a wink as he finishes gathering the dishes from the table.

He sees his father smiling to himself as Chucho leans back in his chair, Javier retreating to the kitchen to find something for dessert for you while Lili washes up and the two of you at the table strike up some conversation.

Later that week, you gave Javi a call and asked him to come over after he was done on the ranch. He agreed immediately, of course, and couldn’t fight the buzzing excitement he felt to see you again. It took him back to those days before Lili, before the two of you were ever really anything, you calling and asking him over to your dorm room or your apartment. He felt like a giddy teenager again.

He showered quickly and changed before heading over to yours, parking in the driveway of your small three bed house he had bought for you all. At the door, he knocked before using his key to get inside, calling out to you.

“Amor? Lili Pad? Anybody home?”

The pad of footsteps on the tile floors catch his attention, a smile stretching across his face as you come around the corner into the entryway. He kicks off his boots before meeting you in the middle, arms wrapping around you and holding you tightly to his chest. He sighs an exhale, relaxing around your warmth.

“Long day, Jav?”

“You have no idea, mi amor. Had to chase a fucking bull that got loose in the pastures when we were trying to corral all of ‘em. My ass is hurting from having to ride the horse so much.”

You laugh into his chest, pressing a kiss to his shirt before leaning back to look at his face, “Oh your poor butt. You wanna sit on the couch then?”

He hums in confirmation, kissing the top of your head before you lead him into the living room and let him flop down on the sofa.

“Where’s Lili Pad?”

“Oh, um, she’s out with friends tonight. Thought it could be just us…” You join him, sitting with a couple of feet between you two. He can see how tense you are, sitting up straight, fiddling with your fingers, placing a pillow in your lap. Extending an arm out, he holds his hand palm up for you to take.

“I’m more than okay with just us, cariño. What’s going on with you? You seem anxious. Everything at work okay? Everything okay with Lili?” He rubs his thumb across your knuckles after you take his hand, brows knitting with concern.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything is great with Lili. And work is, well, work. No complaints…” your eyes stay trained on your hands together, swallowing before you speak up again, “I actually think it would be easier to show you.”

He feels even more concerned and confused as you stand up, disappearing out of the room for a moment before coming back with a hand behind your back. You don’t sit again, opting to stand in front of him; you bring your hand forward, passing the object to him.

It takes him a minute to register what it is, the last time he saw one this up close being about twenty something years ago.

A pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

Positive.

“Think we could do as good a second time around?”

You’re pregnant.

He’s going to be a dad again?

He’s going to be a dad again, with you?

He’s going to be a dad again. He gets to have another child with you.

His heart is beating out of his chest, mouth dropped open with no words coming out.

A shake of his head knocks him out of the shock, setting the test to the side and looking up at you with welling eyes.

“I get to be a papá again? With you, mi amor?”

A beaming smile widens on your face, your hands finding the sides of his head as you nod down at him.

“Yeah, honey, you’re going to be a dad, again. Lili’s gonna have a little brother or sister. Much, much younger,” you say with a chuckle.

Javier laughs a little breathless, eyes flickering between your face and your stomach that is eye level with him.

“Oh my god, oh my god, mi amor—Te amo, te amo siempre,” His hand finds her tummy, roaming around in circles, attempting to feel the familiar bump or any side of his baby growing inside there. Soft kisses litter your torso as he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against your ribs.

“I love you too, Jav,” you push back his hair and he stares up at you in wonder, pulling you gently to sit in his lap, “Do you…I mean, I want you to come home. Maybe we can actually get married this time. Have the family life with Lili and the little baby. I know we used to just joke about our fake city hall marriage, but I’ve always wanted that with you, Jav.”

A soft, tender kiss is shared, the two of you holding onto each other. One of Javier’s hands rests on your stomach, his heart already completely overflowing with love for the person growing inside of you. It’s quiet for a moment, both of you sitting with each other in silence. With another kiss, Javi hugs you, your head resting on his shoulder as he whispers in your ear.

“Graciás, mi amor. Thank you — for never giving up on our family. On me. Thank you for giving me everything I could have ever dreamed of. I can’t wait to have another baby with you, they’re gonna be as perfect as you, and Lili. My girls. Te amo, mi esposa, te amo siempre.”

javi's photo board in colombia <3

tagging mutuals that might be interested??

@northernbluess @swiftispunk @johnwatsn @cannolighost @joelsversion @cupofjoel @darkroastjoel @atinylittlepain @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @jksprincess10 @bearsbeetsbeskar @smokeinherperfume @thetriumphantpanda @atticrissfinch @perotovar @mrsquill @javiscigarette @yazsos @deathwife @pr0ximamidnight @undrthelights @lunapascal @ladamedusoif @haylzcyon

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas [javier pena] -> series masterlist

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

series rating: 18+ (mdni)

status: complete

word count: ~ 69k

series tags and warnings: javi getting the love he fucking deserves, friends to lovers, coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, technically infidelity, reader has a shitty husband, domestic violence, violence against women, mentions of sex work, mentions of rape, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, reader is accident-prone, basically 70k of javi and reader being disgustingly in love, married couple antics, domestic bliss, angst, so much fluff, so much smut (individual tags/warnings in each chapter), mentions of pregnancy, javier has a wife kink, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout

read on ao3!

CHAPTERS:

chapter one: for all the coffee beans in colombia chapter two: cries for help, lost in the woods chapter three: dreaming in technicolour chapter four: to live without love chapter five: love me until i love myself chapter six: holding the sun in his hands chapter seven: granted wishes from your maker chapter eight: siempre

a/n: babygirl is getting a home on tumblr!! this was the first fic i ever posted to ao3, my firstborn child, and it means a lot to me. thank you from the bottom of my heart to the amount of people who have found me through las mañanas, recommended it to their friends, or come back to reread - i love every single one of you so much, and thank you for encouraging me to keep doing what i love. you're all super fucking awesome, i mean it 🫶

xoxo kiwi