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joelsgreys · 1 year

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Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Part 2

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

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

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

Word Count: 7.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.

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

Far, far more daunting than that.

You were going out on a date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You momentarily hesitated.

“Actually, I have a date.”

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

Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.

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

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

The color drained from his face.

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

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

Of course he knew Valeria.

He had fucked her three weeks ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Sorry for what?”

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.

Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.

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

“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”

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

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

Your face felt like it had caught on fire.

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

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

“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”

Surprised, you looked up at him.

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

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

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

“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you afraid of?”

“Not knowing what to do.”

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

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

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

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

You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”

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

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

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

“I want to make him feel good.”

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

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

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

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

“By showing you a thing or two.”

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

“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”

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

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

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

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

“Then let me help you, hermosa.”

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

This could not possibly end well.

And yet here you were, going along with it.

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

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

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

You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”

“Kiss me.”

Had he lost his fucking mind?

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

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

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

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

“There.”

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

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

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

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

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

God, he was fucking good.

“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.

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

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

There was kissing other men.

And then there was kissing Javier.

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

Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him.

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

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

Your mouth fell open at his request.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.

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

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

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

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

You wanted to know how to please Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed to see you come.

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

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

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

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

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

Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.

You went down, he went up.

You pulled, he pushed.

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

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

“J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”

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

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

“Javi, I’m so close—”

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

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

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

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

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

What had you two just done?

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

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

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

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

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

Translations

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

El vestido rojo. - The red dress.

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

Chismosas - Gossipers

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

Mentirosa. - Liar.

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

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña angst #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier peña smut #narcos smut #javier pena smut

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years

Text

imminent danger, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook? Shh, not too loud... from that sex blog, right? Uh huh. Heard he was actually a reader first, and then he slid into those DMs, one thing lead to another... So brave... ugh, he's so hot, she's so hot, they're so sexy together... and they make all that content to get off to... eh? Wait, they're live today?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; sex workers!couple: JK and his internet porn writer!gf doing their monthly OnlyFans livestream; low-key crack, we are in JK's brain; smut (fem reader, all the dirty thoughts, filming of sex, exhibitionist kink, mirror kink, noona kink, teeny bit of humiliation kink, pet name (bunbun), body oil / lube(?) being poured all over, hair pulling, handjob / edging / cumming in pants, overstimulation, use of anal beads, m-masturbation, light spanking); non-idol!BTS - sub!JK x noona, dom!reader; Jungkook's POV; JK's appearance based on 'Proof' Weverse mag photoshoot

this is basically wiyllt x JK's joint OnlyFans and JK is the star of the show

“Noona, um…”

“Hello, is this thing on? Ah, it is.”

Jeon Jungkook was highly aware of the imminent danger but also the imminent danger was incredibly hot and incredibly bangable. Both things he was totally into. What was a little bit of danger, eh? Other than this turning rapidly into the intro of a porn movie.

Because that was what it was.

A porn movie.

Well, it was going to be one, if he stopped squirming.

Did he mention that his girl wrote incredible porn and that was how he got into this situation? No? Oh. Well, did he also mention that she was in charge of his current, um, work? As in he definitely wasn’t going to do any of this without her right here ripping open his fashionably (tacky? Jungkook had no clue, clothes outside of sweat sets were not his forte) leopard dress shirt and–

“Gah! Why is that so cold?!”

Uh, what the, she was spreading whatever it was over his chest and nipples. Some kind of cold, slippery… something. Liquid. It made him shiver all over.

“Oh, good, that does half of the work for me.”

She stepped around his seated body, which honestly upset him, because she was wearing such a revealing, blood-red, satin minidress that he wanted to continue staring at – yes, he could see the two tents that her large, stimulated nipples formed and it was very sexy, he wanted to nom very badly – but, alas, he was forced to avoid making any ugly, uncomfortable, or displeased expressions as she turned his torso into the equivalent of melted butter on a loaf of uncooked bread about to go into the oven, except Jungkook was not a loaf of uncooked bread, he was a horny man trying to look at titty and shove his dick between those deliciously soft thighs.

He was baking under these big studio lights though, jeez.

“Noona, wait–”

“Look up. Don’t disappoint them.”

And suddenly a hand gripped his hair and yanked his head up, making him gasp and shudder, his wide eyes going straight to the camera lens and the monitor displaying, er… well, everything.

Jungkook tried not to moan.

His boss scolded him before that giving too much too early was bad for business.

His boss being the owner of that pretty hand tangled in his black hair. Nails done, as usual. She always had a nice, self-done manicure, usually in a dark color. It was summertime, so she was branching out to a bright, cherry-red jelly that made Jungkook want to devour those almond-shaped tips. He especially liked it when she fingered his mouth, especially when he could be extra messy, when his tongue would snake and slip between her knuckles, coating them with saliva, letting it carelessly stream down her palm, his chin, his neck, all of it on full display, front and center to the camera.

Oop, he was getting distracted.

Speaking of mouth, his was slightly open, rose-pink lips and polished silver lip ring, the moles on his nose and under his lower lip visible. She was always super careful when she applied his makeup. Eye makeup and lip color for contrast, she reminded him. Otherwise, your handsome features don’t show up well in film. She covered the few occasional blemishes, but tried not to alter his skin tone too much, leaving his beauty marks.

Things usually got messy anyway. Face makeup getting everywhere wasn’t very sexy.

Oh, yeah, and she liked his moles.

A lot.

So, anyway, Jungkook was staring at himself in the monitor, his large brown eyes emphasized even further with smoky liner and filled-in brows, his mouth open and trying not to make too much noise as his silky, flimsy leopard shirt did nothing to stop her exploring hand from sliding across his tan, muscular chest, cherry-red nails circling and teasing his dark, hard nipples, his skin glistening and shiny under the bright lights from the mysterious, slightly viscous liquid.

Her plush mauve lips were by the top is his head, openly smirking.

“I thought you knew about body oil, Jungkook,” she chuckled above him.

“Are you…”

He cut himself off, twisting slightly and biting back a groan, letting out an unfortunate miniature whimper instead, great, just great, and she was opening his shirt more, down his right shoulder and massaging his shoulder tattoo and upper arm, bringing out the intricate details of the petal-like mandala.

“Serious?”

To be honest, Jungkook didn’t care what the stuff was. What was really bothering him was that she was almost scratching him, but not putting enough pressure. He kept trying to raise his torso, and she kept flicking her nails up, using her grip on his hair to push him back down. Strands of black were falling over his forehead and eyes, giving him a roguish, distressed appearance. Not too unlike his usual self. Jungkook left the acting to the professionals.

He was just professionally horny.

Was honestly incredibly easy in her presence. Who would have guessed? Did he mention that he met her through her smut blog? Yeah, Jungkook read smut online (he wasn’t going to read a whole book for one subpar sex scene, come on now).

It was a long story.

No, literally, it was a long story about a trio doing some freaky stuff that involved gummy bears.

There was actually a lot more involved in said story, but never mind that. The point was that, in the past, he was reading porn on the internet and feeling things. What does one do when they read porn and feel things? Ah, yes, chase their dreams. Jungkook had felt the need to chase his dreams.

Which meant read more porn.

Again, professional horny here.

He figured that it couldn’t hurt to say something. Slide in real smooth into those DMs. Heaven knew it was a hell of a lot easier to be cool, calm, and collected over text than in person. He didn’t have to be weird about it. He was just gonna pick that brain a little, bask in the sexual prowess. Not accidentally show her his Instagram, not somehow get convinced into sending a personal photo, not get so enamored over pretty words to impulsively send an almost-nude (oop), and then an actual nude (his mother wouldn’t approve), then somehow meeting up with internet smut writer and getting actual nude (together, in private, he had not much but some shame in the first in-person encounter).

So.

Yeah.

Jungkook and his noona were the very definition of, that escalated quickly, and some small part of him was thinking that maybe he should calm down, but now that most of him was getting the best, most passionate kisses ever (to both heads from two different kinds of lips, nice), he didn’t mind all that much. His pecs presently being oiled up on a secret livestream to paying customers was simply the natural progression of things.

Yup.

For sure.

He gasped as his shirt was yanked out of his pants, the sides being thrown open rather prettily (she thought of every detail, in story and on film, and all of it was making him very horny, per usual), and her arms snaked out from behind his shoulders, pouring the liquid from a small, unmarked plastic bottle, splashing down his chest and soaking the crotch of his thin pants. He had questioned earlier why he was wearing such brightly-colored, clingy fabric. Sure, it would show up nicely against the black metal of the chair and show off his muscular thighs, but now the why was blaringly obvious. The fabric darkened in the places it was drenched, sticking to his strained inner thighs and bulging erection.

She always scolded him not to look at the monitor, so instead he looked at the big mirror behind the camera.

Did he mention that his number of kinks was getting out of control?

His eyes followed her movement – her fingers sliding down his abs, toying with the waistband of his pants, not going under, denying him and putting on a show. Indeed, she reached down there to compare her hand size to the massive tent in his pants. Pretty impressive, per usual (she said that a lot and Jungkook would be lying if he said that it didn’t massively stroke his... ego).

She spread her index and middle finger and pressed down on his crotch, molding the wet fabric right to his poor, enclosed dick.

Jungkook moaned, wincing slightly at the uncomfortable, squishy sensation of the fabric stretching over the sensitive head of his cock. Hell no, he wasn’t wearing underwear. Jungkook was making porn. What did he need underwear for? (His mom would not approve, but thankfully his mom had no idea he was making porn and he was not planning on having that talk, ever.) It still felt good, though. Anything she did felt good, even the slight rocking of her fingers that made his stiff length sway from side to side, sending sparks of pleasure radiating down every centimeter.

Those cherry-red nails lifted and plucked at the wet, clingy fabric carefully. It puckered and shrunk, creating wrinkles and snapping back to mold entirely around his embarrassingly hard, currently colorful, joystick.

He read that in the comment once and thought it was hilarious.

With a start, Jungkook realized she had used the handheld remote to zoom in on his crotch and abs. She had attached a handy little leather pocket to the back of the chair. Movie magic, she called it. Mary Poppin’s bag of horny horrors, Jungkook called it, because usually it contained very naughty things that fed his kinks.

His cock twitched in the monitor, standing up straighter, filling up the majority of the shot.

He could feel his face burn. At least no one was seeing that.

Yet.

“Look at this pretty dick, everyone. So big and thick because he’s on camera for you.”

Her fingers wrapped around his girth and smoothed out the wrinkles, spreading the fabric taut and adding more mysterious slick clear liquid that was not body oil, Jungkook was sure of it now, but he was too busy squirming and choking back his whimpers, watching his balls and dick get cocooned by a thin layer of damp, shiny, colorful silk, displaying the shape so obviously that it left very little to the imagination except the actual color of his skin which was probably dark red, considering she was teasing the throbbing head with her fingertips now, mashing the sodden fabric against the slit.

His whole body was shimmering with pleasure.

It was so very difficult trying to be a good boy.

Gasping shivers leaked out of his mouth for all the watchers to hear. He gripped the sides of the chair and tried to remain still. Jungkook didn’t want the picture to get blurry after all, but it was feeling so fucking good and he was trying to bottle up the extra mortifying noises. Doing both was proving to be the struggle.

He was losing the battle.

He tipped his head back and lewdly moaned like a man possessed by a succubus.

Not totally wrong. Jungkook was pretty sure his noona was turning him into a massive (maybe slightly narcissistic) pervert, bombarding him with his kinks and ushering him into the development of new ones. She was very enthusiastic about it and it was infectious. Also, deep down, Jungkook was a showman (maybe the greatest). The first time of let’s film ourselves was just for them. A little fun. He liked watching it back. She wrote about it. People seemed to really like it. Do you really do that? She teased him about it. He got annoyed and took a picture to get her back. A little peek at the inside of his shirt. He sent it anonymously to the blog, only to rile her up.

He expected her to delete it.

She replied to it with the caption, my partner in crime.

Jungkook nearly threw his phone into the next dimension in complete and utter shock when he saw it (in public, no less, he lived on the edge). He didn’t, because he needed it to read her porn and to contact her to, erm, make their personal porn.

“Noona! How could you! That’s private!”

“Of course, it is. That’s why they have to pay if they want any more.”

A joke at the time, but…

Again.

That escalated quickly.

Now Jungkook was trembling as he slowly, wetly humped her closed hand, thighs tense, the seat slick under him. Their monthly live play for their highest tier members. He would edit the VOD for later purchase. Attendees received a discount code to access it.

Er. Yeah. Jungkook edited it.

For…

Personal reasons.

Sometimes it took him a while.

Did he mention that he was a video editor? Oh. Right, his day job. He did have some life skills unrelated to sexual acts. He could wash dishes very well too. Excellent at doing laundry. His noona always praised him for his housework.

He liked that.

A lot.

“P-Please…”

Her hand closed a little tighter, taking over the pace. His torso rippled, soft whimpers of want drifting out from his parted lips.

“What do you think, chat? Should I edge him or let him finish in his pants?”

Jungkook felt his shoulder blades hit the chair but he was too busy thinking of the merits of both and watching his cock jerk in her hand. They loved the frustration. He hated the denial and therefore loved it. If he came in his pants, she would peel them off and show the viewers the mess he made. Equally sexy and crazy hot. He was passing out just thinking about it, on cloud nine from her suggestions and the steady, public jacking off.

Couple years ago, Jungkook would have been absolutely against such absurdity (but secretly horny about it, what, he was who he was), but it only took some reading (who would have guessed, not him), a little idea fed by some other avid readers (secret sluts, all of them, he was convinced of it, but he liked it, great minds think alike), and some very convincing, somewhat sly, overwhelmingly sexy persuasion from his favorite mouth (noona, obviously), then, well, fine, Jungkook was easy when it came to her, he could admit it, but she was easy when it came to him too, so the feeling was mutual.

He tilted his head back to look at her, vaguely aware she was zooming out slightly to show off his disheveled, borderline desperate expression.

“Noona, p-please don’t…”

She smiled at him, dainty torture.

He didn’t really mean it, but he couldn’t act easy even if he was.

“How’s this, I edge you first and then I make you cum after you show us how it feels?” she purred dangerously.

She opened her mouth just a little, the tip of her tongue dancing between plush mauve lips.

I hope I die with her pussy on my face and her mouth on my dick. We can definitely find some Viagra in the old people home. Or the hospital. Wherever we end up.

One would think that contemplating his mortality with a death sixty-nine would ruin his boner, but it did not. Jungkook did, however, have to bite his lip very hard so he didn’t crack up randomly in the middle of the moment. That was not the vibe.

“D-Don’t do that, please, I’ve been good…” he managed to get out, leaning his head back and looking up at her so only she could see his eyes. She could tell instantly that he was trying not to laugh. Her eyes narrowed, a wordless, the fuck are you thinking about, but it was her job to bring him back to the moment.

“What’s that, bunbun? You want them to watch your face as I tease you?”

Ah, yes, exactly what he needed.

One thing that slightly disappointed Jungkook when they had first met was that she confirmed that she didn’t like pet names. While he could admit the basic ones were rather weak and not very creative, he still wanted a little something between them. He liked the idea of pet names being a shared secret between him and his lover, but, no, she remained firm, you can call me ‘love’, but that’s it, I don’t like the other stuff, oh, okay, so he stuck with being annoying and making her laugh with his facial expressions while washing dishes. But then came Halloween, and it was dress up time. They were discussing with the live chat on what ears he should wear (of course, he had to wear the ears but he wasn’t complaining, fluffy animal ears were cute), and they narrowed it down to dog ears or bunny ears, letting their fans decide.

“But I wanna be a Maltese. Don’t I suit a dog more? Woof!”

Jungkook thought his barking was very convincing.

“I don’t know, I think you suit a bunny quite well,” she had said, tucking his hair behind his ear and letting her fingertips linger on his earrings, making him visibly shiver with pleasure. He learned to love it when she showed him public affection (read: get horny). “What do you think, chat? Helpless little Jungkookie unable to escape from my naughty traps. Silly bunbun, you walked in there all alone, knowing you would be trapped by all those ropes, but don’t worry, it will be a very fun playtime.”

Yes, the bunny ears won by a long shot, but Jungkook was not even mad about it. He put on those long white ears and posed like the caught bunny he was.

Tied-up, blindfolded, and with a fluffy cottontail buttplug.

Happy Halloween, right?

Maybe Jungkook should have felt ashamed about it, but that was the least risqué thing he did in these bunny ears, so, uh, yeah.

Anyway, she started calling him bunbun every once in a while, and it got him every time. So was the current action of pouring more slippery stuff on his hard, pants-covered dick, but, hold on a sec, it was feeling a little tingly there. A bit hot and cold, what the–

“Oooh, fuck!”

She wrapped her fingers around his cock and then he really felt it, a whole lot of what-the-fuck-is-going-on, even though he had a vague idea of what was happening, but, nope, that was impossible to concentrate on. His entire length felt like it was on the seesaw of sensations between hot and cold, between tingly and holy shit (yes, that was a feeling, he decided that right now), and it traveled throughout his whole body, down his legs and up his spine, to his shaking arms and rapidly falling shirt that he had completely forgotten about, leaving him shirtless, wretchedly moaning, and clutching the sides of the chair so hard that his knuckles were white. Fast, slick, tight pace, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, it was dripping down to his balls, slipping into the crack of his ass, and his eyes were rolling back, lost in the agonizing prickling pleasure. He had to lock his knees so he wouldn’t fall, it took everything in him not to fall, the hot-cold tingling crazy unbearable but so, so good.

Surely, he was getting bamboozled by this “body oil” business, but right now Jungkook did not give a flying fuck.

“Please don’t stop, please, noona, I’m begging you, please, please, please…”

She tilted her grip and the tight ring of her fingers began to rub against the underside of the head. Sloppy, squelchy pops with each stroke, creating the sound effect of fucking a wet hole instead of her hand, and his brain just had to conjure the picture of her spread ass and pussy, the kind of image where he was below her and she was spreading those juicy ass cheeks for him, strong muscles flexing and not letting him touch, making everything so much better and so much worse.

Yes, at this point, his brain could sexually torture him without warning.

Jungkook could say he didn’t like it, but that would be lying and he was not a liar. Also, he was a little bit of a masochist. Whoops.

She stopped, squeezing the head brutally.

“Mmmm, no, p-please, no…!”

Without realizing it, his head had fallen down, spotting himself in the mirror. His black hair a complete wreck, bright brown eyes shiny with need, unclutching one hand to grab the hem of her short dress and tugging on it, ruining himself even more with the image of slinky fabric pressed into juicy curves, the denied high coursing through him in maddening throbs, nerves ferociously firing, expecting something more, but there was nothing, nothing, just his poor cock crying out tears of pre-cum and soaking into the mess of his pants that surely would not be worn again, especially after he was about to orgasm in them.

And people were watching.

He could see himself in the mirror.

So good, ugh, all of it making him so aroused that he felt lightheaded. No choking needed (but he would never say no to a little throat hug from those pretty hands). His trapped erection was twitching. He was doing that. Putting on a show. He could feel it too, the wet silky fabric stretching and applying threads of faint pleasure from the pressure, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

He needed more.

Jungkook craved more, craved to show what he could do, what he could take. Wanted her to pose him, use him, display him like her most prized, most beautiful, personal sex toy.

“N-Noona…”

Her hand came back, drenched again with the tingly liquid, massaging the engorged tip, and he moaned, low and wanton, drunk on the moment, his legs falling even more open and rolling his hips into her palm, spreading it, watching himself, so slippery and so shiny, so many lights and a camera capturing his filthy actions, dirty bunbun, she murmured under her breath, and Jungkook vainly wished that he could be unaffected but he was not, too many naughty nights and soft coos of dirty bunbun turning him into a complete and utter slut for every orifice, every touch, every smirk from this one woman. He was just a complete hot mess of glistening chest, hard nipples, and silk pants molded to his dick, trying to catch his breath so he could beg.

“Wanna cum in your pants, Jungkook?”

“Y-Yes, please...”

“Wanna show our friends how much of a good boy you are?”

Was she going to make him cry for it or what? Jungkook found that he didn’t care.

“Y-Yes, noona…” he gasped out tearily as he felt her pour more liquid. She spread it over his inner thighs and balls with her free hand, still teasing his abused cock with the other. Then she tilted her body as she kneeled, letting the camera have full access to his. Wound her left hand around his length as the right continued stimulating the head. She got a little closer, and, oh, wow, he could hear the obscene sounds through the mic pinned to her dress, louder and heavier – his ragged breathing, wet-on-wet, and she was going to make him cum and then squish it against his cock, cover him in it like the dirty bunbun he was.

And he could look into the camera lens and see himself in the mirror behind it.

Dark brown eyes glazed over, biting his lower lip, tiny mole and silver ring flashing, whole chest tense and glistening muscles bulging from his effort to stay still, defenseless as his cock was being pumped at a firm, steady pace at the same time the head was being rubbed, knowing there was at least a couple hundred, maybe even a thousand, viewers watching him get wrecked right now, eagerly listening to his building whines and sloppy sounds, and he was going insane, letting himself think, I’m just your toy, noona, please play with me, at the mercy of her touch, in the headspace where he believed that he couldn’t do anything to stop the maddeningly slow, insistent touch, so helpless, trapped by his own free will, nothing more than a pretty plaything.

Jungkook did think he was a very handsome, sexy, pretty plaything.

What?

He was looking at his reflection, after all.

“A-a-ah, I’m g-gonna cum… fuck!”

The watchers couldn’t see, of course, so he had to say it, and that required him to unlatch his lower lip, letting out an embarrassing string of moans and cries, his shoulders flinching as he came, head falling back, mouth open, powerfully jerking his hips with every spurt that creamed down his twitching length, only for to be squelched back onto sensitive skin. Pathetic whines ricocheted through his lungs, tingly and warm and sticky and slick, his orgasm squished against his balls, his cock, his pants, the sound so vulgar, so nasty, so fucking sexy that he felt more dribble out of him, stuck to the silk, then unstuck and molding back in place, the mixing liquids attracted to each other, sucking it back against hot, shivering skin and coating him with his own cum.

He was a good boy.

He couldn’t face the audience right now, but he obediently lifted his trembling hips as she peeled his pants off, glancing down, oh, what a delicious mess, strings of cum and lube clinging to his thighs and purple-red cock, and Jungkook shuddered, addicted to the sight and her smearing his release onto his skin, covering him with it.

She tugged his pants off and nudged his leg.

“Show them.”

He should have been ashamed, but he unashamedly liked it, adjusting his trembling legs on the seat and kneeling on it, placing his hands on the back of the chair to put his crotch on full display, dripping softening cock and all.

Jungkook gasped as he felt his soiled pants smear against his cheek, wiping the strong scent of salty cum onto his face. Marking him. Viewers couldn’t take screenshots on this platform, but Jungkook was sure that people were going to the pause on the later uploaded VOD here, right here, at his sweaty black hair covering half his face, his panting mouth, and glossy naked body, just to gaze at him in sheer awe of how astoundingly filthy he was.

Get off to it.

He was going to, that was for sure.

She leaned over and licked his cum-covered cheek.

He moaned deep in his chest, crumpling a little.

Jungkook was weak when it came to her, after all.

She backed up and let him have a moment to the camera, still semi-hard because he knew it was still on. He thought about it, touching himself, but there were no free shows. He remembered and he was a good bunbun. He dared not mess with the plan, whatever that was. Jungkook never asked to know it. He liked the surprise, the thrill.

He did have a safe word, but he never found himself using it.

“Now, a little more lube, and we’ll shove something cute in that tight little asshole of yours.”

He nearly shot off his seat, except he couldn’t because it was slippery as fuck.

“N-Noona!”

Her tone was bright and cheerful. Sing-song-y, even.

“Sorry, all, please stand by.”

She pressed a button and the monitor changed to a cute tune with a colorful stand by for technical difficulties screen. In the bottom right corner was a small animation of his chibi self in bunny ears creating a little dust cloud in his work. Clearly working hard.

His current self was falling out of the chair.

“Please, wait, let’s t-talk about this–”

“Do you want the bigger one or the vibrator?”

“… D-Don’t make me choose, p-please…!”

“Or the beads, I haven’t popped beads out of your ass in a while,” she suddenly said, and Jungkook was screwed (in multiple ways), seeing the string of sizable purple anal beads curled around her pretty hand and entranced by her dirty words like he was caught in a magic spell. “You jack yourself off as I pull the beads out one by one, and we can listen to you count. If you miss one, I’ll push it back in so you can get it right.”

Which was why, after a readjusted camera angle and eagerly whimpering as she lubed him up and stuffed him, Jungkook was on his knees with his ass in the air, deliberating missing numbers so he could feel the sensation of the anal beads being shoved back in and out of his glistening asshole. He was using a copiously disconcerting amount of lube to masturbate so the sound was extra messy and extra loud. He wanted everyone to hear. His face was half-pressed to the floor, craning his head to watch himself cry out in the mirror.

It didn’t take him very long, which was disappointing, but it was very satisfying to watch.

He held out for as long as he could, even stopping his own movements and playing up his helplessness to get a few stinging slaps to his ass, getting it nice and red. He was scolded, as he should be. Bad bunbun. It made his overstimulated cock throb, pre-cum gleaming off the abused, purple-red tip. All the beads were jammed back in, filling up and stretching out his tight little hole, starting the cycle once more.

She poured more of that tingly hot-cold lube back onto his asshole and balls, teasing the space between them with her nails. Fuck, it was so good, he wanted to melt into the floor, rocking his hips in the air at the uncontrollable ecstasy. He pleaded despairingly, assuring her and the watchers that he’d be a good bunbun, he would. She hummed doubtfully, but began to pull out the beads again, forcing him to count each one, loudly.

Jungkook really tried to get to seven.

He really did.

He got to four and came all over the floor in a wrecked, fucked-out gasp, streaming cum onto the hardwood and making another mess. Felt his hips shake and the string of anal beads hang, because of course she left them there, a naughty tail of shame as she gripped his arms and forced him up, the lubed-up plastic balls hitting her thigh as he barely rested on her lap, not putting any of his weight on her, whimpering as she grabbed his chin and dragged him down to the camera.

“T-Thanks for watching…” he barely managed to choke out as she tucked part of his hair back, rubbing the side of his lip with her fingers, creating another mess of his cheek.

He was aware that maybe he should have looked a little pathetic. Ashamed at being used. At least some discomfort for his sore dick from multiple orgasms, oversensitivity, and freaking anal beads still sticking out of his ass.

Nope.

Jungkook smirked mischievously at the camera as she turned off the livestream.

“Noona.”

“Yup.”

“You can’t just put anal beads in my ass when I’m lust-drunk.”

“I think I can.”

He puffed his cheeks. “Noona…”

“What a cute pout.” She traced it, toying with his lower lip with her cherry-red nail. “I love it.”

He pursed his lips and made a show of it. Made her chase it a little, and then she planted her nail on his underlip mole, poking him lightly before leaning in, stealing a kiss. Imminent danger shouldn’t be so incredibly hot and so incredibly bangable.

It was not okay.

Unfair.

Not allowed.

There were more words for it, but Jungkook couldn’t think of any right now, words tumbling out of his head because of those dancing kisses and flickers of tongue, chasing them, chasing those plush mauve lips, that sly smirk, and that devious mind that held all these plans about all the dirty things that he could do. And he could do a lot of them. Jungkook liked challenges. It was pretty dangerous, pestering her to tell him what else she was thinking about, but Jungkook knew all about danger, and he liked danger.

“I love you.”

He loved his noona most of all though.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

To think this all came form a quiet little smut blog.

Heh.

part ii halloween special

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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