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#javier peña x reader
fhatbhabie · 2 days
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Javier Peña x Plus Size Reader (ft Joel Miller)
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Part 2 of Mejor Sin Ti
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings: plus size reader, reader is hispanic, spanish dialect w/ english translations (no need for the SAP button.), illusion of smut, fighting, asshole!Joel, protective!Javi, if I missed any please let me know!
A/N: so i lied. i said this was gonna be the last part but if y'all know me- im a 3 parter whore so yes- there's one last part coming soon!
If you don't like it, don't bite it.
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Late Summer 2008
He stood there on the front steps of your mothers house, dressed in a dark red button up that he had tucked into a pair of dark navy blue slacks. Nothing too flashy but still dressed up nice enough for a first date. He knocked on the front door and only seconds later you opened up. You had your hair tossed up in a messy bun with a few strands hanging by the side of your soft cheeks and dressed in an oversized t-shirt with a pair of black leggings. Breathtaking in Javi's opinion.
You looked down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand and realized you had screwed up. “Shit… Our date was tonight.” you sighed as you pinched the bridge of your nose, silently cursing your shitty memory.
“It's okay. I can wait for you to get ready-”
“I can't go. My mom picked up an extra shift tonight and I don't have anyone to watch Sarah.”
“Who says we have to go out?” he asked as he handed you the flowers. You gently took them from his hands and gave him a small smile, opening the door more to let him in the house.
“Sorry about the mess. Girl goes through more laundry than me and my mom combined.” You walked into the kitchen and filled a vase with water. You looked down at the flowers and smiled. You couldn't really remember the last time someone got you flowers. You walked into the dining room and set the vase in the middle of the table.
“I can cook or we can order take out?”
“You've got plenty on your hands. How about I cook?” He asked as he started to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Javi you don't need to-” You were interrupted by the sounds of Sarah crying again.
“I'll cook. Go take care of your muñequita.”
Muñequita. That was definitely gonna stick.
Later that night, after finally putting Sarah to sleep you and Javi sat in the living room surrounded by the endless supply of baby laundry.
“You don't have to help me, you know.”
“I know.” he smiled as he folded a pair of her tiny leggings. “I want to. Plus, I feel like you could use the company of another adult.”
You let out a small laugh and nodded. “You're not wrong.”
The rest of the night you folded laundry and talked for hours. He talked about his training with the FBI and you talked about any and everything that involved Sarah. That brought up the quite large and obvious elephant in the room.
“So, why did he leave?”
“He said it was because of the opportunity he got to pursue his dreams, but from the moment Sarah was born I could tell how distant he got. We argued more, he hardly ever wanted to pick her up let alone look at her.” You felt the tears start to sting your eyes. Javi must have noticed because he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and held you close to him. The tears ran down your cheeks as you both sat there in silence. You didn't need to say much for him to understand how you felt and he didn't need to say much for you to know that no matter what happens, he'd always be there for you. And Sarah.
*~*~*
Fall 2021
It felt like your mind was playing a sick and twisted game with you. How could he be here?
Why is he here?
How did he know where you lived?
You stared at each other for a long time. You wanted to say something, you wanted to scream. You wanted to cry but nothing came out. You felt frozen.
“Why are you here?” Javi asked.
“To see my daughter.” Javi scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“You lost every right to call her that when you left. Now if you don't mind, I'd like for you to get the fuck off my property.”
Joel chuckled and set his stuff down onto the ground next to him. He tried to walk into the house but Javi blocked the doorway with his body, keeping you behind him.
“Don't you fucking try it.” Javi hissed through his teeth. Joel stepped closer to Javi, their chests mere inches from touching.
“And what are you gonna do about it?” Javi let out a small chuckle and suddenly you heard a crack. You looked up and saw Joel pinching his nose as blood started to drip out.
“What the fuck?” Joel yelled.
“Don't you fucking ever come near my family again or I’ll break more than just your fucking nose. Hijo de su puta madre. (Son of a bitch.) with that Javi slammed the door on him and looked over at you. You still stood there- frozen and unable to move.
“Amor.” Javi whispered as he gently cupped your face.
You looked at Javi, ready to finally say something, but then you choked on your breath and burst into tears. Javi held you close to his chest, gently rubbing your back.
The next morning you woke up with the most unbearable headache, hoping that whatever happened last night was just a dream. You looked over at Javi and saw him face down on his pillow. One of his hands was tucked under the pillow while the other was laying flat against the mattress. That's when you saw it- his slightly bruised knuckle. It definitely wasn't a dream.
You laid there staring up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Your mind going a thousand miles a minute. You slowly got out of bed and went downstairs to the basement. Reaching the bottom of the steps you saw Sarah and Ellie still fast asleep- both unaware and unaffected from the night before.
You made your way back upstairs and started your morning routine. Everyone woke up and ate their breakfast as you stood in the kitchen making their lunches. You heard your phone go off next to you and you glanced down at the screen.
J.M. - Can we please meet to talk? Preferably without your husband.
You stared at the message, contemplating whether or not to respond.
“Amor, estás bien?” (My love, are you okay?) Javi asked as he gently kissed your shoulder. You held your phone up and showed him the message. “Least he knows I'm not fucking playing.” He chuckled.
“I'm gonna go.”
“Want me to go with you?” he asked
“I think I'll be fine.” You unlocked your phone and tapped on the message he sent.
You - Where?
*~*
Every time you heard the door open you looked up, hoping to see him but nothing. You both agreed on noon and it was now 2:30. He obviously bailed and wasn't gonna show. Just as you got up from the table the front door opened again and there he was. He had on a pair of black sunglasses with the hood of his jacket over his head, trying his best not to draw the public's attention to him.
“Sorry for being late, I got caught up in a press meeting… Have you eaten?”
“No. What do you want?” You asked as you looked up at him. Your eyes wandered down to his purple swollen nose, thanking Javi subconsciously. He did a damn good job.
“Can we just… sit and talk please?”
“Fine” You sat back down across from him and crossed your arms over your chest. “Make it quick. I have to pick up my daughter from practice.”
“What kind of practice?”
“Soccer.”
“Oh no way.” He smiled. “Bet you she's the best player.”
“Joel, I'm not here to talk about Sarah. What do you want?” he let out a small sigh and leaned forward against the table.
“I wanna see Sarah.” You scoffed and shook your head.
“You've lost your mind.”
“She's my daughter. I have a right-” You slammed your hand down against the table making everyone in the restaurant look over at you.
“You lost that right when you left! You lost that right when you chose yourself over her! I did it all! I was the one who raised her, while you left and forgot about her! Not a single fucking phone call in 13 goddamn years!!”
“Please don't act like you did it all! You had your pretty little fuck toy to help you! Does Sarah even know about me? About how Javier isn't her real fucking father? How he’s only her father because he was the first and only one who laid eyes on her whored out mother?” You couldn't hold it back anymore. After all these years you finally got the opportunity and just like Joel, you took it. The palm of your hand connected with his cheek bringing out small gasps from everyone around you.
“You can call me a whore and all the other bad names under the sun. You can talk all the shit you want about me but don't you ever talk about Javi. He did what you didn't have the balls to do- be a real fucking father.”
*~*
It was late. Sarah had already gone to bed, leaving you and Javi the only ones awake. You walked into Javi's office and smiled. He was so focused onto the screen of his laptop he hadn't even noticed you walked in the room.
“Amor.” you whispered, finally grabbing his attention. He looked up and smiled. As he looked you up and down his smiled turned into a smirk. You weren't wearing anything special- just a simple tank top and shorts, but it still drove him crazy. You smiled and walked over, pushing his laptop back and sat on the edge of his desk.
“Mi esposa tan hermosa…” (My beautiful wife…) he muttered as his hands gripped your thighs. He pushed his chair closer, making himself comfortable in between your legs. “How did I get so lucky?” he mumbled as he placed small kisses on the softness of your belly.
“He wants to meet her.” you blurted out. He sat up and looked up at you.
“Over my dead body.” Javi scoffed. You looked away, trying your best to avoid eye contact with him. “You want them to meet?” he asked.
“I want her to make that choice. She's old enough to understand. Just scared how she's gonna react when I tell her…” he let out a small sigh and looked over at the framed picture of you three on his desk.
“I'm scared too. Your her mother and I'm.. well nothing. Just the man her mom married.” you cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you.
“You, Javier Peña, are not just some man. You are the love of my life, and no matter what DNA says, you are her dad. You're the one that raised her, the one that always picked her up when she fell down. You loved her as your own. It's what made me fall in love.” he smiled up at you.
“We can tell her together.”
The next morning you felt more nervous then ever. You sat next to Javi at the dining room table, bouncing your leg up and down as you waited for Sarah to walk down.
“Hey..” he whispered as he placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze. “I'm right here baby..”
The sound of her footsteps against the stairs made your heart nearly stop. This was it. You had no other choice. He was back in town and the older Sarah got the easier it was for her to find out the truth on her own. She couldn't find out any other way. It had to come from you.
“Morning.” she looked over at you and saw the nervous expression on your face. “What's going on?”
“Come sit muñequita. We need to talk to you about something.” Javi said as he motioned to the empty chair in front of you two. She walked over and slowly sat down. You reached across the table and grabbed her hands.
“Baby I haven't really been honest with you and now that you're older I think it's time for you to know the truth.”
“Truth? About what?”
“There's someone who wants to meet you. He's uhh.. back in Austin and I met up with him yesterday for lunch.”
“Some random guy wants to meet me? Why? Who is he?” she asked.
“Your father…”
She let out a light chuckle, thinking you were joking, but she looked over at you again and saw you were being serious. “You're not serious.”
“I am, baby. I’m s-”
“Why didn't you tell me?” she raised her voice, tears now streaming down her cheeks.
“Honey-”
“Did you know??” she asked Javi. He nodded.
“You guys are such hypocrites. You tell me all the time to never hide anything- to never lie. Yet for the last 13 years of my life you two have been fucking lying to me!!” she got up from the table and stormed up the stairs. As soon as she reached her bedroom she slammed the door shut.
She was face down in her pillow, sure to leave wet spots from her tears. She looked up and saw the purple photo frame sitting under her lamp. The warm light from the lamp made the picture practically glow. It was at her first soccer match. Her team had won and after handing out trophies, you were desperate for a picture to capture the moment. Javi had his arm wrapped around her shoulders as she held up the trophy, giving the camera a peace sign with her fingers. It was her favorite picture.
A soft knock on her door pulled her attention away.
“Sarah.” you called out.
“It's open.” she muttered loud enough for you to hear. You slowly opened the door and saw her curled up in her bed, clinging onto her pillow for dear life.
“Can we talk please?” You asked as she slowly sat up. She leaned back against her headboard and nodded. You walked over and sat down on the bed by her feet. “Amor, I'm sorry I kept this from you.”
“I don't even know what he looks like…” she muttered. You looked down at the small picture album in your hands. You set the album down on her bed and slid it over to her. She grabbed the album and gently opened it. The first picture made her smile. It was a polaroid picture of you with your shirt pulled up, exposing your swollen belly.
“Thought I was born in 2008, what's with the polaroids?”
“He had a thing for polaroids. Every time we went to do something he always carried it with him.” you got up and sat next to her.
She flipped through the album- mostly filled with pictures of you through your pregnancy and ultrasound copies. Then she reached the second to last picture. It was taken in the living room of your mothers house. You were sitting on the front deck, smiling. Joel sat next to you with his hand on your belly, looking at you and smiling. She flipped to the last page and even after all those years and through a picture, something changed. You were sitting in a hospital bed, holding the newborn you had been dying to meet, while Joel stood next to you. He wasn't touching you or holding you like husbands normally do when their child has just been born, his smile looked fake- forced almost.
“What happened?”
“We got into an argument. He came home talking about an opportunity he got. He said that I was making him say no but that wasn't the case. I told him that he had to think about you. He said some words to me, threw his stuff in his truck and left.”
“What opportunity?” Sarah asked.
“His name is Joel Miller.”
“Wait wait.” She looked down at the photo album again. He looked so young she didn't even recognize him at first glance. “The Joel Miller? Famous country singer Joel Miller?”
You sighed and nodded. “Yes. That's him.”
“My Dearest is my favorite song of his.”
“He wrote that while I was pregnant with you. Every time he played it you'd start kicking like crazy. He first titled it "My Dearest Sarah.”
“So he names a song after me- the most beautiful, heart warming song I have ever heard- and he still leaves?” she scoffed, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. “Do I have to meet him?”
“Not if you don't want to. But if you do, for whatever reason, I can call him and set up something.”
She looks up at you and nods. “Let's do it.”
*~*~*
Winter 2022
It started with one meeting, then two, then three.
“Then he took me to the Moody Center for his sound check and- oh my god, mom it was amazing. He played My Dearest and his cover of Rockstar.”
“Sounds like you had fun, baby.”
“He gave me tickets for his show tonight. Can I go?” she asked
“Mija, I don't know.”
“Please? It's backstage passes. He said it's totally safe, there's security and cops and everything.”
You looked over at Javi and he then looked over at Sarah.
“Who's bringing you back?” he asked
“Joel said he would.” Javi scoffed and shook his head.
“No lo creo por un segundo.” (I don't believe it for a second.) he muttered under his breath. You grabbed your phone and called Joel, putting your phone on speaker.
“What's up?” He answered.
“Sarah said something about a concert tonight. Said you gave her tickets.”
“Yeah I did. Backstage so she can stay close to me. I can take her back home too. Give you and your… husband some alone time.” The way he said ‘husband’ made Javi chuckle. For some reason, the idea of Javi pushed Joel's buttons to the max. Javi being the way he is, found it hilarious. So did you.
“Fine.” you muttered. “But I swear to you Joel Miller if my daughter comes back with one scratch so help me God-”
“She's my daughter too, you know? And like I told you, I'll keep her safe.”
He had been back in Austin for the last few months and every other weekend he wanted to spend time with Sarah. Not once did he make you not trust him. He'd bring her home on time and never was late to pick her up. He gained your trust. She's gotten really close to him- even heard her call him ‘dad’ one day when he dropped her off. He apparently gained her trust as well. You silently prayed that he wouldn't break it- for Sarah's sake.
*~*
She looked around every room backstage. Nothing. She kept calling his number but all she got was his voicemail.
Maybe he's outside.
She walked out of the venue and made her way through the crowd. Nothing. Other people from the concert started to leave, leaving her all alone. She made her way back to the venue but was stopped by security.
“No re-entry.” He grumbled.
“Joel Miller, he's my dad.” She explained but he just laughed in her face.
“No re-entry.” Sarah walked away and called Joel again. Nothing. Her finger hovered over your contact.
She's gonna be so mad…
The room was hot. Beads of sweat scattered across yours and Javi's bare chests. Grunts and groans came from both of you as you dug your nails into his shoulder blades. His hands roamed your curves, sweet praises slipped his lips in between groans. Euphoria.
Your phone rang, pulling your head out of the clouds and back to dry land. You looked over and saw Sarah's name light up your screen.
“Javi wait, it's Sarah.” He groaned and stopped his movements and held you close to him. You reached over to the nightstand and grabbed your phone.
“Yes baby?” you answered, trying not to sound so out of breath.
“I can't find him.” she sniffed. “The concert ended and he said he'd be back but I can't find him.”
“Stay right where you are Sarah. Don't move, don't talk to anyone. Keep your phone on, we're on our way. Just 20 minutes baby.”
“Okay.” with that she hung up as you quickly got out of bed and got dressed.
“Que paso?” (What happened?) Javi asked as he started getting dressed.
“She can't find Joel. Concert ended almost an hour ago and she couldn't find him anywhere.”
“Voy a matar ese pinche cabrón.” (Gonna kill that fucking asshole.)
20 minutes. It's all it took for Javi to pull into the parking lot of the arena. You both got out of the car and walked over to Sarah who was sitting on the curb.
“Muñequita, are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah Dad I'm okay.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. Let's get you home.” Javi helped her up and you both walked her to the car. A side door of the arena flew open and out stumbled a very drunk Joel Miller with a group of people.
“Take her to the car.” Javi muttered to you as he made his way to Joel.
“Javier! Don't!” you called out, hoping he'd think before acting, but it was too late.
Joel heard you and looked up, only to be met by the blunt force of Javi's fist. Joel fell back into the pavement and Javi got on top of him, swinging over and over, completely ignoring the cracking sound under his fist. He grabbed Joel by the collar of his shirt and got in his face.
“Te dije que te iba matar pendejo!” (I told you I was going to kill you dumbass.) He pushed him down onto the pavement making Joel groan at the pain. Suddenly red and blue lights appeared in his peripheral vision. He felt two people grabbing him, pinning him down to the ground and wrapping the cool metal around his wrists.
Fuck.
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divider cred: @saradika-graphics
Taglist: @harriedandharassed , @theoraekenslover
special s/o to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin , @catchallfangirl , and @pamasaur for beta reading and listening to me yap about this for the last few days. i love y'all 💕
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milla-frenchy · 6 hours
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Glory O
2k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy | ao3 Summary: you work in a brothel, and two guys want to try something new Warnings: 18+ mdni. pwp. Glory hole, sex work, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering, jacking off, spitting, piv, cumplay, creampies, gun threat (not against reader) No age specified.  a/n: thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta reading 💕 and @toxicanonymity for the spanish translation🖤
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“Let’s try this one” was the first thing you heard when they came in. You were lying on your back, the upper part of your body was hidden behind a thin wall, leaving your pussy and legs exposed. 
A hand rested on your thigh and you shivered. Even though you had been working there for several months, the first contact always made your heart rate accelerate. Hand pressure was often characteristic of how you were going to be fucked. Often, but not always. A gentle caress like the one at that moment, could lead to a rough or painful fucking. Or a boring one. 
The hand brushed against your skin, thumb facing your inner thigh.
“What do you think?”, you heard a man with a Chilean accent.
“Yeah, sure. You go first”, a voice with an American accent replied.
“You really like to jerk off while I fuck them, right?”
The other man chuckled, not denying it. The client next to you unzipped his jeans, then you heard the friction of clothes sliding slightly. He probably had his pants pulled down just below his balls. He put his hands on you, and when he positioned himself between your thighs, you felt a warm, hard cock pressed against your pussy. You held your breath, ready to take his cock like this, without preparation. Like you always had to do.
But he hesitated, staying there for a few seconds, his shaft against your folds. Then you heard him tuck his cock in his pants without zipping them up. His thumb spread your folds and you heard “mmmm…gorgeous. Steve, look at that.”
Footsteps came closer, and a low whistle echoed through the room.
“Yep, can’t wait to fill her up.”
You swallowed, waiting for what was going to happen. 
You suddenly heard the noises coming from the nearby partitions. For a moment, you forgot that you weren't alone. Other women were being fucked, and you easily recognized the noises feigning pleasure. You always did the same, wanting the fucking to end quickly. 
When you felt a warm breath against your pussy and a mustache brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs, you snapped out of your thoughts and whimpered. The man grabbed the back of your knees and moved you towards him as far as the opening would allow, before resting one of your legs on his shoulder. His thumb brushed up and down your folds and you heard him inhale. When his tongue licked between your folds in one stroke, you moaned.
“Already wet”, he murmured.
Two men in the brothel together to fuck you could be intimidating, or degrading, but this time you were slightly less guarded than usual. He was still brushing your folds with his thumb, and you got even wetter. His finger was as sensual as his hand on your thigh, he was good at it. He brushed his finger over your clit, twirling it delicately under his skin.
“Fuck,” you muttered. That was new. They rarely took the time to make you come, and his touch was truly perfect.
“You like that, Cariño (honey)? Gonna come for me?”
His thumbs spread your folds again, then his tongue ran over them, in long strokes from bottom to top, several times.
“Oh my god”, you whimpered in your breath.
He buried his tongue in your pussy, as far as he could, his hands holding your thighs. You felt like in less than two minutes you were going to come and you covered your mouth with your hand of surprise. 
“Want a taste, Steve?”
“Not yet.”
The man put your other knee on his shoulder, still fucking you with his tongue, grunting between your thighs. You heard “Steve” unzip his pants, then spit.
The man between your thighs moved up to your clit with his tongue, and he circled it with his lips, sucking gently. His middle finger brushed against your entrance, covering it with your wetness. When he pushed it in gently, the tip of his tongue swirled over your clit. Quickly, he pushed in a second finger, slowly pumping your pussy with his digits. You grabbed one of your breasts as you were already coming. Quickly, so quickly, that you didn’t really understand that it was going to happen. You wondered if the other men fucking the women heard the difference in tone between your moans and theirs.
“That’s good, bebé (baby). I’m gonna fuck you now.” You heard his hand rubbing against his mustache, probably to wipe it. You wondered what he looked like. What they looked like.
He stood up and placed his hand on your hip. His cock in the other one, he rubbed himself against your folds, covering the entire length of his shaft with your wetness, and bringing it up to rub against your clit. Your sensitivity made you gasp every time he touched it. Finally, he placed his tip to your entrance and pushed, making you moan. When the crown of his cock plunged through your entrance, you heard him growl. His dick was thick and you felt your folds part as it passed through them. Both of his hands were now on your hips, he pulled back before hitting the bottom, then thrusted again, all the way in, and you gasped.
“How is she?” asked Steve.
“Good. Fucking good. Chose the perfect one.”
His hands dug into your flesh, his body slamming against yours at a perfect pace.
“Come see this. How her pussy is taking my cock.”
You heard his footsteps, and his proximity allowed you to hear his wrist fucking his cock, too.
“You’re doin’ great, baby. Sucking his cock right in.”
He jerked off faster.
“Shit, all that cream around your cock Javi…you’re giving it to her good.”
You imagined them, their eyes fixed on your dripping pussy. When you felt another hand on your body, you thought you were wavering. Steve caressed your skin, while Javi was still fucking you. Steve slid his hand up to your clit, brushing it gently, and you moaned.
“Shh, you’re ok baby. I’m gonna touch you gently, ain’t gonna hurt you. Ok?”
“Ok”, you murmured, finally giving yourself the right to talk to them.
“Don’t want you to come yet. Can you hold back for me?”, asked Steve.
“I’m…I’m gonna try.”
“Good girl.”
The double stimulation made you clench on Javi’s cock.
“Fuck”, he grumbled. “She’s squeezing my dick. Mierda…(shit).”
“Don’t tell me you’re gonna shoot your load already? Her pussy’s that good?”
“Oh, fuck you! Yeah, she’s that good. You’ll see when you are inside her, smartass.”
He kept thrusting in, his cock was hitting your G-spot. Steve leaned down and placed his lips on your clit and this time you thought you were going to faint. His tongue was applying a perfect pressure and they both were driving you crazy. You felt your pussy clench desperately.
“Fuck, fuck…” Still thrusting in, you heard Javi groan louder and louder. 
“Then it’ll be Steve’s turn, you’re gonna take both of our cocks, right? Gonna fill that pussy with our cum.”
“Yes, yes please…”
Your pussy was clenching and you couldn’t stop it. You felt Javi’s cock twitch inside you, he grumbled “I’m gonna fill you up” and finally he froze, sending spurts of cum deep inside your walls. The sounds of other men's moving bodies, their grunts, were filling the room. 
Once he emptied his balls, he withdrew and spread the cum that was flowing out along your folds with his cock. Then he pulled away, and Steve’s hands were on you. He surprised you too, when he leaned down towards you and twirled his tongue around your clit again. You wondered if Javi had smeared his cum on it, if Steve was tasting him on you. He spread your folds with his thumbs, and you felt some cum leaking down. He stood aside to look. Since they had entered the room, they had behaved differently from all the men who had fucked you so far. The way they were touching you, fucking you, made you tremble. 
Steve slid his middle finger over your folds, spreading more of Javi’s cum, making you hold your breath. Then he stood up, and grabbed his cock.
“Look at that Javi. You’re right, her cunt is gorgeous. And even more beautiful covered with cum.”
He ran his cock along your entrance, soaking it with your wetness and Javi’s cum. You were used to multiple creampies, when several men fucked you in a row. But this sensuality, their playful attitude, was new to you. Steve pushed in, and its girth made you gasp.
“Mmmm, it's good, baby. My cock’s covered by both of you. How hot is that…”
You thought you were going to come just from hearing him, and your pussy tightened around his cock.
“Fuck…don't make me come too quickly. Wanna fuck this pussy properly.”
“Sorry”, you murmured.
“Don't be sorry. Love hearing your little moans. Very different from those of your friends, mmm?”
“Yeah…yeah, fuck.”
“We’re fucking you good, you don't need to fake it…is that right?”
“Yeah, you’re fucking me good. Love your cocks.”
He chuckled, “Yeah, I bet you do.”
You heard another voice, neither Steve nor Javi.
“Andale, cabrón. Toman demasiado tiempo. Queremos cogerla también.” (Come on, man. You guys are taking too long. We wanna fuck her too.)
Steve froze, and asked Javi “What did he say?”, who translated to him.
“We’re not done, man. Pick another girl, move!” He raised his hand, to tell them to fuck off. But it didn’t stop the man:
“Voy a llamar al jefe y él va a sacarlos. Nosotros ya pagamos para cogerla. No pueden tenerla solo para ustedes.” (I'm gonna call the boss, he’s gonna throw you out. We already paid to fuck her. You can't keep her to yourself like that!)
This time, you translated for him. He pulled out of you, and tucked his cock in his pants. You heard a loud noise, and guessed that Steve pinned the other man against the wall. He had difficulty breathing, Steve was probably holding him by the throat. You heard a click of a gun: the security was removed.
“Yo soy tu patrón. ¿Sí?” (I am your boss, yes?)
���¡Está bien! Está bien! ¡Yo hago lo que ustedes digan!” (It’s ok, it’s ok! I’ll do whatever you say)
“¿Sí?” (yeah?)
Steve threw the man to the ground, then put the gun back in his shoulder holster before coming back to you.
Javi pointed his finger to the other men who were waiting, and said “Cállanse, todos. Ahora ella es nuestra. Entienden?” (Fuck off, all of you. She’s ours, for now. Understand?)
There were a few murmurs, then footsteps receded.
“Sorry ‘bout that, baby. Fucking animals.”
Steve thrusted into you after pulling out his cock. He was still hard as steel, as if he enjoyed the adrenaline of the fight. Knowing that he had a gun on him while he was fucking you turned you on, even if you couldn’t see it.
He was fucking you harder, faster. Sometimes slowing down to look at his cock digging into you. Covered in Javi's cum. He leaned forward slightly and let his saliva flow onto your clit, before twirling it under his thumb.
“You’re gonna come for me too, baby? Can’t fill you up if I didn’t make you come. That ain’t good southern manners.”
You felt he was close but he didn’t slow down his pace. Thrusting his thick cock in you, his body slamming against yours, his balls slapping against your ass. He spat on your clit this time, and you felt another orgasm building.
“You’re doing great, Cariño. So good for our cocks. Bet you’d like us to fuck you again. Maybe you’d suck our cocks next time.”
He heard you moaning, and chuckled.
“Yeah? You’d like that, one of our cocks in your mouth and the other one in your cunt? Stuffing you from behind, making you choke on that dick?”
“Javi, what the hell…I’m tryin’ to hold on here!”
The last thing you heard before you came was Javi tapping on Steve’s shoulder. Your pussy squeezed his shaft, and that's all he was waiting for to come deep inside your core, mixing his cum with Javi's, as your spasms were milking his cock.
“You didn’t do better than me, smartass.”
They both chuckled, until Steve pulled out, breathing loudly, and the two stood in front of your open, exposed, dripping pussy. Javi spread your folds, and their cum flowed out.
“Fuck, that’s hot, man.”
“Yeah, we fucked her good.”
***********
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cowgurrrl · 2 days
Text
The Palace in Flames
Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader
Author's note: okay two things 1) fuck it we ball on this timeline 2) i don't love how this turned out but I need to finish it otherwise I'm gonna stare at it for god knows how long so enjoy anyways
Summary: "I'm not a violet dog. I don't know why I bite." [3.8k]
Warnings: canonical violence and language, alcohol, a little bit of backstory, discussion of PTSD like symptoms, a touch of misogyny, canon events but slightly canon divergent timing i think
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There's not a lot you can do at the scene of the car bombing. You and Javi talk to local police and take witness statements from frightened neighbors and anybody else willing to come forward with information while Steve takes pictures. From what you can tell, it looks like it was a crude C4 bomb, one of the easiest to make and detonate. All it takes is the right amount of pressure, and boom. A few unfortunate souls died right beside Jorge as they walked past, unaware of the explosion to come. A hit for one quickly turned into a hit for five. 
You're good enough at your job to recognize the fact that Steve and Javi went poking around for information about the person who ratted on you, and then a few hours later, he's dead, not even ten minutes outside of your neighborhood. Medellín is a big place. It could've been a coincidence, but you're almost certain it's not. You really hope you don't have to make good on your promise to return to the US if they go after you again. 
You, Javi, and a handful of other police officers finish with the witnesses and join Steve by the truck. All files and statements will need to go through the proper channels tomorrow, and it's too late to do anything else. You'll start fresh in the morning: follow through on the plan to send out CENTRA SPIKE to see what they can find, monitor movement, and stay vigilant. But tonight, you deserve to get a drink with your two self-appointed bodyguards.
The great thing about working at the Embassy is that everyone touts interagency cooperation and work, but in reality, you rarely want to see each other in the same place. DEA will hang out at one specific bar while CIA will go to another. You don't even want to know where soldiers and higher-ups go once the clock hits six o'clock. Every agency thinks another agency is fucking them over or doing their job wrong. Everybody wants a medal for being in Medellín and fighting the narcos and communists but rarely wants to work together. You like to think your agencies have the upper hand with the three of you being friendly and sharing information without going through official, classified paperwork. It's not the most recommended or legal way to go about it. But, you've been able to pass on valuable information Javi let slip in between rounds and shared cigarettes under the guise of a Confidential Informant.
You were friends with Javi first. He came to Colombia around the same time you did, and you worked the same hours. You did him favors, and he returned them. You learned not to ask each other too many questions and to take what you're given and hope it leads somewhere. You've gotten little victories here and there: guerillas extradited, kidnapping victims recovered safely, witnesses given protection and visas in other countries. It was nice to have someone you could rely on and bounce theories off of when the office was empty, and you two were puffing your way through a pack of cigarettes. The lines got blurry about six months in. It happened fast and without warning, and you swore it was a one-time thing. And then it happened again. And again. And again. Then, it just made sense to keep doing what you were doing instead of going through the cycle of fighting about it and giving each other the cold shoulder, only to end up fucking in his apartment before the end of the day.
Steve, however, got stuck with you. When he became Javi's partner, he was forced to know your name and seek you out in the office when he needed something. At first, he wasn't super keen about the idea of having to rely on CIA for things— something to do with that DEA machismo of not needing anything from anyone— and then he realized how good you are at your job. Once you helped them get an especially important collar, he opened up. He told you about the killing of his last partner and a little bit about his career up until this point. He practically begged you to talk to Connie when she started getting homesick and having doubts, and you came to care for her. Now, you're an inseparable trio (quartet if you count the nights Connie makes her way from the communa clinic and into the bar). 
You think Noonan knew that when she asked Steve and Javi to join the Colombian police on your recon. Something about friendly faces in an unfriendly territory. She was right. You stuck to Javi the entire ambulance ride to the hospital, and they each took turns at your bedside. Even Connie showed up to take care of you during those long few nights in the hospital. You were less willing to accept help once you were discharged, but Steve would knock on your apartment door every night and leave a covered dish on your doormat while Javi bought you groceries. You owe them a lot, though they'll never let you admit it.
Javi buys the first round to celebrate your reinstatement. He gives a brief, flattering toast to your work, and you roll your eyes but clink your glasses together anyway. You avoid talking about theories and leads in the bar, even though you probably could talk about those things in English and get away with it. Everybody already knows you work for the American Embassy. No reason to give anybody anything to report back. Instead, you talk about stupid things like Steve being unable to speak Spanish.
"I can understand a little," he tries to defend himself, and you and Javi share a knowing look. He definitely doesn't understand enough to quantify it as a little. He might pick up every tenth word and know enough commands to dole them out when he's in the field, but that southern accent anglicizes every single syllable he utters. "Alright, y'all can go fuck yourselves." He says at your silence, making you laugh.
"Don't worry about it, Murphy. Couple more years and you'll be running circles around Javi." 
"I don't know about all that, but she's right. You'll get better," Javi takes a sip of his drink. "Eventually." 
Over two more rounds, you talk about things back home, tell stupid stories, and whatever else you could think of. It's nice to see Steve and Javi acting like they kinda like each other outside of work. Lord knows they're at each other's throats most of the time. You enjoy hanging out with them, and even though you know you can handle yourself, you like feeling protected by them. Years of CIA training and undercover work don't mean shit when all people see is a woman alone at night. 
"Alright, I've gotta get home," Steve says as he drinks the rest of his whiskey and puts his cigarette out. He probably should've been home hours ago, but that's none of your business.
"Tell Connie I said hi." You say, and he smiles, nodding and mumbling a quiet "yes, ma'am." He loves her so much, even just the mention of her makes him light up. Your thought from earlier creeps up. A good man. And yet he's here, doing the same shit you and Javi are. It's a little funny how squeamish he still is about things, but you figure that's the last sign of his humanity. God, please let that linger for as long as possible. Javi takes a drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke away from your face.
"Yeah, give her a kiss for me." He says. Before Steve can even open his mouth, you smack the back of Javi's head and groan.
"Ay, Javier," you scold. "Malo, malo, malo." Javi smiles, a rare sight reserved for moments like this, as Steve bids you goodnight again and leaves the bar. The second he's out of sight, you reach over, snatch the cigarette from Javi's hands, and bring it to your lips. 
"Get your own," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind it. You roll your eyes and exhale. 
"Stealing from you is so much cheaper, though," you shrug as you hand it back to him. "You think he got suspicious when we showed up at the same time?" 
"We live down the road from each other and got the call around the same time. Even if he figured it out, he wouldn't say anything. Plus, I think your little attitude at work throws him off." He says, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 
"My little attitude?" You ask. You know he said it just to piss you off, and you hate that it's working. He smirks and you shove his shoulder, stealing the cigarette back from him. "Pinche cabrón." You mumble, and he laughs. He gets a new cigarette from his pack and lights up. A comfortable silence falls over you as you sit there, his hand finding a home on your thigh under the table. 
"So, how're you doing?" Javi asks, seemingly out of nowhere. You shrug and ash your cigarette into the half-full tray in front of you.
"'M fine." You say, and he hums. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and glances around like he's looking for something you can't see. He blows smoke away from you and leans in. 
"So, waking up screaming is fine for you?" He asks. You didn't want to talk about it when you woke up, and you especially don't want to talk about it now. You poke your tongue into your cheek in annoyance. 
"If you thought I wasn't okay, why'd you push for Noonan to clear me?"
"I didn't say I didn't think you're okay."
"Then, drop it." 
"Look, I know you wanna go all in again, but maybe you should take it slow—at least for a little while," he says, and you scoff.
"Give me a fuckin' break, Javi. Did you take it slow when you got shot?" You ask.
"Getting shot and getting kidnapped are two completely different things."
"And yet we both survived," you say, gesturing between you as proof of your survival. "The doctors wouldn't have cleared me to come back if they didn't think I was ready."
"Yeah? How much you pay 'em off for that signature?" He asks. You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek. You're not going to dignify him with a response but you so easily could. "C'mon, just... let your feet get wet again. Everyone knows you've already got the lay of the land, but they don't know that you won't freak the fuck out once you're fully back in the field. I think some of them are waitin' for it," he says. It would explain why everyone's treating you like you're a time bomb. "If you won't do it for yourself, at least do it because I'm asking you." 
"And are you asking me as a coworker or a friend?" You ask. He's staring at you in his weird Javi way: hardened brown eyes softening just enough to bring your guard down. It's not something he learned from years at the Academy or in the field. That's all him. 
"Would it make a difference?" He asks quietly. Answering a question with a question. What a cop.
"Not really." You say, and he sighs. He scrubs a hand down his face and picks up his drink, a cigarette lingering between his fingers. 
"I'm asking as someone who saw what they did to you." He says before taking a big gulp of whiskey. You haven't talked about it. Not about what he saw and knew before finding you or what exactly happened in that room over those few days. You spent hours upon hours repeating the story for doctors, depositions, agency paperwork, and even to the court-appointed psychiatrist who had to screen you before they could even let you back in the building. So, you weren't necessarily gunning for the opportunity to repeat it again when Javi asked you about it. There are only so many sympathetic looks and half-hearted reassurances one person can take.
Even though you relied on him to tether you back to earth during those first few days, he took the brunt of your emotions. You refused to answer his questions and pushed him away. "I'm just trying to help," he told you when he tried to take care of you. "Where was your fucking help when they grabbed me from the street, huh?" You snapped, exhausted and sore and a little out of your mind. It was mean and unfair. You know how hard everyone worked to find you. You know how he blames himself. You know how scared they were to find your body.
When he puts his empty glass down, you look at him and nod. You can't take back what you said, but you can soften it a little. You put your hand over his and trace the contours of his knuckles. They're a little bruised and cracked, but still a part of him. You take a deep breath and rub your thumb against his skin. 
"Okay," you concede quietly. "I'll slow down for a little while, but the second we have good intel, I'm all in again." He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes your thigh. 
"Thank you." He mumbles. To anyone walking by, you two would look like a couple having a drink after a long day of work before going to your shared home and sleeping it off. You indulge in the thought for a second longer than you meant to before you retract your hand and reach for your drink. 
"You're gettin' soft on me, Peña." You accuse, and he chuckles.
"God forbid I wanna see you make it outta here alive." He says, and you hum as you finish the rest of your drink. His eyes stick to the corner of your lips where a few drops of tequila spilled, his thumb twitching as he stops himself from wiping them away. "What're you doing for the rest of the night?" He asks. It's an opening. An invitation to finish what he started earlier. What happened with Alemán earlier in the day must've wound him up, made him tense and in need of release. Unfortunately for him, there are few things you like more than making him sweat.
"Well, I've got a dinner I need to pack away in the fridge and dishes to clean."
"I can help."
"I don't think you can," you say as you stand and grab your jacket from the back of your chair. "Besides, I'm supposed to be taking it easy. I should probably get some rest before my first actual day back, right?" He rolls his eyes as you throw a couple of bills down on the table for your share of the drinks, and you smirk. "I'll let you walk me home, though." 
"You'll let me?" He asks, but he's already standing and pulling his own jacket over his shoulder. Like clockwork, you think.
"Figured it's the least I could do." You say, and he scoffs, swatting at your ass when he passes behind you.
"Vámonos princesa." 
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You get a warm welcome back to the office by immediately getting thrown into the chaos of the CIA. A corkboard with all known names of M-19 and other communist group members looks like a serial killer's wet dream with all the notes and grainy photos that stare you down as you talk about recent developments in the jungle. Honestly, you don't care what a group of kids are doing or planning to do, but everyone else in the CIA seems to think it's the most pressing matter.
Despite what the Agency and Reagan want you to believe, you know communists are not the most dangerous group in Colombia right now. Narcos are practically running the country and ruining countless lives with their rampant murder and exploitation. So even though Lou wants to sink a billion dollars of American taxpayer money into fighting guerillas in the jungle, you have one eye on the situation with the narcos. You're just waiting for the message to come down through the ranks that it's all hands on deck for taking down Escobar. Lou knows about your indifference and exacerbates it every chance he gets.
"Agent, I want you to work with Mil Group on tracking their movement to see if there are any patterns. I want to know where they're going and what they're planning." He says, pointing to you. You give him a look and cross your arms over your chest. You hate working with Mil Group. It's a group of guys with sticks up their asses and, somehow, never see the outside of an office. You catch Javi and Steve walking by through the windows, obviously going somewhere, and you lose whatever patience you have.
"All due respect, Colonel, but Ambassador Noonan took me off of desk duty effective immediately. I think I could be of more help in another area concerning M-19." You say, and he raises his eyebrows at you. You're also not fucking boss, you think.
"I'm sure we can find the time for you to show us how big and bad you are another time, sweetheart, but right now, this is where you're ordered to go." The nickname is abrasive in your ears, and you want to correct him, demanding your title as Agent, but Javi's words ring in your ears. They're waiting for you to freak out so they can send you home. They're waiting for you to blow up on somebody for a small thing. They want you to fail. You sigh and bite your tongue. 
"Yes, sir." You say before making your way to the Jarheads. 
For being off of desk duty, you still feel like you're doing mind-numbing work. All you're doing is plotting points on a map where satellite phones have pinged off of cell towers in an attempt to triangulate where they might be hiding out. Considering how there are barely any cell towers that reach that deep into the jungle, and even if they did, the calls drop after about thirty seconds, you don't have a ton of riveting information to work with. You listen to the recorded, half-legible calls and translate what you can to another agent, but nothing suggests they're planning anything. If they are, they're keeping it off your radar.
After wasting a stupid amount of time doing that, Lou draws up a bigger map and makes you replot all the points down with an estimate of where they might be. You're not CENTRA SPIKE or well-versed in how triangulation even works, and he knows this. It's a fool's errand at best, but he demands it by the end of the day. "So I can give it to the tech analysis guys." He says. You're about one more pointless task away from bashing your head into a wall, but you start on the map anyway. 
You're about halfway through when you hear Murphy calling your name, and you turn to see him and Javi walking through the crowded Mil Group office. 
"You're working with the Army now?" He asks, and you sigh. 
"For the day. Lou is on everyone's ass about this M-19 shit and thinks I'm the best person for the job, apparently," you say. "Please tell me you have something better than this." 
"We just got a sicario's son off the street. Dumbass was distributing in broad daylight in front of a cop." Javi says, and you furrow your eyebrows.
"We both know that's not a good enough reason for a cop to pick up a sicario's kid. What're you holding out on me?"
"Apparently, the cop heard him bragging about rigging a car with a bomb. He said something along the lines of, 'That's what happens to rats,' and then said something about going after La Golondrina next." Steve supplies. So this sicario's kid rigged the bomb to kill the informant who sniffed you out, said he also had a bomb for you, and now he's sitting somewhere in DEA custody? If Escobar's men weren't going after you before, they definitely are now. 
"Do you think he even knows anything? He might just be daddy's errand boy." 
"He asked for a deal," Steve says.
"Wheeling and dealing might not be grounds for extradition, but threatening to blow up a United States CIA agent just might be," Javi says. Something shifts in his eyes just enough for you to catch it, and you know it has to do with the conversation you had at the bar. You shake your head and break eye contact with him to look at Steve.
"Right, but you know how Wysession and Jones are. If it doesn't involve communist groups, they don't even want to look at it."
"The kid told us that some of Escobar's men have been talking with one of the leaders of M-19." Bingo. You throw down your marker, stand from the desk Wysession relegated you to, and all but march into his office with Steve and Javi close behind you. 
"How's that plotting coming along, honey?" Lou asks as he looks up from his paperwork, his face falling at the sight of the two men behind you. Lou might not like you, but he dislikes Javi and Steve more. 
"Agents Peña and Murphy have intel that Pablo is communicating with M-19 guerillas," you say. "That means there could be a joint attack coming, which means we can't keep separating the communist and narcos task forces." 
"Has this information gone through Noonan?" He asks.
"No, sir. We wanted to relay the information to our Agent here first since the intel involves her kidnapping." Steve speaks up, using your actual title, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking. 
"Is your intel good?" Lou asks Steve, ignoring you and Javi, and Steve gives him a look. 
"You think we'd be wastin' your time if it wasn't?" 
"Well, then, you better get a move on and go tell her." He says like he doesn't actually like the idea, but he can't think of anything else to say. You, Javi, and Steve quickly leave his office and start the trek to Noonan's office when Steve gets a call on his sat phone. He looks like he's about to ignore it before remembering it could be Connie, and even though she's supposed to be at work, he doesn't take any chances and answers it. You're close enough to him to hear her frantic chattering on the phone and saying something about M-19 and Escobar. The walk to Noonan's office turns into a run, but it doesn't matter. By the time you get there, thousands upon thousands of pages of evidence against Pablo Escobar are burning on the TV as M-19 takes over the Palace of Justice. 
This isn't just a singular agency fight anymore. You doubt it ever was. You know that the Palace of Justice Siege will change everything for better or worse, and you have to be ready for it. Promises made over glasses of scotch be damned.
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cherry-holmes · 22 hours
Text
Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña
Chapter 15
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MAIN MASTERLIST
Summary: Six months ago you spoke with Javi for the last time. Now, you tried to continue with your life without him.
SERIES MASTERLIST
Previous chapter
Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader
Word count: 6.9k
Warnings: Angst. Talk of depression. Mention of daddy issues. Brief description of reader’s body. I decide not to give more warnings to avoid spoilers, so keep the reading under your own responsibility, but in general this contains +18 material.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I knew you
Leavin' like a father
Running like water, I
And when you are young, they assume you know nothing
But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss
I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs
The smell of smoke would hang around this long
'Cause I knew everything when I was young
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Finally, on December 2, 1993, Pablo Escobar died in Medellín, bringing an end to years of violence and fear to the country. Of course, the ghosts of evil would linger over for a long time. The narcoviolence was a vicious cycle that corroded everything it touched. But for now, the police of Colombia and the DEA had shown that there were still good people and hope. Even if ir wasn't completely true.
When you saw Steve's photo in the newspaper, you felt proud of him, of course, but you knew that Javier deserved to be there too. He had given many years of sacrificing his own safety and personal life to fulfill his duty. There was no other American who had done as much for his country than Javier Peña. He deserved recognition, he deserved to be decorated and rewarded for his years of service.
But instead, he was being judged for using unorthodox methods to do his job. It wasn't ideal, but it was effective in the end. Who hasn't looked for alternatives in their most desperate moments? They didn't deserve a man like him. And now he was paying the price.
You hadn't heard anything about him since that last call, six months ago. You didn't know if he had been judged or sentenced yet. And you weren't sure if you even wanted to know.
Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, weeks had turned into months. While everything around you seemed to continue its normal course, you felt stuck in Bogotá. Memories of warm nights with him, hurried breakfasts in his truck, and cozy dinners at home lingered, haunting you like ghosts of a past life. You tried to distract yourself, to focus on the routine of daily life, but thoughts of Javier lingered like shadows in the corners of your mind. You wore the necklace he gave you on your birthday like a charm. It was your most precious treasure, the three pearls representing the love he had for you and you for him. Your fingertips sought it out every time you felt down, sometimes unconsciously.
You found it difficult to concentrate on something else, your thoughts constantly drifting back to him, to the uncertainty that clouded his future.
You started to think that maybe the problem lay within you, that you were somehow unworthy of having the man you loved beside you. Doubts ate away at your confidence, questioning your worthiness of love in any form. In the late hours of the night, you grappled with the echoes of your past, recalling the pain of your father's abandonment when you were just a child. That trauma left a deep hole of abandonment in your heart, a wound that never fully healed. And now, facing Javier's absence, it felt like history was repeating itself. The two men you had loved the most had left you, leaving behind a trail of broken promises and shattered dreams. Yes, you still had your beloved grandfather, José, but in those moments of anxiety and depression, you couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with you to not been worthy of love.
Your mother wasn't very helping either, as she wasn't very kind towards you. She never asked you how you were now that you came back or told you she missed you. And when everything with Javi happened, she made cruel comments, hinting that for him you were just another woman and that it was your fault for sleeping with him and not respecting yourself.
However, you had your sisters who supported you through the grief, and the love of your abuelo meant everything.
He was a lawyer, and he offered you a temporary job on his independent buffet while you find a job that suit your requirements.
Losing your dream job as a translator in a foreign country, enduring very difficult situations that put your life in danger, and losing the love of your life—all the trauma and heartbreak left a hole in your chest. It felt as though a part of you was missing, as though you were navigating the world with a piece of your soul torn away.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The Saturday sun bathed the cobblestone streets in a warm, golden glow as you emerged from the church, your heart still echoing the hymns of worship. Beside you, your beloved abuelo walked, his arm linked with yours, his weathered face radiant with the peace of faith.
"What do you want to eat, papá?" You asked him.
"Sarita told me about a new restaurant," he answered as your mother joined his side, "She said they have delicious barbacoa and consomé."
"I don't think you should eat that, papá," your mother intervened, her brow frowned. From the look on her face, you knew she was going to confront Sara for craving such food for grandpa. "The doctor said..."
"The doctor said many things, María," he replied firmly. "I'm going to die anyway, so I'm gonna eat my birria!"
You smiled to your abuelo's stubbornness, and although you knew that your mother could be right, you just couldn't help but want to fulfill his cravings.
"Okay, papá, we all going to have barbacoa," you promised.
Before your mother could say anything to you, your nephews and nieces ran by your side, pointing towards the churro seller.
"¡Tía, cómpranos churros!" they shouted, and you found yourself outnumbered by them.
"Okay, okay!" You smiled as you watched them bouncing in front of you. "Everyone line up by height and ask the señor de los churros nicely for yours."
Your nephews and nieces cheered at unison and ran towards the vending cart. Both your sisters insisted on pay for their own children churros, but you told them that you wanted to buy churros for everyone.
As your sisters and their husbands agreed with your grandfather and your mother to all go to eat to the restaurant Sara propose to your abuelo, you tried to help the churro's vendedor not going crazy with all four children. All of them were under ten years old, so you can imagine how noisy and playful – and troubling – they can be.
As the kids devoured their churros, you juggled between keeping an eye on them and ensuring they didn't wander off too far. Their laughter filled the air, echoing against the cobblestone streets as they ran around in playful abandon.
Guiding your nephews and nieces back to your family, you barely noticed the bustling activity around you until a familiar voice pierced through the chaos. "I've always known that you look even more beautiful around kids."
You froze in disbelief, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice. You turned around and saw Javier standing there. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you took in the sight of him. He looked different, yet somehow the same—the same rugged charm, the same warm gaze that had always captivated you. His mere presence was like a jolt of electricity, sending shivers down your spine and stirring emotions you thought long buried.
As the reality of his presence sank in, a whirlwind of emotions swept through you. Part of you wanted to run into his arms, to hold him close and never let go. Another part wanted to push him away, to confront him for leaving without a word, for breaking your heart with his silence.
But as you looked into his eyes, you saw the pain and regret reflected in his gaze—the same pain you had been carrying in your heart all these months. And in that moment, all your anger and hurt melted away, replaced by a flood of overwhelming love and longing.
"Javi?" your voice cracked, eyes inevitably flooded with tears. ''How...?''
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I shouldn't have left you like that."
Without another word, you closed the distance between you, your heart pounding with anticipation. Javier's eyes softened as you reached out, your arms trembling as they closed around his torso. The touch was electrifying, sending a surge of warmth coursing through your veins.
You couldn't understand exactly how he was right there, what happened during all those months?, how the hell did he found you? But he was there, he was between your arms again... His warmth, his scent, his beating heart beneath your ear, were things you thought you would never feel again.
"¿Tía?" you heard the little voice of Ana, the youngest of your nieces, as she pulled the skirt of your dress. "Is this Javi? The boy you always cry for?"
You glanced down at her, innocent eyes wide with curiosity, and then back at Javier, uncertainty clouding your thoughts. How could you explain the complexities of love and loss to a child?
"Ana, come here," Silvia, her mother, approached to grab her. She looked at Javi and then back at your watering, reddened eyes. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," you answered, a smile prompting on your lips, blush coloring your cheeks. It was the first time in a long, long time that you felt a genuine sense of emotion and happiness since you arrived in your birth-town. "Silvi, this is Javi. Javi, this is my sister."
Javier extended his hand towards Silvia, a warm smile gracing his lips. "Nice to meet you, Silvia," he greeted, his voice gentle and sincere.
Silvia's expression changed upon recognizing his name. Her eyes softened as she shook Javier's hand. "Likewise," she replied, her eyes flickering with curiosity. Of course, she had memorized his name and appearance through the photos you had shown her and Sara of your time in Colombia with Javi. Your sisters had wiped your tears and listened to your heartbreaking cries for him.
You saw your family approaching you, everyone seeming curious and expectant. Your hands were shaking, your heart felt like it could punch through your chest. So had so many questions, so many things to say to him. Suddenly, you felt overwhelmed.
"Buenas tardes," your abuelo approached to you. You recognized that look on his face, the same he had every time you or your sisters met a new boy. Your abuelo had always been the jealous kind, but in a sweet way.
Javier greeted your abuelo, extending his hand in a gesture of respect. "Mucho gusto, Don José. Javier Peña," he said, his voice resonating with genuine warmth, remembering your grandfather's name.
Your abuelo's eyes twinkled mischievously as he shook Javier's hand. "¡Ah! So you're the famous Javier," he replied, his tone tinged with playful teasing.
Javi looked at you with a playful arched brow, causing your face turned completely red, like a tomato. You were the most gorgeous tomato he had ever seen in his life.
"Everyone, I want you to meet Javier," you said, gesturing towards him with a smile. "Javier, this is my family."
Your sisters and their husbands exchanged glances, their eyes bright with curiosity as they greeted Javier warmly. "Nice to meet you, Javier," Sara said, extending her hand.
Javier shook her hand with a polite nod. "You too. You must be Sara."
Sara chimed in, her excitement palpable. "Yeah, it's great to finally meet you in person."
Your mother, who had been observing quietly, offered a reserved nod of acknowledgment, her expression unreadable.
As the greetings subsided, Silvia turned to Javier. "Hey, why don't you join us for lunch at the restaurant? We'd love to have you."
Before Javier could respond, you interjected gently, "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a private conversation with Javier first. We can catch up with everyone later this afternoon at home."
Javier's stomach churned at your words. "Have a private conversation" sounded like you were about to have a serious discussion. He wasn't expecting you to receive him as if nothing happened, as if he hadn't broken your heart. He was surprised and relieved when you hugged him upon seeing him, but he thought it might have been just a quick reaction, an impulsive action prompted by the heat of the moment.
Silvia's eyebrows raised in surprise, but she nodded understandingly. "Of course, hermanita. We'll see you both at home then."
With a collective agreement, your family bid you and Javier farewell, dispersing toward the church's parking lot with chatter and laughter trailing behind them. You turned to Javier, a mixture of anticipation and nerves swirling in your chest, ready to finally have the private conversation you'd been yearning for.
"So, shall we take a taxi?" you said finally.
"Actually, I brought my truck," he said, pointing at the park across the street, where you saw a red 90s Chevrolet Silverado.
"You drove all the way here?" The thought of him driving three hours, crossing the border, just to see you stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you. It was both overwhelming and heartwarming to know that he had gone to such lengths to be with you.
"Of course, from Laredo" he confessed.
As you walked across the street towards his truck, the atmosphere between you felt familiar, bringing back a flood of memories. Javier unlocked the truck and held the door open for you, as you settled into the passenger seat, the scent of his cologne enveloped you, filling you with a sense of comfort.
Once you were there, feeling overwhelmed by his return, after everything you had been throgh being away from him, thinking he was even in jail. It was too much, you barely could process it... You finally broke, as soon as Javi closed the drivers door, you started crying.
Javier's heart ached as he watched you cry, his own emotions swirling inside him like a tempest. He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering over yours, unsure if he should offer comfort or give you space.
He called your sweet name in a way only he could. You felt shivers just hearing it, reminding you of the power he had over you.
You turned to him, tears streaming down your cheeks, your eyes filled with a mixture of sadness, relief, and confusion. "Why, Javi?" you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "Why did you leave me?"
Javier's heart clenched at the pain in your voice, the anguish etched into your features. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to face the truth, to lay bare his soul before you.
"I thought I was doing the right thing for you," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was trying to protect you."
You wanted to ask again "why?" but you knew it was unnecessary because you understood why. He was trying to shield you from becoming attached to a convict, a man who was not physically free. It had taken you a long time to grasp the magnitude of the situation and his sacrifice. Javier Peña wasn't a selfish man.
"It's important to me for you to understand that at that moment everything seemed to be against me," he continued, his eyes staring at you with longing and desperation, as he feared you wouldn't want to hear him or wouldn't believe him. "Don Berna betrayed me and forced Judy Moncada to leave Colombia and spill everything about the DEA agent who was foolish enough to trust them. I was told that I had committed a federal crime by getting involved with Los Pepes."
For a moment, the gravity of his words left you speechless, grappling with the enormity of what he had endured. You knew firsthand the dangers and complexities of his work, but hearing the details of his ordeal sent a chill down your spine.
"I had to make a choice," Javier continued, his voice tinged with regret. "I couldn't risk your safety, not when everything was falling apart around me. I thought I was doing what was best for you, even if it meant sacrificing my own happiness."
New tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out to him, your hand trembling as it touched his. In that moment, words seemed inadequate to express the depth of your emotions, the overwhelming rush of love and forgiveness that flooded your heart.
"I missed you," you confessed, your voice barely contained. "I was devastated. Not only for how things between us ended, but for thinking about what would happen to you..."
Javier's gaze softened as he listened to your heartfelt words. He reached out, gently brushing away your tears with his thumb, his touch sending a wave of warmth through you.
"I missed you too, every moment," he admitted, his voice filled with raw emotion. "Not a day went by when I didn't think about you. Te amo, y te juro."
"Javi?" you spoke softly, wiping your tears and turning your body to fully face him.
"Yes, bonita?" he said, and your stomach fluttered with thousands of butterflies that had been sleeping, waiting to hear that word he used to call you. Bonita, you'll always be his bonita.
"Kiss me already," you whispered, the words escaping your lips before you could hold them back.
With a tender smile, Javier leaned closer, his gaze softening as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. The air between you crackled with anticipation, the weight of months apart dissipating with each heartbeat.
As his lips met yours, a surge of warmth washed over you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering deep within. You let out a shaky moan when his tongue met yours, sending electricity to your core.
Javi growled at your reaction. He was so needed of your touch, your kisses; that skin-to-skin sensation he sink in when he made love with you. Cause even during the darkest moments when he feared he might spend the rest of his life behind bars, he couldn't bring himself to be with anyone else. He was yours, in body and spirit.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
You and Javi were hungry and had so much to talk about. So you guided him through the city, searching for somewhere quiet to eat and converse. As he sat across from you at the table, perusing the menu, you still couldn't believe he was actually there—free and as handsome as ever. It felt like years had passed since Bogotá, the last time you saw him. Or maybe you suddenly died, your heart finally giving up missing him, and that was heaven.
Javi finally looked up from the menu, his gaze meeting yours. "Everything okay, sweetheart?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes as his broad hand reached across the table to touch yours.
"No... I mean, yes!" you said, your voice trailing off. "It's just... I'm so, so happy you're here, but I still can't process what happened."
Javi smiled, his eyes reflecting a mixture of tenderness and longing. "I promise, mi vida, I'll never leave you again," he vowed, his words a silent promise to cherish and protect you for as long as he lived.
The waiter approached, and you both placed your orders. After she left, you spoke again. "How did you find me?" you asked with genuine curiosity.
Monterrey was a sprawling metropolis, and in the '90s world, finding something or someone without an address or a phone number was no small feat.
Javier leaned forward, his expression radiating warmth. "It wasn't easy, but I remembered when you told me about going to church every Sunday with your family," he began, his voice low and intimate. "I recalled the name of the church and the municipality, so as soon as I arrived in the city, I searched for it. It took me all day yesterday, but I managed to get a lead, and it paid off. I found the right one."
You nodded, deeply impressed by his determination and resourcefulness. He was a proper DEA agent who spent years looking for and taking down sicarios. Of course, he was going to find his girlfriend on the first try. It was very sweet how he would do anything just to be with you, though, to have you back.
"I was fuckin' terrified that you were angry with me for leaving you like that," he continued, his voice tinged with regret. "Or worse, that you may have someone else already."
You looked at Javier, sensing the vulnerability in his eyes, and felt a pang of empathy. The thought of him fearing your anger or the possibility of you being with someone else touched you deeply.
"Javi, I could never be angry with you for trying to protect me," you said softly. "I was angry and devastated at first, I'm not gonna lie," you confessed, your chest aching with memories of those endless nights of overthinking and tears. "But it wasn't directed towards you, but towards life. I couldn't accept the decision you had to make, but with time, I came to understand that you only wished the best for me, and it was very sweet and unselfish."
You reached your delicate hand across the table to grasp his. "And as for someone else, there's never been anyone else for me. It's always been you."
His eyes softened, relief flooding his features as he squeezed your hand gently. "You're the only one for me, too, bonita. You're the best thing that could ever happen to this son of a bitch."
You leaned forward to kiss his lips. The familiarity of his touch was overwhelming and comforting at the same time.
When the meal was over and both of you were back in his truck, you asked him where he was staying.
Javier glanced at you, his expression thoughtful as he considered your question. He mentioned a hotel downtown, and you recognized it from what you had heard.
"You can stay a couple of days. I want to show you the city and introduce you properly to my family, if you don't mind," you proposed.
"Me encantaría pasar todo el tiempo del mundo contigo, mi vida preciosa," he said, and you flushed at the sweet nickname. "Actually, I was thinking about moving to a hotel closer to your house."
"That won't be necessary. You can stay with me," you offered without hesitation, feeling a rush of warmth at the idea of having him close again. "I'm living with my abuelo y mi mamá."
"I don't want to be a bother," he began, but you took his hand gently and looked into his puppy eyes.
"You're family now, and family never bothers," you assured him. "My abuelo has a spacious house, and you can stay in the guest bedroom. You know, we can sleep together..."
"That's okay, baby. I understand," he agreed, leaning over to place a kiss on your lips. "So, where do you want to go now? Wanna go home?" he asked, turning on the gear.
"Actually," you began, your cheeks burning and your heart pounding with anticipation, "I was thinking that we could go to your hotel."
With a mischievous grin, Javier glanced at you, his eyes alight with excitement. "Can we?" he asked, his voice filled with playful anticipation.
You smiled shyly, nodding as your cheeks turned cherry red. "Unless you want to spend the evening elsewhere."
Javier's eyes sparkled with amusement as he caught your playful tone. "Oh, I'm perfectly content to spend the evening wherever you desire," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of mischief.
You chuckled softly, feeling a rush of excitement tinged with nervousness.
"Be careful what you wish for, baby," he added, his voice filled with longing. "I've missed you so damn much."
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The hotel room was nice, elegant and spacious. But of course you didn't noticed that at first, as you were very busy devouring Javi's mouth. He guided you towards the bed, hands squeezing the soft flesh of your hips; yours cupping his head.
"I love you," he muttered against your mouth, pausing briefly as you unbuttoned his shirt. "You don't have any idea how much I needed you. I couldn't breathe..."
His voice wavered with emotion, and you couldn't help but notice the vulnerability in his tone. Your fingers brushed against his lips, a silent gesture of reassurance. You still had a lot of questions, things that you would like to know, but you were sure that you had a lot of time to do it. For example, when his next move was to get rid of his shirt and you saw the scar on his side, where you knew he had been shot. Your fingers traced the damaged skin, your throat constricting at the sight of him being hurt, where he could have lost his life...
In that moment, you didn't want to cry anymore, to regret things that, fortunately, were in the past now.
"I'm here," your voice was barely a whisper, but he was close enough to hear every word. "I'm not going anywhere."
Javi nodded in agreement, leaning in to meet your lips once again. His skilled fingers unzipped the back of your dress, sending shivers all over your body as his fingertips met your skin. The light fabric pooled around your feet, his gaze darkening as it roamed over your body with desire.
His hands captured your waist, caressing the skin of your ribs and hips. His touch felt desperate, yet gentle. His fingers traced the exposed, soft skin at the edge of your bra, then smoothly moved to unclasp it, freeing the lace that covered your breasts.
You were hypnotized by the waves of heat emanating from both your naked torsos. Restless to relive that skin-to-skin sensation you longed for so much.
"God, how I missed your body," he whispered, almost unconsciously, as he devoured you with his eyes.
Your cheeks flushed even more, a shy smile appearing on your lips. "And I missed your touch, Javi," you confessed back.
With a mischievous grin, Javier glanced at you, his eyes alight with excitement. "Did you?," his voice filled with playfulness. "Did you touch yourself when you missed me?" He wanted to know. You nodded, an innocent gesture that made his cock throb on his pants. "C'mere. Show me," he ordered, leading you to the bed, where he had you lie back in the center.
Javi knelt in front of you, between your legs, your core aching with anticipation. "C'mon, take your panties off," he ordered, and you gladly obeyed.
Pushing your hips up, you grasped the edges of your panties with your fingers and began to slide the garment down your legs.
He couldn't help but hiss when he saw the glistening between your folds, where your honey pooled for him. "Touch yourself, baby, just like how you did when you were thinking of me," he whispered.
You traced a path on your skin, from the place above your belly button, down your body until your delicate middle finger met your slick. Javier was mesmerized as he watched you move up and down along your pussy, taking extra care every time you reached your clit, causing little whimpers to escape from your lips.
Suddenly, Javi felt his pants getting tighter; it was almost painful not to free himself. His hands went to his belt, and he started working on it. "Keep going," he encouraged you, as your eyes followed the glorious path of pubic hair that preceded his cock. You bit your lip, intensifying the movements on your pussy, the sound of your wetness filling the room.
"Don't be shy," he said, his voice thick with lust. "That little pussy looks so good."
You took his word and inserted one finger into your warm body. His breath quivered at the sight; he couldn't contain himself anymore.
"How does it feel?" he asked, as he took his hardened cock out of his briefs. You whimpered at the sight, your walls clenching, as if they were screaming to be stretched by its length. Javi took himself in hand and started jerking off to satisfy his own itch.
"G-good," you mumbled. It was true, but you knew it was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock inside you. So you added a second finger to try to calm your urgency, the gushing sounds surrounding you as you moved your fingers in and out of your pussy. But it wasn't enough. You wanted him.
"Javi..." you murmured.
"Tell me, bonita," he responded, his voice filled with anticipation. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," you said, without stopping your movements.
"You want me? You want this?" he teased, showing off his cock right in front of you. A pearl of precum glistened on its tip, veins pulsating along its length. Your mouth watered at the sight. "C'mon, take it. It's yours."
He didn't have to tell you twice. You stopped what you were doing and knelt on the mattress to press your body against his. Your hand went directly to his cock, eliciting a growl from his chest.
Javi's cock fit perfectly in your tiny hand as you moved it up and down while kissing him passionately.
You let your body fall over his, and he didn't hesitate to allow himself to be placed underneath you. Your lips then moved to his neck, traveling down to his chest, his stomach... When he realized you were actually going south, he took your chin and made you look at him.
"That's not necessary..." he clarify. He wasn't expecting that.
"I want to," you insisted.
Without another word, you positioned yourself right over his cock, taking it in your hand and placing a kiss on its tip. "Fuck..." he reacted.
You were unsure what to do, as it was the first time you'd done it. You only wanted to make him feel good.
So you tried licking its head, the salty taste on your tongue making your pussy clench around nothing. Then, you attempted to take the head into your warm mouth. You had to open your mouth wider than you expected, your hand gently placed on its base. It was too big, hard, and too long.
You bobbed your head at a constant rhythm, encouraged by the moans and hisses he began to let out. Javi's hand went to your hair, gathering it into a ponytail, both to let you work easily and to clear his view. "Good job, baby," he praised.
When you tried to go further, its head at the back of your throat made you gag, so you had to take a breath. "Take it easy," he said reassuringly as he tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. "You're doin' amazing."
You went back to it, but this time a little lower. "Holy shhh..." he growled, feeling the wetness and warmth of your tongue licking his balls. They tasted salty, heavy on your lips. You closed your hand around his length, moving it up and down to please him. Slurping noises filled the room, amplifying the intensity. "You look so pretty taking my cock like that baby."
You alternated between using your mouth and your hand on his cock and his balls, growing more confident with each movement, trying to take him deeper as you could. Your mouth felt like heaven for him, but he needed to stop. He wanted to fuck to you properly instead of just cum on your tongue. There would be another chance for that.
After a moment, Javi sat on the bed and gestured for you to do the same. You could barely catch your breath before his mouth captured yours, his arm around your waist. You knelt in front of him, providing easy access to your breasts, and he didn't miss the opportunity, capturing one of your nipples into his mouth. You threw your head back, moaning at the sensation, your fingers tangled in his hair.
He worshipped your body, squeezing your hips and back, massaging your ass with his broad hands. Then his fingers found your soaked pussy, taking advantage of how wet you were as he introduced one of them inside you. You whimpered, moving your hips over his hand, desperate to quell the need for him. He added a second thick finger, stretching you so damn good. They slipped in and out without effort, and Javi could feel your slick running down the bare palm of his hand.
Javi licked the sensitive skin of your nipple before shifting to your other breast. He sucked and played with the tip of his tongue on the nipple, just like he did when he played with your clit, like a starved man.
"Javi..." you whimpered.
Once he was satisfied with how wet you were, he guided his cock to your entrance as you instinctively lowered your hips. Both of you moaned as he made his way inside you, stretching your walls. The sensation was painfully familiar for both of you, the feeling of being connected in an intimate, raw way. It was as if you were born for each other, like you belonged together beyond the physical realm.
He didn't waste any time, going straight to help you move over him. Once you understood the assignment, your hips started working almost on their own. "That's it, bonita, give it to me."
You could feel him very deep inside you, his tip brushing against the entrance of your cervix, his balls thrusting against you every time you went down. 
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him, engaging in a battle of tongues and a tangle of legs.
"Your cock feels amazing, mi amor, la extrañé mucho," you whispered in his ear before you bite his earlobe.
"That's why you wanted to suck my cock?" he asked, his fingers gripping tighter on your hips, urging you to move faster. "My fuckin' dirty girl, so right for me..."
"Wanna see how dirty I can get?" placing your hands on his chest, you pushed him back so he could lie down again.
He was pleased with the view. The curves of your body, every roll, every pore, every freckle, every stretch mark. You were so sexy and gorgeous.
He tried to reach for your body, but you took his wrists and placed them over his head. You started moving your hips: up and down, front and back. At first, it was slow, savoring every inch of his cock slipping inside you. Then, you moved faster, riding him as whimpers escaped from your mouth, joining the skin-to-skin sound of your bodies thrusting together. Your hands went to his chest for more balance as you rode him.
"That's it, baby. Don't stop...fuck..." he grunted, his hands on your ass to help you keep going.
You slowed down when your legs began to ache, leaning down to capture his lips. His broad, warm hands caressed your hair, trailing down to your shoulders and back until they reached your waist. With a swift, smooth movement, Javi turned you around. Before you could process it, your body was beneath his, and he penetrated you again. This time, the soft moan you made when you felt him inside was silenced by his mouth.
"I love you, bonita," he promised, moving his pelvis against yours.
With your hands cupping his head, little whimpers escaping your lips, you echoed the sentiment. "I love you so much, Javi."
His thrusts grew harder and faster, his arms bearing his weight to avoid crushing you. His growls and whimpers were music to your ears. Your lips caressed the soft skin of his neck, your hands roamed everywhere along his broad back. He was lost in you, shivers crossing his entire being every time he reached that deep spot inside you, eliciting cries of his name from your lips.
"You like that, bonita? Hm?" he breathed out, his voice captivated by his own pleasure. "Fuck, I love your pussy."
Your orgasm was so close, he could tell by the way your walls clenched around his length, and the rivers of your nectar emanating from your cunt. You tried to warn him, but you could only mumble as your body shuddered beneath him. "I know, baby... Fuck, I'm gonna cum too."
You felt how he was doubtful about his next move. He wanted you to come, of course, but he was so dangerously close to his own release that he needed to be careful not to come inside you. But you were so horny and lost on the pleasure that you knew you want his load dripping out your pussy.
So you tangled your legs around his torso, forcing him inside you. "I'm gonna cum..." he warned.
"It's okay... I want you to fill me up..." you moan.
"Yeah? That's what you want, honey?" He cooed, his lips placing soft, wet kissed on your jawline.
You nodded, "Ye-yes! Fuck, Javiii!" that's the only thing you could say, as his movements were almost erratic, hungrily against you.
"I'm gonna fuck a baby into you... What about that?" he grunted, the mere thought of it made the both of you shiver with pleasure.
"Yes! Oh my... Yes! I-wa.... I'm wanna have your baby, Javi," you mumbled, so lost on the moment that you couldn't even think about the weight of the words you spoke.
"I'm gonna cum so deep on you that you're gonna smell like me for days, baby."
Those were the words that made you finally lost it. Your entire body seemed to implode for a moment before it exploded on a devastating orgasm. Throwing your head back against the mattress, your nails digging on the muscles of his arms and toes curling as your squirted on his cock. A silent scream of pleasure took the shape of Javi's name.
With one last final thrust, Javier followed you reaching his release between deep-voice whimpers and grunts of your name over and over again. You felt his warm load filling up, mixing with your slick, making you clenched even more, milking him so damn good.
As he felt himself softening, he pulled out and lay beside you as both of you tried to catch your breath again. Finally, Javi wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest, the warmth of his body comforting against your skin. You lay there together in silence, the only sounds filling the room were the rhythmic beating of your hearts and the soft exhales as you both recovered from the intensity of your lovemaking.
After a while, Javier felt your body shake a bit, and it wasn't long before he heard you sniffing. Were you crying? He tried to see your face, but you hid from him with your face against his chest. It was evident that you were crying. He felt a pang in his chest, concern washing over his face as he tried to make you look up at him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice charged with worry and guilt. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, no," you rushed to say, wiping your tears with your fingers as his brushed your hair and placed it behind your ear. "You didn't do anything. I'm just so happy."
Javier's expression softened as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you protectively. "I'm here, mi amor," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'm not leaving you ever again."
You melted into his embrace, feeling safe and loved in his arms, the bliss of your orgasms still lingering on your bodies. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back. "I really meant it."
Struggling not to fall asleep, since you still had to return to your grandfather's house, you asked, "What?" Your voice was soft, barely audible above the hushed rhythm of your breathing.
"I want to have babies with you." His words hung in the air, tinged with both sincerity and excitement.
You flushed, a warmth spreading across your cheeks as you processed his declaration. Your heart started to beat faster, and you didn’t even think he was completely serious yet.
"Well, we have to get married first, then," you replied, a hint of playfulness in your tone.
"I know,” he added, determination on his tone, “I'm going to ask your grandfather for your hand tomorrow." His eyes meeting yours with unwavering resolve.
"Are you serious?" Your voice was tinged with surprise, a mixture of disbelief and anticipation.
Javier nodded, his gaze softening as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Absolutely serious," he affirmed, his tone earnest. "¿Quieres casarte conmigo?”
Your heart fluttered at his words, a rush of emotions welling up inside you. New tears of joy fell down your cheeks as you nodded repeatedly. "¡Sí! Sí quiero, Javi. Quiero casarme contigo," you admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
"Then it's settled," he declared, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, pulling you closer to him again. "Tomorrow, I'll talk to your grandfather, and soon after, we'll start planning our wedding."
You nestled closer to him, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. You still couldn’t believe what was happening in that moment. Just that morning, your heart ached with his absence, and you couldn't imagine seeing him ever again. If someone had told you that same afternoon you would be in his arms again, making love with him, and practically engaged, you wouldn't have believed it. You would have thought it was a cruel joke. And yet, there he was with you, vowing to share a life together.
NEXT CHAPTER
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"Not all men..."
Yeah your right José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal would never treat me like this
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flightlessangelwings · 4 months
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Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.
Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.
Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!
And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!
And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!
We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.
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Whatever My Wife Wants
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Summary: On your honeymoon, Javi decides to break out a new accessory you've never seen him wear before. Little does he know, that seeing him wear a chain for the first time is about to drive you wild.
Word Count: 4.5K
Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also its your honeymoon so who am I to say), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, literally the biggest, fattest, ugliest breeding kink (I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not), marriage kink (?) creampie, cum play, kind of exhibitionism (like if you SQUINT), talks of starting a family, Javi LOVES his wife, Javi in a CHAIN, Javi on his honeymoon deserves its own warning, did I mention that Javi LOVES his wife?!
A/N: shoutout to my sweet @honeyedmiller for this request after reblogging this MASTERPIECE from @enstatia. It's supposed to be a painting of Din, but it gave me such big Javi vibes, and I really haven't been the same since picturing the one and only Javier Peña in a chain (bc If i can't unsee it, you shouldn't be allowed to either) 😵‍💫 Also shoutout to Lucien Flores for singlehandedly ruining my life today with that new clip from the Uninvited (but also you can't tell me that this outfit is so Javi on the beach coded PHEW)
Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!
Javi had never been one for jewelry- well, that was until a few days ago when a new golden wedding band had made a home on his hand. Since you had slipped it on his finger, Javi couldn’t get enough of watching it glisten in the warm, tropical sunlight on your honeymoon, a reminder that filled his heart to the brim to know that he was yours forever. 
Javi’s new wedding ring was the only jewelry that he had ever pictured himself wearing, until you had mentioned to him in passing while shopping for new clothes for your honeymoon how good he’d look with a chain to go with any of his outfits he had planned for the trip- considering there was no way Javi was going to have no less than 4 buttons undone on his shirt at any given time while basking in the tropical warmth of your honeymoon paradise. 
Later on that week, he had dug around in his dresser to find a thin, golden chain necklace he had back from his time in college, that hadn’t seen the light of day in too many years to count. But, given your enthusiasm for the idea of him wearing something like it, Javi had decided to pack it with him in his suitcase to surprise when the time felt right. 
Well, after being a few drinks deep at the pool bar from earlier, Javi’s slightly tipsy confidence had him feeling like now was the perfect time to try out his new accessory to see what you thought. Digging through his suitcase, he pulled out out the chain to go with the rest of his outfit for your dinner on the beach, clipping the necklace around his neck as he looked himself over in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, undoing one more button than probably necessary to show off his new look. 
And while he could admit that he didn’t look half bad with it on, and figured you’d like the new surprise addition to his wardrobe, there’d be no way in hell he could have ever prepared himself for the viscerally awestruck reaction you’d have to the thin, gold chain dangling around his neck.  
“I can practically feel you burning a hole through my chest, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you as he took another bite of his food, giving you a playful smirk at the way you had been ogling at him ever since you had noticed the thin gold chain resting across his tanned skin as you began your walk through the hotel to head to dinner. 
“Oh shut up, it’s not my fault you’re so hot. You’re making it very hard not to look, in my defense.” You sighed, trying to get yourself to focus on your food instead of staring at Javi for the rest of dinner, despite the fact that the only meal you had your eyes on was sitting across the table from you. “There’s already something about you being my husband that makes you somehow even hotter than you already were, and now with this?” You picked up your fork, gesturing to the chain dangling between the parted fabric of Javi’s shirt, “I think you may be trying to legitimately kill me.” 
“Figured you’d like it. Didn’t think you’d like it this much.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip before taking another bite of food, his cheeks growing flushed and warm as he looked at you admiring him, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so goddamn lucky. “Thanks, Mrs. Peña.” He laughed, taking another bite of his food, shooting you a quick wink. 
Mrs. Peña. 
God, if that alone wasn’t enough to send you over the edge already, your new last name, combined with the incredibly attractive man you had gotten it from that you now got to call your husband? On top of that stupidly hot chain he had decided to throw on with his outfit? There was definitely something else you were hungry for other than the half cleared plate below you. 
It was then that you couldn’t have been happier you had been seated at a table on the edge of the beachside boardwalk, tucked behind a few stray palm trees, secluded enough out of view that you had no problem reaching under the table to rest your hand on Javi’s knee, toying with the hem of his shorts before letting your fingers creep further and further up his thigh. 
“Are you almost done with your food?” You asked, your voice sweet and sultry as your hand brushing against Javi’s crotch immediately caught his attention, making his eyes go wide as he sat up straight, setting down his knife and fork to look down in his lap. “Because if you are, I can think of something else I want for dessert when we go back to our room. Something I want really bad. You wanna feel how badly I want it?” 
Javi swallowed hard as your fingers wrapped more firmly around his bulge, gently massaging his dick in your grasp, before grabbing his hand and guiding it to brush along the slit of your sundress and closer to your core, aching and dripping with arousal. Letting his fingers creep up the inside of your thighs and ghost over your folds, his eyes went even wider, jaw practically dropping open to feel that you were not only absolutely soaked, but also not wearing any underwear at all. Using every ounce of composure he had to keep from falling apart right then and there at the dinner table, letting out a deep sigh as he cursed under his breath. 
“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck, baby… Yeah, I can be done right now.” He groaned, nodding at your proposition before wrapping his hand around the meat of your thigh as he took a long inhale, staring you down with darkening eyes and a devilish grin across the table. 
Never had you been more thankful that the resort you had picked to stay at was all inclusive, because if either of you had to wait a minute longer for a server to get your bill so you could get back up to your room, the probability of impending implosion would have been practically inevitable. 
Firmly intertwining your fingers with his as  you grabbed his hand, you were nearly dragging Javi through the hotel to the nearest bay of elevators, pleasantly shocked to find no one else waiting with you to travel up to their room, leaving the two of you alone to catch the next elevator back up to your floor. 
Without a word, the second the elevator doors had closed, the two of you were on top of each other, a messy dance of tongue and teeth crashing together, Javi’s hands palming the meat of your ass over your dress while yours roamed over his chest, tracing the freckles of his tanned skin up to the golden chain dangling in the open buttons of his shirt, stopping to wrap the necklace around your finger, tugging Javi closer to you. 
“Fuck, you look so good with this on, baby.” You moaned, your words hot against Javi’s skin as you nipped at his neck, chain still tangled in your grasp. “I can’t wait to fu-”
Barely aware of the fact that you had reached your floor, the ding of the elevator was enough to catch your attention and cut you off from completing the rest of your thought before the doors slid open, revealing a group of couples waiting for their ride down to the lobby. Frantically trying to play off the fact that if the elevator ride had gone any longer, you two definitely would have been seconds away from fucking in it, you gulped, giving Javi a nudge to his ribs to bring him back to reality, the two of you quickly trying to slide past the other guests without making a scene. 
As the door closed behind you, you and Javi couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you couldn’t seem to take an elevator trip alone without almost being caught making out like a pair of horny teenagers (which, to be fair, a pair of horny teenagers probably would have had more self control than the two of you being newlyweds on your honeymoon). 
With your room only being a few doors down from the elevator, Javi began fumbling in the pocket of his shorts for his room key, working around the full hard on he already had under the fabric from how pent up he was. Quietly cursing under his breath until he found it, as soon as the card was swiping over the lock of the door, Javi was yanking you through into your room, instantly beginning to pull down the zipper to the back of your dress as you fumbled your way back to the bed. 
Your dress fell to the floor in a crumpled pile before Javi was tossing you onto the mattress, shocked to see that you also hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra, revealing your glowing skin and obnoxious tanlines from your time spent out in the sun. 
“Dirty fucking girl, not wearing anything underneath that dress for me. Fuck me, Hermosa. God, you’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect. My perfect wife.” Javi growled, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to part your legs, draping them over his shoulders as he admired the wet mess between your thighs, your slick already coating your folds, glistening in the dim light of your hotel room. “My perfect wife and her perfect fucking pussy already so wet for me. 
Dragging his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal as he ghosted over your throbbing clit, you let out a soft whimper in protest, sitting up on your elbows to look down at Javi, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your thighs. 
“Javi, fuck- Baby, I wanted to go down on you. You look so good, I-I wanna taste you, Jav, p-please.” You moaned, your argument becoming less and less convincing as his kisses traveled to your center, nose brushing against your aching bundle of nerves before looking up at you with a lustful smirk, tightening his grip around your hips to hold you in place. 
Javi shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself, watching you squirm and buck your hips towards his face, so desperately worked up and aching that the mess between your legs was really beginning to contradict your need to get Javi off before yourself. 
“Cariño…” Javi tutted, almost mockingly, digging his fingertips deeper into the meat of your flesh, “You’re not going anywhere ‘till I get a taste. I can’t leave my poor wife all worked up like this, can I?” 
Before you had a chance to respond, the flat of Javi’s tongue was dragging through your heat in a long, broad stroke, firmly pressing against your clit, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as you threw your head back in pleasure, a soft whimper escaping from your parted lips. As the last of his lick slid through your folds, you shuttered at the feeling of the metal of his chain ghosting over your cunt as it dangled from his neck, only to cry out as you could feel the other piece of jewelry he was wearing on his left ring finger sink deep into your entrance. 
“Oh f-fuck-” You whimpered as another finger breached your tight hole, already sucking him in with your warm, wet walls while his digits curled, bumping against the sweet spot inside you that he knew made you crumble. 
“That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt before diving back between your legs like a man starved, his tongue dancing in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you, even more so now with the wedding band that had made its permanent home on his finger, taking every chance he could get to watch you cover the glistening gold ring in your arousal as yet another way to prove that you were his. 
Javi could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his fingers as your bottom half squirmed against the sheets of the bed, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, tingling building at the base of your spine. Latching his lips around your clit, he began to suck at your sensitive nub, his hand thrusting faster and deeper into your cunt, feeling you slowly coming undone under his touch. 
“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Javi, I’m so close baby, oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaaahhhhhh-” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high, feeling the smirk of Javi’s smile pressed against your cunt as you soaked his face, his free hand wrapped around your hip, holding you in place for him. 
“Fuck, I swear, I’ll never fucking get over that.” Javi mewled, pulling back enough to sit on his heels, admiring the wet and puffy mess your pussy had become, gently pulling his fingers out of your heat, looking down at the way your arousal coated his fingers, covering his wedding band. “Fucking soaked me, Hermosa. You like feeling my ring when I touch you like that, baby? Knowing I’m all yours forever?” 
With your chest heaving in heavy breaths, you nodded frantically, blissed out look plastered across your face as you stared up at Javi, lust pooling in the dark brown of his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip as, opening your mouth for you to suck him clean, the warm and tangy taste of you still fresh on his skin. 
“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. Mi esposa sabes muy dulce.” (My wife tastes so sweet) Javi cooed, gently tugging his fingers out of your mouth, standing up to lean over the bed, caging your body under his as his lips crashed against yours in a needy mess of longing and desperation. 
You could feel how painfully hard he was through the fabric of his shorts, his bulge straining against the seams of his zipper as he rubbed against your thigh, laying on top of you with one arm propped up beside your head, the other gently cupping your face, thumb rubbing back and forth along your cheek as he kissed you with the tender intensity that set your insides ablaze with desire, longing, no, needing to feel him buried deep inside you as you screamed his name. 
It really had been your intention to suck Javi off the moment you had gotten back to your room, to drop to your knees and worship the beautifully handsome man you now got to call your husband and turn him into the same type of moaning, whimpering mess that he had just made you, but with the ferocity of each kiss and the instinctual jerk of Javi’s hips, there was nothing you wanted more than to be filled by the sweet sting of his cock pounding into you, over and over.  
“J-Javi, fuck- I need to feel you baby, please. Fuck, I wanna feel you so deep inside me.” You whispered, your teeth tugging at Javi’s earlobe as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, feeling the audible groan in his chest at your request, followed by a deep sigh as he tried to compose himself from the mess he was already becoming. 
“Yeah? That’s what you want, sweet girl? Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.” He rasped, a devilish grin spread between his cheeks as he sat back to pull his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts and boxers, leaving him in nothing but the gold chain still dangling around his neck as he reached down to stroke his cock, red and dripping with precum before leaning back down to line up with your entrance. 
You could feel your breath hitch as his tip brushed through your folds, rubbing gently against your clit as he collected your arousal to coat his length, looking down to watch as his length sunk deep into your cunt, the both of you letting out ragged moans at the sensation. 
Javi paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch as he filled you, his tip kissing your cervix while his hips met yours. The fullness made your brain go blank, completely at a loss for words as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, pulling himself out enough to sink his whole length back into your cunt, each thrust making you whimper and moan, desperate for more. 
“F-fuck, give me more, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your hand wrapping around his bicep, fingertips digging into his flexing muscles. 
“Yeah? You want more, Hermosa?” Javi mewled, smirking to himself at the blissed out mess you were already becoming as the pace of his hips rutting into you began to quicken. 
As each thrust became faster, the gold chain draped around his neck began to bounce against his chest, his body close enough to yours to feel the cool metal brush against your face with each snap of his hips into yours, the sight of his necklace dangling over you as you stared up at the furrowed and focused look painting his face. The image alone of him wearing that chain was enough to make you feel like you were going to cum on the spot, but as you lay caged beneath the weight of his broad body, feeling nothing but his warm skin and chain rub against you, you were nearly convinced it was going to be over for you right then and there. 
Without even thinking, you lifted your head up off the bed just enough to grab the chain between your teeth, tugging him closer to you, the sudden yank making his eyes go wide in surprise as the two of you came nose to nose, foreheads brushing against each other before his lips were on yours again, entangling you in an all consuming kiss without faltering in his pace. 
“Fuck, you look so good.” You moaned, your lips parting just enough from his to whisper your praises into his ear. “You look so hot with this fucking chain, Jesus Christ.” 
Your comment had a low, breathy laugh escaping from his chest, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief at how enthralled you were with him. 
“Me? Baby girl, you have no idea.” He cooed, slowing his thrusts to sit back on his haunches, readjusting you to bring your knees pressed to your chest, leaning back down, running his hands along your body, up your arms until he had them above your head, pinned down to the bed in his grasp. “You know how many guys I’ve seen staring at you since we’ve been here? How many dirty fucking looks I’ve had to give them? Maybe this ring on your finger isn’t enough, mi amor.” 
“W-what do you, fuck- what do mean?” You whimpered, the new position opening you up in a way that had you feeling every inch of Javi as he sank his cock even deeper into your cunt, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible, your brain barely working enough to let your words escape from your mouth. 
“I mean,” Javi groaned, tightening his grip to hold you in place, his eyes growing darker with desire with another deep, long thrust into your heat, “That maybe, I need to fuck a baby into, Osita. Fuck a baby into my beautiful fucking wife, and let everyone see that you’re mine with our kid growing inside you.” 
Javi’s words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought alone making you whimper- You and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever, and now that you were finally married and had agreed that your birth control wasn’t going to be a part of your packing list, the prospect that in 9 months from now, you could have a third member to your family? That was enough to have you close to finishing right then and there. 
 A gulp traveling down your throat before a long exhale, trying to find the words to respond to his proposition, your voice trembling in an anxious excitement. 
“F-fuck- Oh my god, yes. Fuck a baby into me, Javi. Let me, oh shit- let me make you a daddy.” 
“Jesus Fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth, trying his best to maintain his own composure, taking a long exhale before his gaze met yours again, a fierce kind of determination and promise pooling in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes, leaning his body on top of yours, pushing your knees closer to your chest, opening you up to an even deeper angle as his mouth crashed into yours, beginning to pick up his pace once again as his hips snapped into yours. “That’s what  you want, Hermosa? Fuck, I’ll give it to you, baby. Oh shit- Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets, remember? You want a baby? Fuck- I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you I’ll fuck a baby into you right now.” 
You could feel the all too familiar tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine once again, Javi’s cock pounding perfectly into your g-spot over and over again, the hairs at the base of his length grinding against your throbbing clit, sending you to the brink of collapse with each thrust in and out of your cunt. 
“Yes, oh my god- yes, I w-want it so bad. P-please, baby, fuck.” You whined, starting to stumble over your words as you could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his cock, the coil in your core tightening to the point of nearly snapping. 
“Fuck- say it again. Tell me- mierda- tell me how badly you want it.” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming slopier and more desperate as he could feel himself on the verge of chasing his own high, knowing all too well you were almost hitting yours.  
“I want you to fill me up, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- I want it so bad. I want you to knock me up and give me a baby, please, baby, oh my god- please.” You were all but panting at this point, your legs starting to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of his fullness, promise of pregnancy, and that damn chain dangling in your face was enough to finally send you over the edge. “Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I’m so close baby, I’m gonna, oh shit- I’m gonna cu-ahhhhhhh.” 
Those were the last words you were able to muster before you were screaming out Javi’s name as you came, euphoria and ecstasy radiating through every inch of your body, your orgasm crashing through you with so much intensity you could have sworn you were seeing stars. 
Watching you fall apart beneath him, soaking his cock in your arousal as you came had Javi only moments behind you, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each others combined with your wanton moans and whimpers and curses under your breath making him begin to babble incoherently. 
“That’s it, Osita. That’s my good girl. Fucking soak my cock, baby. Cum all over me before I, fuck me- fuck myself so deep in you it’ll fucking take. Holy fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Gonna fucking fill you up. Give you all of me. Fuck, I’ll give you everyting, baby, mierda- everything you’ll ever wa-ahhhhhh” 
With one last final thrust, Javi was spilling deep inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls, milking himself of every single last drop before collapsing on top of you, the warmth and weight and of his body sinking on top of your chest as the two you sighed in sync, trying to catch your breath with long, labored huffs. 
As Javi felt himself begin to soften, a groan rumbled low in his chest while he pulled out, feeling the mix of your spend dripping out your hole, coating the inside of your thighs in glistening juices. You let out an involuntary whimper at the loss of fullness inside you, your head falling back on the mattress in blissed out satisfaction, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to reality after floating away in post-colotial bliss. 
“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, lifting your head back up to see Javi sitting back on his heels, admiring the mess of the two of you pooling between your legs. 
“So fucking pretty, Hermosa.” He mewled, peppering kisses down the soft skin of your thighs, making his way back towards your core. Before you could even realize what was happening, Javi’s head was back between your legs, one broad stroke of his tongue collecting the tangy, salty mixture leaking out of your cunt and lapping it back into your entrance quickly replacing his mouth with his fingers to push the mixture of your spend even further into you. 
Looking up at you, slick covering his mustache and smug grin spread between his cheeks, Javi curled his fingers just enough to make you yelp as he pressed against your g-spot, considering how worked up and overstimulated you already were. 
“Gotta make sure I keep you full of me, baby. Can’t let anything go to waste.” Javi smirked, gently pulling out his fingers, resting his hands on your thighs, drawing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. 
You tried to sit back up, propping yourself on your elbows before Javi’s body was caging over you once again, slowly lowering himself down until your back was flat against the bed, cradling your jaw as guided you down with soft, slow kisses, feeling his chain brush against your chin he pulled away from your lips. 
“You’re not going anywhere, Momma. My wife wants a baby? Then I’m doing everything I can to give her one. Whatever she wants.” Javi smirked, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead as his hand caressed your face, brushing your skin just gently enough to tickle you, a little giggle escaping from your lips as your eyes met his sweet puppy dog ones. 
“You’re ridiculous, you menace.” You laughed, playfully nudging Javi as he rolled over next to you on the side of the bed, wrapping his arm around you, tugging you to lay against his bare chest, your hand draping over his stomach before crawling up his chest, wrapping his gold chain around your fingers. “Hmmmm whatever your wife wants, huh?” You smirked, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. 
“Whatever she wants, Hermosa.”
“Your wife wants you to never take this damn thing off again.” 
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oscarisaacsspit · 1 year
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i’ll be like “need him so bad it makes me stupid” and it’s this guy:
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swiftispunk · 1 year
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let me | javier peña x f!reader
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part two
pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader
summary: reader is inexperienced, javi helps you out. you know, like a gentleman. 
rating: 18+ (no minors please)
warnings etc: filthy smut, unprotected p in v sex, masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving), loss of “virginity,” soft!javi, also rough!javi, smoking, alcohol, choking if you squint, mentions of torture (oops), also mentions of drugs. probably bad spanish (please correct me). NO USE OF Y/N.
A/N: guys. idk guys. idk what this is. in my mind, javi is just a very experienced and attentive lover and that’s why this exists. honestly they should have never let me watch narcos (it’s me, i’m they).
word count: 4.9k
The after-work drinks had led where they so often do: you and Peña, alone at a bar not far from the embassy, locked in a war of words after the rest of your colleagues had called it a night.
“It’s really not any of your business, Peña.”
“Javi, baby.”
“Sorry, Javi. And I’m not saying anything else.”
“That’s fine, you don’t have to. I mean, it’s obvious. Can’t believe I didn’t see it before, honestly.”
“How is it obvious?”
Tonight, somehow, the conversation has landed on your sex life, a topic you’d rather not get into, seeing as you’re not exactly what you - or anyone else for that matter - would call “experienced.”
You’d made the fatal flaw, after your third beer, of letting that fact slip. Now Peña, ever the opportunist, is pressing you for details. 
“I’ve fucked a lot of whores, baby, so believe me. I know a virgin when I see one.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mhmm,” he hums, swigging back a mouthful of his beer. 
“What makes you so sure?” you challenge him, fighting for your life to maintain the upper hand in an argument you are almost definitely losing. 
“Princesa, it’s written all over you.”
“I don’t see how.” 
You’re being coy, but of course he’s right. You hate to admit it because it feels embarrassing, even more so knowing Peña’s...colourful history. You’ve heard all about his escapades through the other women at the embassy, and he isn’t exactly quiet about it himself. Half his intel came from the women he’d slept with, and he had no shame admitting that. 
It’s not like you’re against the idea of sex or anything, you’ve fooled around here and there. You just...never got around to crossing that one particular threshold. 
But you’ve definitely thought about crossing it with the sensuous man sitting across from you now.  
Javi leans back in his chair, the fabric of his tight shirt stretching deliciously over his tan chest. It takes all your strength to keep your eyes on the beer bottle in your hands and not on his neck, where the thinnest sheen of sweat is glistening in the Colombian heat. 
“The way you are with me, for one thing,” he drawls, lighting a cigarette and taking a languid pull. 
Fuck.
“What - I don’t -”
“You can deny it, querida, but I’ve got eyes,” he says matter-of-factly, like he’s assessing the evidence of a crime scene. “All jumpy and nervous around me like a teenager or some shit. It’s alright, es linda.”
God-fucking-damnit. He’s right again, much to your chagrin. You know you haven’t been subtle with the way you’ve been pining after him, but still. Of course he’s noticed you blushing and bumbling violently every time he so much as greets you with an “hola, querida” or places a hand on your lower back when he passes you in the office. 
Not that he hasn’t been taking complete advantage of your obvious crushing, openly flirting at work or insisting you stay for “one more drink, hermosa,” at work functions like this. 
That’s why you can’t bear to tell him the truth. 
He smirks while you fumble for your words, and yeah, you’re definitely not winning this argument. 
“Look, Peña, I -”
“Javi.”
“Sorry, Javi -”
“And there’s that,” he interjects, leaning forward and pointing at you accusingly with the cigarette trapped between his fingers. 
“What?”
“You give in so easy, querida,” he practically purrs, leaning even closer to you across the little table, your body responding to the proximity, blush flooding your cheeks and heart beating out an unsteady rhythm. “No fight in you at all. You know what that says?”
You shake your head no.
“It says you’re dying to get fucked.”
His bluntness catches you off guard, and your breath leaves you in a quick exhale as you back away from him, far enough to get some air. 
Then the truth is pouring from your lips before you can stop it. 
“Well it hasn’t been for a lack of offers, okay?” you say, flustered and frustrated. Over Javier Peña. What else is new?
“Oh, I’m sure,” he reassures you, but you can see the triumphant glint in his eyes that he’s got the admission from you. Javi stays right where he is on the edge of his chair, so close your knees brush. He takes another long drag off his cigarette, the smoke filling the hot air around you as he exhales. 
“Or for lack of wanting to, actually,” you admit. 
“What’s stopping you?” he asks, with what sounds like genuine curiousity. 
“I don’t know, Javi, work...life...things got in the way.” It’s not untrue; cushy government jobs like yours didn’t come easy, especially not the ones that see you working with the team in charge of taking down the biggest cocaine empire in history. Distractions in your personal life had never been an option. “You might find it hard to believe but there are more important things in this world than fucking.”
“Sure,” he says agreeably, with another drag of his smoke. “But if you had offers - and it’s obvious why you’d have offers, hermosa - why didn’t you?”
He sounds so earnest, like he’s really trying to understand. It’s that sincerity that keeps the truth coming before you can stop it.
“They just weren’t the right people,” you shrug. It really was that simple. You had just...never wanted to settle. 
“So let me ask you this,” he says, putting out his cigarette and silencing you with a hand on your knee under the table. 
Fuck fuck fuck. 
“What’s stopping you right now?” he croons. “If I’m offering.”
You can hardly breathe as his gentle touch inches up your leg, his long fingers finding their way just under the hem of your pencil skirt. Your skin tingles at his touch, his palm still somewhat cold from the beer he’d been holding a moment ago. 
You can’t speak or even move as his hand moves further up under your skirt, sliding between your legs, pinky finger just caressing the edge of your underwear, dangerously close to the spot you know has started to become wet with arousal. 
He’s never been this overt with you before. 
“W-what like -,” Your voice comes out weak, betraying you as you try to keep it together “- you seriously think you’re the right person, Peña?”
“Has anyone ever even made you come, cariño?” he implores, ignoring your question.
You swallow harshly as you battle with yourself to keep your composure, answering his question with another question. 
“Um - you mean - besides myself?” 
Javi grins like the devil himself, dark brown eyes glinting with menace as his fingers twitch knowingly closer to the edge of your panties. 
He’s enjoying this.
“Sure, besides yourself. But put a pin in that, querida.”
Had his hand felt cold a moment ago? Now it feels hot as a branding iron on your thigh, snaking completely between your legs and forcing you to uncross them. 
“I - I don’t want to say,” you lie.
His gaze locked tightly with yours, Javi squeezes your inner thigh then, feather light but with enough force that you gasp loudly and your entire body tenses.
He isn’t smiling anymore.
“Dime,” he commands you. 
You suddenly imagine yourself as some sicario he’s interrogating for information, his grip on your thigh its own form of cruel torture, eliciting confessions from you like a criminal under the knife. 
“N-no,” you stammer dumbly. “No one but me has ever...”
“Ever...?”
Fuck. He wants you to say it. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin between your legs, coaxing the words out of you with ease.
“No one but me has ever made me come,” you say in a rushed breath. 
He spreads your legs a little wider, and you don’t fight it. 
“Are you turned on right now, hermosa?” 
You nod wordlessly. What’s the point in lying now? You’re so wet anyway, you’re surprised the entire bar can’t sense your arousal. 
He chuckles darkly, finally sitting back and taking his hand away with him. You take a breath for what feels like the first time in minutes, body aching from the need to have his touch back. 
“Como dije, too easy,” he says, dropping the dark edge in his voice and lighting another cigarette coolly. 
“Javi -”
“Finish your drink, querida.”
-
For the second time that evening, you find yourself alone with Javi.
Only this time it’s on his couch, and instead of beer, you’re clutching for dear life to a crystal glass of bourbon as Javi brushes your hair off your shoulder to delicately kiss your neck.
Somewhere between the teasing in the bar and the teasing in his car, you’d agreed to let Javi “fix your little problem” (his words, not yours). Not that it had been a particularly hard sell. But now it’s actually happening and you need to at least attempt to set some ground rules. 
“Javi, wait.”
“Mmmm?” He doesn’t move away from you, his breath sending shivers down your spine as you struggle to remember what it was you’d been trying to say.
“I’m...not one of your whores,” you say breathlessly.
“Lo sé, hermosa.”
“And I waited a long time for this,” you manage.
He continues kissing along your jaw, simultaneously snatching the drink from your hands and placing it on the table in front of you. 
“Say what’s on your mind, baby.” You hear the implication behind his words: it’s now or never. 
With every ounce of willpower you have, you push him off you with a hand on his chest, partially exposed under his beige shirt, to look him in his smoldering brown eyes. The sight of him nearly takes you out, his lips parted and brows furrowed, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of hungry.
“I just want to make sure you know what this is,” you say firmly, feigning enough bravado to take on Escobar himself. “This is for me.”
Javi smirks, seemingly endeared by your efforts to take control of the situation.
“Corazón,” he hums, brushing both his hands over your cheekbones softly. “How little do you think of me? Hm? I’m not gonna use you. I want to help you.”
You can barely choke out a breathy, “Good,” before his lips are on yours, silencing you for what feels like the hundredth time that night. He kisses you deeply, slowly but assuredly, his tongue finding its way into your mouth with no resistance from you. 
His breath is warm and all-encompassing, the taste of beer and bourbon mixed with cigarette smoke lacing his lips as they move competently against yours. He’s gentle, to your surprise, his hands still resting on either side of your face, holding you steady as you lose yourself in him.
He kisses you like that for what feels like hours, taking his time, letting his hands tangle in your hair as yours feel their way along his muscled arms.
With your head spinning from just his kiss, you can’t contain your moan when he trails one hand over your clavicle and under your collared shirt, fingers ghosting just over your breast. You gasp for air when he breaks the kiss, moving to graze his lips over your chest and up your neck, across your jaw and finally behind your ear, where he stops.
“You said you’ve made yourself come, right?” he whispers hotly in your ear, his hand over your breast finally squeezing with the faintest pressure.
You nod. 
“Words, hermosa,” he presses you, gently tugging at the thick hair at the nape of your neck with his other hand, tangling his fingers in there. 
“I’ve made myself come,” you say shakily, daring yourself to look at him.
He licks his lips and removes his hand from under your shirt, letting it run over the front of your body, where he uses it to hike your skirt higher up on your thighs, revealing your panties underneath. 
“Show me,” he commands. “Show me how you play with your pussy. Show me how you like it.” 
His words send sparks flying to your core, but you don’t have time to absorb them, because then he’s ducking back to crush his mouth to yours again, guiding one of your hands between your legs with his own. 
You whimper as you feel how soaked you are through your underwear, which causes Javi to smirk as he kisses you. His hand hovers over yours as you circle your clit through the fabric till you’re floating with the sensation of it, giving in to the feeling of Javi against your mouth and your own hand against your clothed folds.
He pulls back after a moment, helping you wiggle free from your underwear and spreading your legs wider so you’re fully on display for him.
“Bonita,” he whispers, taking in the sight of you, skirt hiked up to nearly your belly now, wet cunt glistening in the low light of his apartment. “Fuck,” he growls, voice dripping with awe and arousal. “Keep going, pretty girl.”
His encouragement keeps you from feeling embarrassed, even as you dip two fingers inside yourself, how you would if you were alone.
“Yeah, baby,” Javi groans. You chance a glance at him to find he’s palming himself through his tight jeans, watching you like a warrior lusting for battle. “You like that? Want someone to fill that pussy up, don’t you?”
You can only respond with a soft moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the feeling and the sound of his voice. You’re distantly aware of him leaning over you, unbuttoning your shirt and palming your tits through your bra, sending a new wave of pleasure through you while you fuck yourself with your fingers.
You’re so far gone that you aren’t prepared for the moment he shoves your hand away, pinning it on the couch beside you, suddenly replacing your fingers with his mouth. 
“Fuck, Javi!” you cry as his tongue darts into your cunt before licking up towards your clit, where he mimics the small circles you’d demonstrated with your fingers just moments before. 
He moans against you, igniting another new sensation, sending electric shocks through you, a tightness starting to build deep inside your core.
But then he’s slipping two fingers inside you, two fingers that are much thicker and longer than your own. His tongue keeps working circles around your clit, distracting you from the slight pain of his fingers spreading you open. But the pain is quickly replaced with pleasure when he hooks them inside you just so, reaching a new spot that has you flying, squirming under him as your orgasm threatens to overcome you.
“You taste so good, hermosa,” he groans, pulling his mouth away to kiss at your inner thighs, nipping the skin there ravenously. “Has anyone ever eaten your pussy like this, baby?”
“No one like you, Javi,” you promise him, gazing down at him fully clothed between your legs, your wetness caught in his mustache, his fingers still hooked inside you like an anchor. 
“I want you come on my mouth, can you do that for me, cariño?”
You nod furiously in response and Javi grins up at you before diving down to circle languidly over your clit with his tongue again, fingers fucking in and out of you, unrelentingly, till there’s only him, him, him, inside you and around you, making your head spin and your toes curl. When you come, you arch up off the couch, crying out a string of expletives mingled with his name. It’s miles beyond anything you’ve ever made yourself feel with just your own meager fingers.  
Javi doesn’t pull away or slow his motions as you finish, lapping you up greedily, only backing off when he feels your hands in his hair, a silent plea as the sensation starts to feel like too much.
“Oh…my god,” is all you can say when the wave finishes passing over you.
“Good?” he asks then, gazing up at you as you try to catch your breath.
“Yes, Javi, fuck, so fucking good,” you keen, waves of pleasure still sending shockwaves through you as Javi moves up your body to reunite your lips with his. You taste yourself on his tongue when he licks inside your mouth, and fuck, that’s new. 
“You’ve kind of got a mouth on you, don’t you?” Javi observes after a moment. You had been cursing a little more than you usually did, but what did he expect after he’d made you come like that? He really must have just seen you as some fucking prude at work.
“What can I say, Javi?” you lilt, indulging him. “You made a chica mala out of me.” You hope Javi will appreciate the seductive edge you’ve adopted in your post-ograsm haze. 
“Listen to you, baby,” Javi whispers with a smile, cupping your face with his hand, letting his thumb glide over your lips and coax your mouth open. “Sweet girl.” He leans in to kiss you again, like he can’t help himself.
He kisses you like that for a long while, and then you can’t wait. You start to fumble with the belt on his jeans, signaling how ready you are for what you know is coming next. 
“M’not gonna take your virginity on the goddamn couch, querida,” he says against your mouth. 
“Then take me to bed,” you all but beg.
He growls and the butterflies in your stomach dance at the desperate sound. It occurs to you then that maybe he wants this as much as you do, the hard line of his cock in his jeans alone a clear indication of that. You eye it with a mixture of fear and exhilaration, which he catches, grinning at the need written all over your face.
He helps you off the couch and guides you to the bedroom by the hand, a move that feels chaste, all things considered.
In the bedroom, Javi’s mouth finds yours again, intoxicating you with his kiss so you hardly notice him removing your shirt, sliding your skirt down your legs and unhooking your bra behind you. But then he pulls away to assess your naked body and your diffidence flares in your exposed state. 
But Javi wastes no time putting you at ease.
“You’re fucking perfect, cariño,” he breathes, his hands moving up your sides to grab your tits with wonder, his eyes glazing over and cock twitching at just the sight of you. You’re blushing like a teenager again at his reverence, as if he hadn’t just eaten you out in the living room.
“Javi -,” you gasp, when he ducks down to kiss one of your nipples hungrily. “Why are you still wearing all those clothes?”
“You want them off, mi amor?” he teases, punctuating the question with a squeeze of your ass. “Get on the bed.”
You don’t argue. You lie back on the bed so he’s standing over you and you watch with nervous fascination as he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving you. 
“Touch yourself,” he instructs you gruffly. Again, you don’t argue. You’re not sure you’d deny him anything now.
You run your fingers over your throbbing cunt, still so sensitive, while Javi unbuttons his shirt. He tosses it aside before sliding his jeans and boxers down, his rock hard cock springing free, confirming a rumour you’d heard but never known for sure:
Javi is big.
Well, fuck.
Your eyes widen as he strokes himself a few times at the sight of you still playing with yourself, while you try to contain the sudden flood of anxiety threatening to take hold of you. You have no doubt Javi is the right person to do this for you, but the sight of his size has your nerves flaring all over again. What if you couldn’t do it?
Perhaps sensing your unease, Javi climbs up the bed so you’re face to face, stroking your cheek lightly with his fingers and planting a tender kiss to your lips.
“You still want this, baby?” he breathes.
You nod, head swimming with a confusing mixture of need for Javi and fear of failing.
He tuts, brushing your hair off your face with the softest of touches. “Need to hear you say it, mi amor.”
You take a deep, steadying breath, willing yourself to be calm. Javi’s done nothing but take perfect care of you so far, and you’ve waited too long to back out now. 
“I want you, Javi,” you say with as much conviction as you can muster, and it’s true, even if the slight quiver in your voice reveals your true consternation. 
He nods once before moving in to kiss your mouth, and you think you’ll never get tired of the feeling of his lips on yours. He kisses you until the nerves are melting away, peeling back layers of unease with each brush of his hands on your tits, every gentle pinch of your nipples, every indent of his fingernails on your hips. 
He takes his time, getting you soaking wet as he works over your body, finally sliding his hand down between your legs to insert a finger inside you. 
“I’m gonna get you ready for me, okay, sweet girl?” His voice is like honey in your ear, sickly sweet and sultry as he adds a second finger. “Relájate.”
Relax, you tell yourself. 
And it’s surprisingly easy to do, as his fingers spread and move inside you, coaxing you open in preparation for him. You moan at the feeling, and Javi moans with you, like he can feel it too. Your nerves start to feel like anticipation, your desire to have his cock inside you taking over. You can feel him, hard, pressed against your side, and your want very quickly turns to need. 
“Javi,” you groan. “I’m ready, please, fuck me.”
You can see the need in his own eyes looking back at you, his response nothing more than a soft grunt as he moves on the bed to position himself between your legs. He runs the tip of his cock through your wet folds, the feeling of him grazing your clit drawing out a loud moan from you. The lingering pleasure distracts you momentarily from the very real sting of him slipping the tip of his cock inside you. Your breath hitches then, and so does Javi’s.
“Fuck me,” Javi snarls followed by a litany of curse words in Spanish you don’t recognize. “You’re so fucking tight.”
He has to work hard to focus on you, staying completely still while you adjust to his size. 
“Open your eyes, hermosa,” he implores you, voice strained. You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. You force your lids open to look up at him, his strong arms on either side of you, his expression a combination of pleasure and concern for you. “Are you good?”
You’re not so sure. It hurts, there’s no getting around that. You can feel his cock stretching you open, splitting you apart at the seams and it’s too much, too overwhelming, too unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
But it’s not...bad. In spite of the pain, your body is begging out an incessant plea to your mind: more. 
“I’m good - I just - need you to move.” 
You think it’s true. Already the pain is dissipating back into pleasure, and you want to feel more of him. You want to be full of him.
Javi dips to kiss you as he slowly, devastatingly, pushes his hips forward, his length gradually filling you inch by inch, till he’s almost all the way inside. Never taking his eyes off yours, he pulls out nearly completely, thrusting back in at the same pernicious pace. You throw your head back when he bottoms out, finally feeling all of him inside you, a fullness unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.
Fuck the pain, you decide then.
“More,” you beg out loud, letting Javi hear your inner pleas. 
Javi groans and begins to thrust in and out of you in earnest then, maintaining a slow but steady pace, till your head is spinning and the ache subsides. Then it’s just good, the feeling of him inside you, the constrained look of ecstasy on his face, his body over yours like a safe haven.
“Is it everything you hoped for?” he teases as he fucks you, the huskiness in his voice driving you wild, causing heat to rise in your core again.
“Shut up and don’t stop,” you try to tease back, but you sound so breathless as the pleasure in you mounts, giving you away.
“Mouthy,” he chides you, biting down gently on your earlobe. “Think you can come again, mi chica mala?”
“I think - I - yeah, just -,” he shifts his hips slightly so he’s hitting that spot in you again, thrusting into you over and over at an devastatingly unhurried tempo - “right there - fuck!”
You don’t stand a chance when he starts rubbing his thumb over your clit, the rhythm of his hips picking up speed as you cry out, your second orgasm edging closer. Javi’s movements are so certain, so meticulous, so competent, and you think it must have been worth the wait if it meant your first time got to be this. 
“Javi, fuck, I’m gonna -,”
“Come for me, hermosa, come on my dick,” he instructs you as the warmth builds in your core and reaches a fever pitch, your entire body jerking as you come again, soaking and squeezing his cock as you do. “Good girl,” Javi praises you while you come, his movements never ceasing as he fucks you through it, losing himself in the feeling. “That’s so good, baby.”
You feel tears sprout at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming euphoria of it all. Unconsciously, your hands trace Javi’s chest, his arms, his back, anywhere you can reach to feel more of him. His movements, still so methodically slow, become less precise and more hasty as his own climax approaches.
“M’close, hermosa, where do you want me?” he whispers, voice wavering.
“What do you want, Javi?”
He chuckles once minaciously. 
“You don’t want what I want, sweet girl.”
“Try me, Peña,” you say, hoping the use of his last name will bring out the reaction you’re looking for. 
It works, or at least, he seems to clue in to what you’re trying to do. His eyes go dark and you see something shift in him.
“You call me Javi when I’m fucking you, sweetheart,” he says in a voice you haven’t heard him use with you yet. He’s been so careful, so restrained with you so far. But you want to see the real Javi, the one who’s “fucked so many whores that he knows a virgin when he sees one,” the Javi who’s been teasing you for months, the one who’s got his cock in you so deep right now that you’ll let him take you how ever he wants.
“Turn over,” he orders you, and without hesitation you’re flipping onto all fours, Javi wasting no time in slipping his cock back inside you. 
“Fuck, Javi,” you moan as he fucks you with new intensity, his thrusts coming hard and fast, his hips pounding against your ass with enough force to knock the air out of you. 
“This what you want, baby, huh?” he grunts as he holds you steady with his big hands on your sides, reaching under you to palm your tits before pulling you upright so your back is flush against his broad chest. He holds you there while he fucks you punishingly, skin slapping on skin obscenely, his heavy breath tickling your ear as his hands trail over your chest and very lightly over your throat. 
You can’t find the words to answer him, and for once, he doesn’t make you. He just keeps fucking you at that same tenacious pace, his breath growing more ragged and his moans more disjointed.
He doesn’t warn you when he’s about to come, just suddenly pushes you off him so your face is flush against the mattress, his strong hand on the back of your neck forcing you to stay put there. He pulls out and you hear him stroke himself ferociously until his hot come is coating your ass and back and he’s moaning out another string of curse words you can’t make out. 
It sounds like a fucking symphony to your pleasure-drunk mind.
“Goddamn, hermosa,” you hear him sigh when he finishes, releasing his hand from the vice grip it has on the back of your neck, pulling you up by your arms so you’re sitting back on your knees. 
“You good, baby?” he breathes in your ear and you hum a quiet “yes” in response.
You really, really are.
With a firm hand on your chin, he tilts your face back to kiss you again, a kiss that feels so familiar now that it’s like coming home. He wraps his arms around you from behind, ignoring the sticky come between your bodies, his embrace a stabling ballast as you both catch your breath.
“Thank you, Javi,” you whisper after a long moment, letting your head fall back lazily against his shoulder. You don’t know what compels you to say it, but it’s true. Also, you haven’t exactly made it this far before; was it customary to express gratitude after getting your brains fucked out by your co-worker?
Javi just snickers lightly and presses a gentle kiss to your neck.
“Anytime, hermosa,” he says. “But next time, we’re finding something to do with that mouth of yours.”
Your tummy flutters at the thought of “next time” and you smirk up at him.
“Well lucky for you, I do have some experience in that department,” you assure him.
END.
7K notes · View notes
joelsgreys · 10 months
Text
Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)
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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!
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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.
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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? 
6K notes · View notes
ezrasbirdie · 2 months
Text
elucidate [javier peña x f!reader]
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summary: Javier Peña, your regular office hook up, is a little tense lately, and you know the perfect way to help him blow off some steam. ratings/warnings: E [CNC, soft!Javi, mean!Javi, like 90% smut, feelings, fluff, degradation (javi uses whore, slut, etc toward reader), roleplay, forced orgasms, overstimulation, mirror sex, spanking, reader is referred to as "soft and round" but no specifications of where or what, size kink if you squint, male masturbation, the tiniest bit of assplay, Javi will not shut the fuck up, i think that's it, lemme know if I missed something egregious] wc: ~4.7k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! smooches to @haylzcyon for her guidance on the ending, and to @mothandpidgeon for betaing the final product, and to both for making me feel better about actually posting it. i haven't written javi p in YEARS so ya know. also i'm still a little sick, so i'm just yeeting this and hoping y'all like it.
masterlist | javier peña masterlist
~
You wouldn’t offer this to just anyone.
Javier Peña, though—he isn’t just anyone. And this isn’t just any fantasy. This is the type of thing that takes trust and understanding between both of you. Most of the men you’ve been with are hardly trustworthy or understanding.
But Javi’s proved himself and you want to reward him. And, you think, he might even benefit from it. Relish in it, even. He always comes to you for things he can’t get from anyone else, even when it takes a little coaxing. 
“Have you ever thought of taking what you wanted?” You ask him late one night. He balances an ashtray on his belly, skin still shiny with exertion as he inhales his customary after-sex cigarette. You don’t smoke, but you keep them around for him. 
He frowns at you, exhaling slowly. 
“What do you mean?”
“From me,” you nudge. You’re not sure if he’s playing dumb or really can’t fathom the idea of it, but it takes a few moments for him to respond. 
“Why would I wanna do that?” He asks. 
You shrug, not wanting to put words into his mouth. 
You’re not an informant, not even a girl he met in a bar, just a lucky administrative assistant he took a liking to. This, you think, holds him back. The fact that he sees you every day keeps him in check. He was exceptionally gentle with you in the beginning, and while you appreciated the tenderness you’d had your own little celebration the day he finally fucked you so hard you felt him the next day.
Now you drool at the thought of him letting go completely; of pounding into you relentlessly, tirelessly, angrily. Let him take out all that frustration, all that endless disappointment, all that rage; let him take it out on something warm and wet whether you want it or not.
But God, do you want it. 
The conversation ends there with a kiss on your forehead after he shimmies himself back into his sinfully tight jeans. 
“Stay safe,” he says, and then he’s gone. 
**
Javi knows what you meant. 
He’s just ashamed at how interesting he found it; how quickly the blood rushed to his cock at the thought of you squirming underneath him, pinned down by his strength. He could do it easily—you’re soft and round but not very strong. He thought immediately of his hand on your neck, taunts dripping from his tongue as you struggle to free yourself. 
It makes him fucking sick. 
Javi avoids you for a while, steers clear of your side of the office, stays away from the cafeteria and the after-work bars he knows you’ll be in. You try to corner him once, but he runs, feigning a meeting with the ambassador and glancing back just once to see your puzzled face. 
He knows he has to talk to you sooner or later. You wouldn’t be the first woman he’s walked away from after the pressure got to be a little too much, but you’re not any woman. You’re you. 
Fuck. 
And you asked him. 
It bothers him. Do you really think he’d be capable of that? 
He shifts in bed, kicking the blanket off of him and letting the humid air hit his body, completely bare save for a pair of boxers that are quickly becoming too tight. 
Not again.
He groans, disgusted with himself as he closes his eyes and imagines you, for the millionth time, on your knees, hands tied behind your back and his cock fucking your throat as you just fucking take it. Forced to all fours so he can fuck you from behind with the brutal pace, ignoring any protests and taking what’s his.
If he did it, you’d be his. He’d own your pussy.
Javier stays out of relationships for plenty of reasons, and one is that he’s learned over the years he has no intention of letting go of what’s his. This life he’s chosen has no room for that kind of devotion.
You weren’t supposed to happen. 
His hand drifts down his chest casually enough that he can tell himself he brushed his cock by coincidence and just couldn’t help it. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, hadn’t had need to see any informants, just him and his hand and the vision of your tits bouncing in that big mirror in your bedroom as he pounds into you and calls you names he’d never dream of outside of this. 
Slut. 
Whore.
Cocksleeve.
Mine.
Javier comes with embarrassing speed. He won’t be pounding a goddamn thing if he doesn’t get that shit under control. 
Cleaning himself up, he glances at his phone and sighs. First he needs to make sure you still want anything to do with him, but he wants to talk about it, too. He wants to know why you want it, if you’ll really enjoy it, if he can make it good for you. 
You pick up after the second ring, and he breathes out at your soft greeting.
**
You frantically clean your apartment as best you can in the fifteen minutes it takes Javi to get there and hope he doesn’t mind your pajamas.
Hiding your nerves is not an easy task. You have no idea what to expect—is he here to break it off completely? Is he angry? Does he hate you?
But no, those big brown eyes don’t betray anything but remorse and curiosity when you open the door for him. He wets his lips and looks you up and down. “Can we talk?”
And of course you can; that’s all you’ve wanted for weeks, for him to even acknowledge your existence. You grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, but he waves it off as he pulls his leather jacket off. 
He’s never refused a drink before.  
You take a seat at your breakfast table and wait. He runs his hands through his hair, jaw ticking as he paces around the kitchen. It takes him too long to speak; long enough that you open your mouth to break him out of this reverie, but he interrupts. 
“You asked me if I wanted something the last time we were together,” he says, lighting up a cigarette. “I wanna make sure you want that.”
You cock your head at him, lips quirked into a smile. “Wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t.”
“I wanna…I want to. And I don’t know if I’m supposed to want that,” he says, running his finger over his mustache. “Wouldn't that hurt you if I did those things?”
You giggle. Big bad Javier Peña, worried about fucking you too hard. “That’s part of the fun,” you say. “I always want it a little rougher. And I know you wouldn't go too far.”
“How do you know, though?” He asks, his bottom lip pushed out and eyes wide—it’s his serious face, his listen-to-me face, but right now he just looks scared. 
“Because you don’t have that in you, Javi,” you tell him. Something loosens in him and that wrinkle between his eyebrows smoothes out. “I don’t just offer this to everyone.”
Javi nods and inhales, lapsing into silence. Now it’s your turn to ask a question. 
“Why didn’t you ask me before? You ignored me for two weeks,” you say, trying to keep your voice level and the desperation far away. 
“Got scared,” he says, chewing his thumbnail.
“Don’t do that again,” you murmur. “Please.”
“I won’t,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
**
He brings it up himself a few weeks later. Things are rough at work—you can see it in his eyes. He’s quieter than usual, quick to irritate and just as quick to apologize with his tongue or his cock, but one day he just can’t take it anymore. 
“I need to forget, sweetheart,” he purrs in your ear, and you don’t need to ask him what that means. After picking a safe word and informing him of a couple of “absolutely nots,” you tell him to wait ten minutes and come into your bedroom. 
The scene is simple—you’re an uncooperative informant, and he’s a man running out of time. It’s your request, but Javi’d pressed you up against the wall and ground his hips into yours when you asked for it. 
“Bad girl,” he’d murmured. Not only is it something you’d been dreaming about with him since the day you met, it’s easy for him to role play. Javi is a lot of things, but overly imaginative is not one of them. 
You’re already damp thinking about what he’ll do. 
The only light is a stark, bare bulb on your bedside table, the lampshade removed for a more interrogation room-like atmosphere. You sit in a chair dragged in from your breakfast table and adjust your already low-cut neckline. There’s a knock at your bedroom door, but he opens it and strides in before you can even answer. 
He’s holding himself differently. 
You’ve only seen him in Agent Peña mode a few times, usually on the way to dragging sicarios into the basement for questioning. Once you ended up in an elevator with him and Murphy and a baby-faced twenty-something who leered at your office skirt and pantyhose. Javi’d placed himself between the two of you. 
“Don’t look at her,” he’d growled, and that was before you’d even kissed. He’d puffed himself up big, shoulders back and wide as he’d stared that kid down until he’d turned away from you completely.
That’s the Javi that’s barged into your bedroom. 
“I hear we have a problem,” he says, sliding right into it. You’d expected some giggles, maybe some huffing on his end, but no. 
“What’s the problem?” You ask. “Why am I here?”
“You tell me. I pay you for information and they tell me you’re holding out. You know something,” he says softly. He keeps it vague, so you follow his lead. No need to bring anything real into it. 
“I don’t know shit. Told you everything,” you say, crossing your legs and folding your arms over your chest. He takes one menacing step closer. If you didn’t know him, he’d seem completely cool, but Javi has his tells. Shallow breath, mouth slightly parted as he approaches you with pupils so dilated his dark brown eyes turn black—he’s already holding himself back.
“I think,” he starts, wetting his lips with that soft, pink tongue, “you’re hiding something. I think you need to be searched just in case.” Arousal floods through you as he pulls you up by your arm and turns the chair around. “Take your clothes off.”
“No,” you argue. “You can’t make me.”
He pulls you flush against him, ignoring your attempts to get away. His cock is bulging in his jeans already, hard and warm against your core. 
“You take them off or I will. Your choice,” he growls in your ear as he pushes you back and folds his arms. “Move it.”
You scowl at him, pulling your shirt over your head.
“Bra, too.”
“Pervert,” you snarl, and he smirks. His cock grows thicker and longer in those obscenely tight pants as you pull off your skirt and panties, but he stops you before you peel off your lacy thigh highs. 
“Leave ‘em,” he grunts. 
Javi explores you as though it’s the first time he’s seen your body, kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. His eyes flick up at the sound, and for a moment your Javi’s there, checking in. You say nothing, and he moves on. 
“Got a nice body,” he murmurs. “So fucking pretty. You letting those assholes touch you like this?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“No what?” He snaps.
“No, sir.”
“But you’re letting me touch you, hm? Not putting up any fight at all,” he says, sliding his hand down your belly until he reaches your pussy and groaning. “Fuck, you’re all wet, bonita.”
You nod, biting your lip. 
“If you just tell me what I need to know, I can make this good for you. If you don’t…” He trails off, his middle finger finding your clit and tracing light circles before he gives it a soft pinch. 
“I told you, I don’t know shit, sir,” you spit. He pulls his hand back and shoves his fingers in your mouth without warning. You taste yourself mixed with nicotine and the salt of his skin, and you try not to moan. 
“Bend over the fucking chair,” he snaps, pulling his fingers out of you. “Spread your legs. See what you're hiding in that little cunt.”
The word is a pleasant surprise—he’s never called it that before. It makes you tingle all over, pussy throbbing at his crudeness. Javi talks dirty, but it’s always soft, always sweet praise delivered in that rough, gravelly voice. 
This is different, but it’s good. 
You do as he says. 
Your reflection stares back at you; he’d somehow slyly repositioned you and the chair in front of your full-length mirror. You can see the way his eyes darken and his jaw tightens at the sight of your open, waiting pussy. “Fuck me. Look at that,” he says. A hand connects with your ass, the loud crack and your squeal filling the bedroom. 
“You little slut,” he murmurs. “You like this? You want more?”
“No!” You whine, and a smack lands on your other cheek. 
“I think,” he says, slapping you again, “you’re a naughty little girl who needs to get her little pussy fucked. I think that’s why you’re being such a brat.” He leans down to your ear, meeting your eyes in the mirror and adds in a whisper, “I think you heard from all the other girls how good Agent Peña’s cock is and you got jealous. Wanted to see for yourself. All you had to do was ask nicely, sweetheart. Now you’ll take what I give you, hm?”
You shake your head, eyes glued to the mirror where he's unzipping his tight jeans and finally freeing his cock. As your mouth waters for it, you cry out “No, no! I don’t know anything—”
He spanks you again, and this time you can almost feel the outline of a handprint. 
“Shut up,” he grunts as he moves in front of you and shoves his cock in your face. “Open up. Now.”
You should struggle a little more—you always like that part—but Javi’s cock in your mouth is one of your favorite things in the world. He doesn’t give you a minute to adjust, doesn’t even try to get you to suck him off properly, he’s just moving his hips, fucking your mouth like you’re a toy. 
“Fuck that’s a hot mouth,” he groans, chuckling at your garbled whimpers. “Taking it so good.”
You preen at this praise, swallowing his cock even as tears start to sting your eyes. Javi slows when he opens his eyes and sees the tracks on the side of your face. He wipes them away, his softness for you forcing its way through despite it all. Javi pulls out of your mouth and brings you up to eye level, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.
“Okay?” He murmurs. 
“Fine, baby.”
There’s the smallest relief inside of you, a sort of tension you hadn’t even noticed releasing as he makes it clear he won’t get too lost in this. 
It only makes you want it more. 
“This what you do to all your informants?” You ask, goading him. “Go on a power trip? Force girls to fuck you?”
He grins.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, slipping back into character as he lines himself up behind you. “I think you know we both want this. You can deny it all you want, but that messy little pussy says otherwise.” He swipes his thick finger through your soaked lips, a long ribbon of slick trailing from you as he brings it to his mouth and groans.
“Hear that?” He asks, sliding his spit-soaked finger inside of you. Your cunt sucks him in, squelching as a second finger joins a moment later. “She just keeps getting wetter. Coulda made this good for you, bebita. Should have just asked. Now you watch while I fuck you, just like you wanted.”
He pushes himself inside of you, the entirety of his thick length sheathed all at once, just on the right side of uncomfortable, and he sets a brutal pace.
Thank God you’re wetter than you’ve ever been. All you can do is hold on as he jackhammers into you, using your pussy for his pleasure while you stare heavy-lidded at his face in the mirror. He’s magnificent, corded neck muscles flexing as he moves, lean biceps flexing with each snap of his hips. 
Every so often he opens his eyes and meets yours in the mirror, hungry desire etched into his gaze. He squeezes your hips, kneading the soft parts of you with alternating gentle caresses and bruising grips, completely lost in pleasure.
What exactly would he let you get away with?
You sneak your fingers to your pussy, finding your aching, neglected clit and rubbing, a soft whine falling from your lips after a few slow circles. He’s still somewhere else until that noise breaks through his concentration. 
“You—little—whore—” he snarls, and it makes you gush.
He pulls out and tosses you on the bed like you weigh nothing, crawling over you with his teeth bared. He’s so scary and beautiful and you want more more more. “Think you deserve to come? After being a little brat? Doing all that just to get my attention and my cock isn’t enough, you need to come, too?”
“No, I—”
He pulls your arms over your head, trapping both wrists in his big hand and holding you down with his body weight. “Fine, you greedy little slut, you can come, but you don’t get to stop until I say so.”
The first is fast—Javi is skilled and patient, but you’re so worked up it hardly takes anything. The second is the same; still sensitive, still needy, your body reaches bliss with just a few easy strokes. The third takes longer, but he pulls it from you, taunting you as the tears roll down your cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he orders, his free hand spanking you hard on your hip. “You can take it. You want this, remember?” He teases, an edge of cruelty in his tone that makes your back arch and toes curl into the sheets.
By the fifth orgasm, though, your body is begging for mercy. You’re soaked in sweat, whining as he moves between your legs to lick up all the come and force another out of you. Your hips cant up against your will at the press of his tongue and he holds you down.
“Nonononono,” you whine. “Javi, I can’t—” 
“You can take it,” he says again, dismissing your soft whimpers.
 Your safe word dances on the tip of your tongue, but now you want to see. You want to know if he’s right; if you can take another afterall, even if your thighs ache from being spread so wide for so long. The only noise you make is a soft whine as he presses his fingers into you again and he laps at your sensitive clit. 
“One more,” he murmurs into you. “One more.” 
His voice is gentle now, even if his lip is curled into a sneer. He replaces his tongue with his thumb and starts to talk.
“I know you want this. Probably won’t even be enough to satisfy you, will it? Whores don’t get satisfied that easy, do they? I bet this little hole’ll be begging for more even after all this. Poor thing. Unless you want me to fill up both of them. Maybe that’ll help, if you get your little asshole fucked, too.”
Your eyes fly open at the feeling of a finger brushing gently against your asshole, not enough to push inside but enough to light your nerve endings on fire. “Oh, fuck, Javi—”
He chuckles as you tighten around him again, your whole body shaking with this one. “Good,” he laughs. “Good girl.”
You’re spent, wrung out as he licks his fingers clean. His angry, weeping cock bobs in front of him as he pulls you up and manhandles you onto all fours. The mirror reveals what a mess you are—smeared lipstick, runny mascara, smudged eyeliner. 
“Fuck you’re pretty,” he murmurs. He dips his head between your legs and spreads your ass cheeks, groaning at the sight like he didn’t just have his face down there two minutes ago. “Oh, baby, you’re a fucking mess. You ready for my cock? Hm?”
“No!” You say, half-heartedly struggling underneath him. “I can’t, Javi.”
His eyes darken and you, despite coming six times, feel a tingle in your lower belly as he drapes himself over you. You squirm hard enough to make him hold you down, somehow gushing even more at his body weight settling over you. 
“You’re gonna be a good little cockhungry slut for me, and you’re gonna take this—” He shoves himself inside of you again, groaning hard and loud. You’re so much more relaxed now, looser from everything, but it still stretches deliciously. “And you’re gonna watch me fuck you until I come all over that pretty ass, yeah?”
You don’t answer, just blink dazedly at him until he spanks you. “Yeah?” He asks, leaning forward to grab your chin and force you to look at him. 
“Yeah,” you breathe. 
“Yeah what?” He snarls.
“Yes, sir.”
That sets him on that brutal pace, every thrust moving you closer to the edge of the bed as he mutters filth behind you, talking more to himself than you at this point. You watch him in the mirror again, not quite sure where he’s gone. He’s all sharp teeth and shimmering skin, nothing but the snap of his hips and the sound of your soaking cunt filling the room as you gaze at him. 
Javi slips out of you just before he comes, his spend splashing hot all over the cleft of your ass as he pulls you up to his chest and presses his fingers into your mouth, writhing against you. 
He gives one last throaty moan, and with his last thrust he whimpers your name and takes his fingers out of your mouth. It’s a soft noise, like whoever he’d expelled whatever his body with his release. You clutch his hand and smile at the sound—that was, of course, exactly what you’d set out to do.
“Mine,” he murmurs into your neck. It makes all the little hairs on your body stand on end and your heart feels like a flower in bloom. “All mine.”
Javi shakes his head as he regains all his senses, but you’re completely blissed out as he rolls you over and his eyes soften when you smile at him. 
“Hi,” you murmur, head still floating in the clouds. He sits up against the headboard and beckons you, and you crawl to him on shaky limbs. 
“Bebita,” he sighs, pulling you into his lap. You wrap your legs around him and lay your head on his shoulder with a contented hum. “You okay?”
“Mmhmm.”
He holds you there, rocking you back and forth and pressing kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, even the tip of your nose. “Did so good. My good, sweet girl. Made me feel so good. Let me clean you up, hm?”
Everything glows with a soft haze as he guides you into the bathroom and leans you up against the counter and pulls your thigh highs off, kissing you again and pressing his forehead to yours. “Stay here,” he murmurs. 
After he turns the bathtub on and finds the right temperature, he disappears for a moment, returning with a tall glass of water that you gulp down without taking a breath. 
“Good girl,” he says as he pulls you to the bath. 
You don’t take many baths in this tub—there’s never really enough time to enjoy them—but you might need to rectify that. It’s deep and wide, big enough that he could shimmy in behind you if he’d like. 
It’s like he’s read your mind, stepping out of the skin-tight jeans he’s still wearing—covered in your juices, you notice— and tapping you to scoot forward. 
“No underwear?” You tease, speaking for the first time. He seems almost bashful about it. All that, and he’s shy about going commando? 
“Not much room,” he admits. 
“How is that comfortable? Doesn’t the denim rub on your junk?”
“Now you’re just being a brat again,” he says as he settles around you, long legs hugging your sides. He plants his chin on your shoulder and huffs. “How’re you feeling?”
Javi’s full of all kinds of surprises tonight. He’s certainly never asked you that. Not that there’d been much occasion to, and you’re only a casual thing, but it’s nice that he cares. 
“Feel good. A little sore, but I like it.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“No more than I’d asked for,” you giggle, but he doesn’t laugh. You clear your throat. “No, Javi. You didn’t. You couldn’t.”
His body relaxes against you, melting into your sore muscles. He kneads at your shoulders and neck, cupping your breasts as he finds his way to your wrists. “Gimme your little puff thing,” he says. “And put that stuff that smells good on it.”
“It’s called a loofah,” you laugh as you drizzle the body wash over it. He grunts acknowledgment and scrubs you gently, murmuring comfort when he reaches your core and you hiss at how tender everything is. 
“I know, baby. So sensitive, I know,” he coos. 
Javi’s always sweet to you in the brusque way of his, but this is like he really cares for you. 
“Gonna stay over, if that’s okay,” he says, and you turn sharply. He’s never, ever stayed the night. 
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” he laughs. “Just wouldn’t feel right leaving you after that.”
“You’re sweet, Javier Peña.”
You slosh around in the water for a while, rubbing his legs and nuzzling against him for a while until he pulls you out and dries you off. In bed he curls his body around you and settles his chin on your shoulder, and as your eyes close, you realize you’re not the only vulnerable one here tonight.
**
“Did you see Agent Peña today?” Marla asks.
“Yes! He walked in smiling,” Valentina asks in a conspiratorial stage whisper. You say nothing, trying to keep your own smile internal. They’re much too loud, and there’s no way he can’t hear them even twenty feet away.
“Do you think he met someone?” Marla asks as she files her nails. “If I was ten years younger.” 
“You mean thirty,” Valentina teases, and Marla dismisses her with a wave of her hand. “I think I’d have a chance if he paid us any attention over here.”
Javier’s eyes flick up in their direction, smirking as he and Murphy discuss whatever it is they discuss over their morning coffee and bourbon. 
“Do you know anything about it, darling?” Marla asks, and you shake your head. 
“Nope,” you lie, as if he hadn’t fucked you within an inch of your life last night. “Not a thing. Maybe he’s just in a good mood.”
“He’s never in a good mood,” Valentina argues. “That’s what makes him all brooding and sexy.”
You can feel Javi’s eyes on you. “I don’t get the fuss,” you say, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “He’s handsome but he’s not that handsome.”
The two women look scandalized, but Javi stands with his hands on his hips across the room, eyes glued to you. An almost imperceptible jerk of his head toward the hallway sends blood rushing to your cheeks. 
You wait a respectable amount of time after he leaves before excusing yourself, finding Javier in the deserted hallway leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. “Don’t get the fuss, huh?” He grins. 
“Nope,” you say. “Not into the dark, brooding thing. I like it much better when you smile.”
Javi leans close and presses his lips to your forehead. “Me too, bonita. I like it better, too.”
~
comments and reblog are always so, so appreciated!!
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joelscurls · 4 months
Text
give in to temptation
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pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
words: 5.5k
summary: you're in a relationship now — a good, healthy relationship — that doesn't stop you from texting your ex Javi late at night.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, post Narcos s3, porn with plot, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit smut, sexting, infidelity (I do not condone cheating, but unfortunately it's hot when it's with Javi), reference to masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, use of pet names (cariño, querida, baby, etc.); lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: hi! enjoy 5kish words of dubious morals bc I couldn't get this idea out of my head :)
Humidity clings to the walls, bedsheets strewn across your legs damp with sweat. You kick at them aimlessly, and the cotton grips tighter to slick skin.
In the curve of your palm rests your phone, ringer switched off and brightness turned all the way down — the last thing you want is to wake your boyfriend, dozing next to you as you text another man.
Your fingers are clammy where they wrap around metal, sweat pooling in the divots between your knuckles. 
This is wrong; you know it’s wrong, just like every time preceding this one. But the guilt does nothing to slow the adrenaline racing through your veins. If anything, it makes your heart thump harder.
That, and the words pixelated on the tiny screen of your flip-phone.
Javi [2:03am]:  I’ve been thinking about you all day, cariño. Got me so hard.
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You’d met Javier Peña just over a year ago. 
A young woman alone at the bar, you’d drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had dark brooding eyes and a savior complex that’d been made more apparent with each story he’d shared about his time as a DEA attaché in Colombia, from which he’d recently returned.
Do you miss it? you’d asked, nursing a martini.
Like hell, he’d said. But I have nothing left to give.
I don’t know if I believe you, you’d countered with a wink.
Not an hour later, you’d found yourself in his living room, dress hiked up to your waist as he devoured you. 
Sex with Javi was easy, mindless. For a while, his body served as a refuge for you after shitty days at work and arguments with your overbearing mother. A lone beacon in the fog, he was always more than willing to help you forget the stressors in your life. And your own name.
It was passionate, and filthy, and sticky — left your legs trembling and your head dizzy — each and every time. 
With him, you didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to think. It was just sex, with no strings and no labels. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was perpetuated by the transcendent pleasure you felt in the spaces between words, when your mouths were preoccupied.
But when your birthday came and went and you found yourself another year older, an aching feeling settled in your gut — a feeling that time had begun to pass more quickly than it used to. And on its heels came the desire for something more, something you knew Javi was not willing to provide: a relationship.
The decision to end things was mutual, amicable. It was the easiest “breakup” you’d ever gone through. Maybe because it wasn’t a “breakup” at all.
A few weeks later, you’d met Nathan, a law student with a polite disposition and an eagerness to settle down. He’d treated you well, the type to open doors for you and ask about your day. On all fronts, he was a good man — a little boring, but good.
After a month, you made it official. After two, he moved into your place.
And you stopped thinking about Javi, about the way his large hand had fit perfectly around your throat, the way he’d been able to coax you to orgasm in two different languages. No, you only thought about the man in front of you, the one with the steadily growing collection of argyle ties and the unstamped passport.
Sex with Nathan was admittedly different. He didn’t make you cum as quickly or as easily; your body didn’t crave his with the same amount of fervor it had Javier’s. But it was loving, sweet, what any woman would want…should want.
And it was normal that you thought about your ex sometimes when your current partner laid his weight on top of you, that you imagined a different mouth slotted against your neck or on your tits. Because certainly, everyone did that every once in a while. It was harmless.
As long as you never uttered his name out loud, he’d remain only in your head, lost to time to exist there forevermore.
But then came the day in the grocery store, on your date to the cereal aisle to restock Nathan’s favorite, bran flakes. He’d materialized like a ghost of good sex’s past.
You didn’t dare speak to him, didn’t trust yourself to. Under the bright fluorescent lights, you’d felt your palms begin to sweat, your throat constrict, eyes glued to the selection of boxes in front of you. But while Nathan debated between store brand and name brand, you’d snuck another cautious glance at him.
Javi’s expression was unreadable. He’d looked between you and Nathan as if he were trying to solve a rubix cube. One he was becoming increasingly frustrated by. He’d gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly, the skin on his knuckles appeared near translucent.
And then he’d disappeared, tiny wheels on the carriage screeching, noise barely audible over your pulse.
The first text came later that night.
Are you seeing someone? it’d read.
Yes, you’d replied. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk. 
You’d quickly established ground rules: messages would only be exchanged after midnight, never two nights in a row, no calls, and — most importantly — Nathan would never find out.
Okay, Javi had said. Just one more rule: don’t use his name with me.
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To your right, Nathan snores, the singular catch of an inhale in his throat, and the noise jolts you, face heating as if you’ve been caught.
Then he shifts, turns on his side, away from you. You feel a strange wash of relief. A semblance of privacy that you shouldn’t be after.
You respond to Javier with your tongue between your teeth.
You [2:04am]: thinking about me doing what?
Javi [2:06am]: Riding me. Your tits in my face. My hands on your ass.
 Your breath catches, attention abruptly pulled to the incessant throbbing between your legs.
You definitely shouldn’t sneak to the bathroom and touch yourself. Shouldn’t send Javi a grainy photo of your fingers in your panties. Shouldn’t make yourself cum with your ex-lover’s name on your lips.
Not for the third time this week.
But when your cunt inadvertently clenches around nothing, your judgment is suddenly clouded.
With one last glance at the sleeping form beside you, you clamber to your feet and tiptoe down the hallway, wetness dripping down your thighs as you go.
The bathroom door closes with a quiet click. You fumble for the lightswitch, eyes reflexively squeezing shut when the room brightens. 
You hover over the sink, steadying yourself against porcelain with one hand while you type furiously with the other.
You [2:10am]: yeah? you wanna suck on my tits?
The mirror parallel you reflects something out of a thriller, your pupils fully dilated and your forehead glistening with sweat. You almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at you in all her depravity.
You slump to the floor. Rest with your back to the side of the tub. 
Javi [2:11am]: Dying to. Always felt so fucking perfect in my mouth.
Desperate fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, into your panties. The phone balances precariously in your other hand, thumb stumbling over buttons on the keypad.
You [2:12am]: I miss your cock.
Javi [2:13am]: That’s right, querida. Best you ever had, huh?
You [2:13am]: Yes. Always made me feel so fucking good. 
Javi [2:15am]: Fuck. Are you touching yourself?
You swirl two digits at your entrance, amply coating them in your slick before dragging them up to your swollen clit. You can’t stifle the moan that slips past your lips.
You [2:16am]: yes
Javi [2:16am]: good girl
The phone distractedly tumbles from your grasp, clinking against tile as you begin to work yourself toward the brink.
And then — there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
The room spins, walls suddenly shrinking in on you as you wrench your hand out of your panties. Nathan’s voice on the other side is muffled, by the exhaust fan and by the ringing in your ears. But you can just decipher his words, his voice laden with sleep.
“Babe? Are you okay? I thought I heard-“
“Fine, I’m uh, I’m fine,” you say, scrambling to your feet, wiping wet fingers on your shorts.
The doorknob jostles, and it dawns on you then that you’d forgotten to fucking lock it.
 “No! Don’t come in,” you sputter. The door hitches, less than an inch cracked. “I just had a stomach ache, but I’m okay now. I’ll be back in bed in a minute.”
“Oh.” He yawns. Pulls it shut again. “Okay.”
You brace yourself against the sink, struggling to slow your racing heart. 
With a flush of the empty toilet, Nathan’s footsteps recede down the hall and out of earshot. You wash your hands, then, fingers shaking under the stream of lukewarm water.
You dry them hastily, not bothering to pick up the towel when it slides off the rail and onto the floor.
You [2:21am]: gotta go. sorry. 
Javi [2:22am]: ???
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Nathan is far too kind the following morning. He sets a plate of buttered toast and a mug of peppermint tea out for you on the kitchen table, and presses a nauseatingly gentle kiss to your forehead as you eat.
His amber eyes scan you like he’s searching for any indicators that you’re still hurting, fingers anxiously carding through his sandy hair.
You’re sure he’s clocked the dark circles marking your undereyes — not that he knows the real reason for them.
“I’m fine,” you promise when you feel him staring.
“Are you sure?” he probes. “The noise you made was…intense; you sounded really pained.”
Pained? Not exactly.
“I know.” You stuff the last bite of toast into your mouth. Tilt the empty plate toward him.
“But I’m okay; see? Even have an appetite this morning. It was just a weird bug or something.”
The lie burns on the way out, scalds your throat. But Nathan buys it. Doesn’t ask any further questions.
Still, he tells you to take it easy today on his way out the door.
You can’t look him in the eye when you insist that you will.
You call out of work, too sick with self-loathing to show your face in the office. Instead, you mope around all day, attempt to distract yourself with the overflowing hamper of laundry in the closet.
It’s futile though, your brain paralyzed by thoughts of Nathan finding out about the affair, and the clothes remain unwashed.
He returns that evening with a plastic bag in his clutch, the local pharmacy’s logo printed on the front.
“Here,” he says, pulling out a brand new heating pad. “I realized last night that we didn’t have one of these laying around.”
You know, at that moment, that you need to end things with Javi.
Nathan is good to you. He loves you with actions, not just words. Thinks of you before he thinks of himself, in every situation. And you — you’re cheating on him. Taking advantage of him. Not even trying to be what he deserves.
You’ll try harder. To love him, to think of him. No longer will you give in to brainless, animalistic needs. Surely, you can mimic the passion you have with someone else if you just try. 
Try, try, try. You can do it.
Sleep evades you that night, coming in brief stints and leaving you breathless when you wake. 
In those conscious moments, the analog clock in the corner of the room taunts you, glaring red neon making your head pound.
After three straight hours of tossing and turning, you decide it can’t wait any longer.
You fish your cellphone off the nightstand. Snap it open.
You [3:23am]: We need to end this before things get ugly.
You’re sure he won’t be awake this late; not without reason. But then — the screen blinks.
Javi [3:24am]: Nothing’s going to get ugly. Please, cariño. 
You [3:24am]: I almost got caught last night. I don’t want to hurt him.
Javi [3:25am]: Can we talk about this? Javi [3:25am]: In person?
Your heart palpitates. For a moment, you swear it stops altogether.
You [3:26am]: What the hell? No Javi, I can’t.
Javi [3:27am]: C’mon. Just talk. Don’t you think you owe me that?
Your eyes flit to Nathan. 
You watch him for a long moment: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slouch of his shoulders, the gape of his mouth.
He’s well and truly asleep. You’re sure you could sneak away without him waking. Slip out the door and get a cab to Javier’s, talk things through, and be back in bed before the sun rises — before Nathan even knows you’ve left. 
And then everything will be just as it was before you messed this up. You can leave Javi in the past, where he belongs. 
Of course, you’re not just going to talk. Deep in your bones, you know that. Know that when he’s there in front of you, you’ll be too weak to resist any of his advances.
Still, you play coy. Ignore the spring of excitement tightening in your abdomen. 
In a move of finality, one which you know you won’t be able to come back from, you stand. Make your way into your closet to pull some pants and a t-shirt on, your cell phone clutched in your hand. 
You [3:30am]: Fine.
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Javier sends you his address — as if you’d have forgotten it. As if the name of his apartment complex isn’t permanently etched behind your eyelids, along with the wide slope of his shoulders and the plush of his bottom lip.
When the cab pulls up to the curb, the driver is visibly concerned. His bushy, gray brows thread together and his narrowed eyes catch yours in the rearview more than once on the drive across town.
It’s only when you reach Javi’s building and hand over your fare that the man speaks.
“Are you alright, sweetheart? Quite late for you to be out on your own.” 
His voice crackles, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy on his breath, and it’s strangely comforting. 
“Yeah,” you promise as you push the door open and step out.
He rolls his window down, anxiously watching as you maneuver your way to the front door. And then he’s driving off, headlights vanishing into the thick night.
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Javier lets you up on the first buzz. He’s waiting for you in the entryway of his apartment, leaning with a large hand pressed to the doorframe.
Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him: shirtless, bronze skin cast in the dim yellow light of the corridor. 
His eyes rake over you the moment you’re in front of him, lingering when they catch on your collarbone, your breasts, your legs. He looks so imposing like this. You find yourself unable to move; frozen under his silent, lustful gaze.
“Are you — can I come in?” you ask meekly.
He nods then, a slow lift of his chin. Steps backward into darkness. You will yourself to take one step, and then another, following him over the threshold and past the point of no return.
It feels so odd to be here, in his space, with the intention of doing anything other than fucking. If you look close enough, you swear you can make out the shape of your body imprinted in the couch cushions, can hear lingering echoes of climaxes reached with your face shoved into one of his decorative pillows — can feel them, too.
Arousal pulls between your thighs. You ignore it.
You wonder how many other women have been here since you, have taken Javi in their hands or their mouths or their cunts. How many names that aren’t yours has he chanted in the throes of passion? 
And — moreover — why do you care?
You don’t. You definitely don’t.
Javi pours you a glass of wine, fills a crystal with whiskey for himself. He flicks a lamp on, casting the room in an orange glow, and settles into the couch You follow his lead, perching yourself on one of the arm rests apprehensively.
“So,” you start. “About what we’ve been…doing-“
He cuts you off with a quirk of his brow, a flinch of his jaw. 
“Javi,” you try again. “This has to — we can’t-”
“You’re sure you want to break it off, cariño?” His voice comes out low, dark.
And the thing is — you’re not sure. You wish you were, wish you had the strength to tell him definitively that it’s over, to go home to your boyfriend and block Javi’s number on the way out. 
But the flex of his bicep when he hooks his arm behind his head, the knowing smirk playing on his lips, his cock — which you can’t see, but know is long and thick under his jeans — it all makes your head feel heavy. 
You let the weight of it drop between your shoulders, hang there as you silently search for just a particle of sanity left in your being. You come up empty. 
“Fuck,” you hiss, claw your fingers into your scalp. “This is — fuck.”
Leather groans under Javi’s weight. He stands. Steps in front of you.
You don’t dare look at him, not until he pinches your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to meet his. His eyes are charcoal-black, something devious swimming behind blown pupils.
“Baby,” he croons. “Why did you really come here?” 
You play dumb. “What do you mean? To — to talk.”
His thumb skates along the underside of your jaw, soft and placating.
“We’re not really gonna talk — are we?”
Your head spins, mind clouded by Javier’s words, his touch. You sense yourself losing resolve just as he pulls you upright by both hands. 
You’re so close like this; can taste the whiskey on his breath, can feel the warmth of his exhale against your skin.
His mouth moves to the shell of your ear, voice a mere whisper when he speaks again.
“Wanna know what I think, querida?” he asks, palm flattening at your lower back, pushing you flush against him. “I think you came here because texting wasn’t enough anymore, huh? Think you missed me.”
And the truth is, you have missed him — painfully so. You’ve missed the timbre of his voice, the caress of his hands, the stretch of his cock. All just in reach, tangible for the first time in so long.
Your need for him borders on carnal. The feeling snakes its way up from your stomach into the cavern of your ribcage, splays its weight across your delicate, pounding heart. 
And then the rational part of your brain whirs weakly to life.
What are you doing?
“I have a boyfriend,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re reminding. 
“Mhm,” Javi mutters, deft fingers peeling the fabric of your t-shirt up, up, up your body. You don’t stop him.
“And does your boyfriend —“ he kneels down, presses a kiss where exposed skin meets denim — “make you feel as good as I do, cariño?”
You can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be right. Because any of this is.
“Javi — I,” you try, cut off abruptly by dull teeth in the flesh of your waist. You yelp, the sweet sting quickly dissipating as he pauses. Pulls back. 
“You can say it,” he goads with a wicked smirk. “I won’t tell him.”
“He — no,” the words leave you before you even feel them in your mouth, and then you’re cursing yourself. You can’t take it back — it’s too late. Javi knows, you know. The only one still in the dark is Nathan. 
Javier says your name. His tone is different, soberingly serious. 
“Tell me to stop.” 
Fuck. 
“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, “and I’ll stop.”
“I can’t,” you whisper, so quiet you barely hear yourself. 
“Cariño-”
“I can’t,” you stammer, louder. “I — fuck, Javi. Please.”
“Please?”
He knows what you’re asking for; he just needs to hear you say it.
“Please fuck me.”
In an instant, he’s standing back up, grasping at your sides and impatiently guiding you onto the couch. He brackets you against the cushions, one hand splayed next to your head on the backrest, the other popping the button of your jeans open. 
You lift your ass as he tugs them down your legs, pulls them past your ankles and leaves them in a heap on the floor. And then he’s moving down your body, kneeling at your altar and prying you open for him.
You surrender to him willingly, desperation growing when he pulls your panties aside and gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.
“This gorgeous pussy,” he hums, leaning down to taste you.
“Yeah?” you breathe. “You miss it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he groans. Dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, refamiliarizing himself with your nectar before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.
You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He knows your sounds, knows their tells, soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt. 
His lips wrap around your clit, then, envelope it completely as he starts to suckle, and the sudden sensation makes you buck your hips.
“Javi — fuck, oh — holy-” 
He retreats, mouth shiny with your arousal. “What is it, baby? Your boyfriend doesn’t eat your pussy like this?”
“He doesn’t,” you admit breathlessly. Javi clicks his tongue. Faux-pouts at you. 
His lips reattach to your clit and you curse.
“Fuck, Javi, he — he’s never-“
The half-admission stops him in his tracks. He stares back up at you with narrowed eyes.
“Cariño, don’t tell me he doesn’t go down on you?”
Your face heats. “He — he says he doesn’t like to do it.”
Suddenly, Javi looks livid.
His fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.
He’s unaffected by much these days — but Javi clearly doesn’t take kindly to a man not pleasuring his woman. Especially when you are the woman in question.
“Pendejo,” he murmurs. 
“Javi,” you whine. “Please.”
Your pleading voice seems to snap him out of it. Or at least remind him of the task at hand.
He returns his attention to your dripping pussy with one final huff. “Gonna take care of you baby, don’t worry.”
You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Javier begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.
“Fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders. 
He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.
You hope, fleetingly, that his neighbors are heavy sleepers. Better yet, that they’re out of town.
Maybe he’s putting in extra effort because he knows now that your boyfriend isn’t doing this for you at home. Or maybe he’s just better at it than you remember. Regardless, you find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Javi’s tongue in a matter of minutes.
As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.
You sing Javi’s name like a hymn. It rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.
He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound. 
When your breathing evens, he lifts off of his haunches, motions for you to lay flat on the couch with your neck supported by the armrest. And then he shucks his pants off, his cock immediately springing up to his stomach, a trail of precum dripping down his navel.
You’d forgotten how gorgeous it was — the heady, pink tip shiny with arousal, veins running along the underside of the thick base prominent. It twitches in interest as Javier leans down to kiss you, prods against your slick inner thigh when his tongue presses into yours.
You hook your legs around his back, desperately attempting to pull him closer, attempting to drag him into your achingly empty cunt.
He grins against your lips, hand moving between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance.
“Impaciente,” he mumbles.
You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please Javi, need it.”
“Yeah?” He pauses with his cockhead right at your seam. “How bad?”
“Fuck — so bad, need it so bad.” Your nails burrow deeper into flesh. He hisses.
“God damn, querida; that much, huh?”
“Yes, Javi,” you groan. “Please just-”
He bottoms out in one deep thrust, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. You moan in unison, his head falling against your shoulder as he slowly begins to move. 
Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clenching around him over and over again. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of his cock nudging your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You wonder how you went so long without this. Fear you won’t be able to again.
He pulls all the way out and snaps into you before setting a new, brutal pace, one that leaves you babbling underneath him. 
The room grows palpably warmer, white heat licking at your neck, your chest, your back — where it sticks to leather. You find yourself lost in the way your bodies move together; a dance you’ve done so many times before; one you’d perfected all those months ago. 
“Shit,” Javi slurs. “Take me so well, cariño. Like you’re — ahh — made for me.”
I am, you want to say. 
“Fuck,” you moan instead, “so good, baby. Feels so fucking good.”
And it does. You’re going to snap soon, going to cum for a second time, soak his cock.
You tighten around him, a silent warning. He slips out and you whine at the loss. But then he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, spreading you wider for him and delving back in at a new angle that makes you scream.
You can feel it building now, like a snowball in your abdomen. You can’t fight it, can barely warn Javi, his name spilling brokenly from your throat as your orgasm crests.
He talks you through it with praises whispered in your ear. So beautiful, princesa — that’s it. So pretty when you fall apart on my cock. There you go; let it all out, baby.
Fucked-out and boneless, you beg for Javi to please cum inside.
He growls, low and primal, gripping tightly to the flesh of your waist as his thrusts begin to falter. “That what you want, querida? Want to — shit — want to go back to your boyfriend with me dripping out of you?”
“Yes,” you chant thoughtlessly, yes, yes, yes. 
“Dirty. Fucking. Girl.” he grits, each word punctuated by a jerk of his hips. 
He spills inside you with his teeth in the crook of your neck. There’s so much of it, filling your cunt, leaking out around his cock and onto leather. It sates you in a way you didn’t know possible, as if your womb needs to be claimed by him and only him. Nobody else will do.
You almost resent the feeling of your eyesight returning and your breaths steadying. You don’t want to come down — not if it means you need to go home.
But the sky outside is turning purple, bruising with the threat of a new day on the horizon, and you know your time together is nearly up.
“Javi,” you mutter, his chest still heaving against yours, cock softening inside you.
“Up.”
He shifts, pulls out in a devastating loss, and retreats to the opposite side of the couch.
You begin to knead the muscles in your aching calves, Javi fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the side table next to him. He takes one out and lights it, the end glowing faintly.
“What do we do?” you ask. He rubs at the crease in his forehead, definitely set there by years of chasing after drug cartels. Maybe also by running away from meaningful conversation with you.
“You can’t go back to him,” he mumbles.
You scoff. “I can’t? I have to Javi, Nathan is my-“
“Don’t say his name,” he snaps, abruptly ashing his cigarette and turning to face you. He looks wrecked, his eyes wide and his lips downturned. 
“What do you want from me, Javi?” you bite, pulling your panties back into place and reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor. “You want me to be at your beck and call forever? Cheat on him until one of us dies?”
“I —“ Javi sighs. “No.”
“Then what?” You pull your pants on: one leg, then the other. Pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts. 
“I — want you.”
You nearly choke on your own saliva.
“What?”
“All of you,” he clarifies. “When I saw you with him for the first time in that grocery store — my heart sank. I didn’t — didn't realize how serious my feelings were for you. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you end things that day.”
He stands. Braces pleading hands on your shoulders. 
“I know I’m an asshole,” he continues. “I thought I could never be someone’s partner. That I wouldn’t…wouldn’t be good. How could I be when I’ve done so much bad in my life?”
You sink into his touch. His words.
“Javi-“
“No, cariño — I need you to hear this. I want to be good for you, know I can be. I’ll do anything. I just — I can’t let you get away again.”
You feel as if you’ve just been struck by an arrow. Or, more accurately, a train. Your bones hurt and your insides twist.
You’re silent for a long moment, watching as his eyes desperately search yours. You know you need to say something eventually, put him out of his misery, but you’re too afraid to find out what happens next.
The undeniable fact that you want to be with him too is almost too much to bear. You’ll have to break it off with Nathan, split his heart in half. He doesn’t deserve it, you think, over and over.
But then, maybe you don’t deserve to remain unhappy. Unfulfilled.
Maybe you need to hurt him once in order to stop repeatedly hurting yourself.
“You’re good, Javier,” you say then. “You’re a good man. You deserve good.”
“Yeah?” his voice cracks. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He retracts them with a deep breath in.
You grab the sides of his face. “Yes. And I — I want you too.”
Javier kisses you, so deep you think your lips might bruise. There’s finality in it — you’re his and he’s yours — and no longer will you pretend that’s not the case.
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He drives you back to your place, unwilling to let his girl get in another cab alone before daylight.
Laredo looks beautiful at dawn, all dozing buildings and empty roads. You pass by your workplace and groan at the realization that you’ll have to be back there in a few hours; you can’t call out again. A stack of unfiled reports will surely be waiting for you atop your desk.
That dread doesn’t last long, though, not when you look to the man in the driver’s seat, the one who makes your mouth water and your heart skip.
When he catches your gaze, corner of his mouth turning up at you mischievously, you know for certain that everything will work out just fine.
Javi turns onto your street slowly, moreso than he needs to, a possessive hand gripping your thigh.
“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asks when the car pulls up to the curb.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say it won’t go well, but-“
“I know. But if he gives you any more trouble than he needs to, you call me.”
Your eyes flit up to your bedroom window, blinds drawn up and curtains pulled aside. The room is still dark, Nathan no doubt still asleep.
You’ll go up in a second.  After you kiss Javier one more time.
He seems taken aback when your lips catch his, maybe because it’s crazy to do this here, now. But you can’t help it. Can’t keep your hands — or your mouth — off of him now that you have him.
He relaxes into it after just a second, licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand moving from your thigh to the back of your head to hold you against him.
And then — he abruptly pulls away.
“Shit,” he curses, staring wide-eyed at the window.
You follow his eyeline, freezing when you see what he sees: Nathan, tall and shadowy, looking straight at you.
“Well,” Javi laughs nervously, “I think he knows.”
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end notes: ty so much for reading! pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed :)
tag list: @janaispunk @kajashe @amanitacowboy @planet-marz1 @littlegrungegirlaf @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @wethairjoel @catchallfangirl @pamasaur
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devilmademewriteit · 1 year
Text
Salvatore
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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.
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Read part 2: Playing Dangerous
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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
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aphrcdites · 10 months
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behind every hot person, there’s a deep history with a fictional man.
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puchosdementa · 10 months
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promisingyounglady · 6 days
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accident. | JP x Reader
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PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader
SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.
WC: 3.6k
WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.
AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst
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A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.
He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.
Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.
Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.
He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.
Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.
Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.
“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”
“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.
“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”
Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.
Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.
“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.
She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.
“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.
“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.
“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.
Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.
Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.
“Fucking hell.”
_
You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.
Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.
Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.
“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.
Javier was supposed to pick you up too.
But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself
You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.
Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.
What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.
You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.
You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.
You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.
Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.
When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.
Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.
The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.
Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”
Thwack.
An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.
“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.
Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.
“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.
Thwack. Thwack.
The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.
“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”
You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.
Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.
He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”
The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.
You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.
“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.
“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”
“Mi-”
“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.
Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.
You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.
“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.
“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.
You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”
Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.
You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”
The words pierce through Javier’s heart.
Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.
“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."
Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.
A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.
“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.
“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.
A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.
Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.
“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.
“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.
You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.
You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.
But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.
Now it was your turn to fuck things up.
Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.
Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.
You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.
You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.
“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.
Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.
“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.
That wasn’t what scared you.
What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.
“Javi, I’ll go get the-“
“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.
You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.
“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.
Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.
You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.
”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.
Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.
“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.
You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.
He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.
“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.
“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.
“Answer me, mama”
A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.
”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.
Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.
“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.
Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.
“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.
You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.
”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.
”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”
You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.
“Yes, Javier” you repeated.
He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.
It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.
You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.
“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.
“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.
You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.
“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.
“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.
“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.
“I know.” He says back gruffly.
Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.
“Merida”
You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.
”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.
Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.
“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.
You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.
Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.
“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.
Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.
You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.
It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.
“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.
Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.
“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.
“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.
He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.
He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.
“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.
You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.
Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.
You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.
“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.
You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”
You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”
You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.
You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.
Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.
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