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#narcos
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Haircut
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Summary: Javi thinks that he's way past due for a haircut. You like his hair long for reasons other than his good looks.
Word Count: 2.1K (I sprinted to write this after I saw this picture)
Pairing: Husband!Javi x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, reader's nickname is Osita)
Warnings: SMUT (18+) Oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, (lovingly?) possessive Javi, Javi's back at again with his filthy mouth, hair pulling, Javi is hungry and the man is gonna EAT, allsions to more smut, Jonas Brother's references ( bc Javi is our girl dad king and his daughters love them LMAO)
A/N: Y'ALL REALLY THOUGHT THIS PICTURE OF PEDRO WAS SURFACE RIGHT HERE ON TUMBLR DOT COM AND I WASN'T GONNA DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?!? WRONG. I legit have 3 WIPS I started in the past 24 hours based on this picture alone. Pedro really did this one for the Javier Peña girlies (gn) and I will forever be in debt to him for that. You cannot tell me that this is Dad!Javi when his kids are a little bit older bc HOLY SHIT?! This really may the nail in the coffin for @notjustjavierpena and I bc really fear this is the dilfiest Husband Javi has ever looked 😩😵‍💫 anyways, never getting over this!!!!
Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist
“God, I can’t even remember the last time my hair has been this long. Lucy keeps saying I look like a Jonas Brother. Am I supposed to know who they are? Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Javi sighed, playing with his dark brown curls in the bathroom mirror as you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, peeking out to watch your husband’s longer than usual locks twist between his fingers. 
“They’re the goofy looking boy band on Disney Channel that the girls are obsessed with. Like the Backstreet Boys, except cooler, apparently.” You laughed, planting a soft kiss into the fabric of Javi’s worn t-shirt covering his broad back before stepping next to him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter to admire your husband as he fiddled with his hair. 
“Jesus Christ, those guys? God, I really do need a haircut before I start looking like the poster what’s-his-face hanging on Lucy and Elliot’s walls.” Javi chuckled, running his hand through his hair once more before mirroring you, his hip resting against the counter, leaning his weight on his palm splayed flat along the granite surface. 
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think he’s supposed to be the best looking one.” You teased, giving Javi a playful shrug. “Besides, I like your hair long.” 
“Seriously?” Javi asked, raising an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest in protest. “It looks like a mop right now.” 
“A very sexy mop.” You smirked, nudging Javi before stepping closer into him, reaching up to run your hand through his curls, slowly twisting the ends with your fingers. “It reminds me of that trip we took to Jamaica a few years ago. Your hair was almost this long, remember? You looked so hot in those stupid floral button downs you insisted on buying, and hanging out shirtless by the pool all day while you played with the girls.” 
“Fuck, I forgot about that. I’m surprised we didn’t end up with a fourth kid after that trip.” Javi chuckled, slowly shifting the palm that had been holding him up towards your waist, letting his fingers gently toy with the waistband of your pajamas. “You really like my long hair that much?” 
“Mhmmmm.” You cooed, continuing to close the gap between your bodies, your free hand resting on Javi’s chest as the other continued to stroke his curls. You could feel a low groan rumbling in Javi’s throat as your fingers weaved back and forth through his hair, the other creeping up to cradle his jaw, thumb tracing back and forth across the stubble on his cheek. 
“Yeah? What else do you like about it?” Javi groaned, his hand slipping under the elastic waistband of your pants to grab a fistfull of your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hand. 
“I like…” You paused, bringing your lips to Javi’s, pressing a tender kiss on his lips, “I like that it gives me something extra to hold on to.” 
“Hold on to?” Javi asked, cocking his head in slight confusion. 
“Hold on to when you go down on me. I love being able to run my hands through your hair when you eat me out, especially when it’s long like this.” You smirked, watching Javi’s eyes go wide in delight, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he bit down on his lip. 
Before you could say anything else, Javi’s hands were gripping around your waist and hosting you up to sit on the counter, caging his body against yours, hands planted around the outside of your hips while his lips crashed into yours, your mouths becoming a tangled mess of tongue and teeth. 
“Fuck…” Javi whispered to himself, pulling away from your lips to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck, running his hands over your thighs. “I love it when you play with my hair, Hermosa. Love feeling you pull on it when you’re close. Makes me lose my fucking mind every time. Fuck, I’d stay burried between your legs forever if I fucking could.” 
Javi began to let his kisses trail down your body, past your chest and across your stomach before he was dropping to his knees in front of you, draping your legs across the width of his shoulders. Pulling at your waistband, you lifted your hips off the counter so your pajamas and underwear could fall to the floor, revealing the wetness that had been pooling between your thighs since you had walked into the bathroom a few minutes ago. 
“Jesus Christ…” Javi whispered, further parting your legs to see the arousal already dripping through your folds, staring up at you with a boyish grin on his face, “So fucking wet for me, Hermosa. Didn’t realize you liked my hair that much.” 
“Oh shut up you goof, you know I- o-oh fuck-” You whimpered, Javi cutting off the rest of your sentence as the flat of his tongue dragged across your cunt, the suddent sensation making you gasp in delight, already playing in to Javi’s plan as your hand shot down to his head, digging your fingers into his messy hair. 
“Better hold on tight, querida. There’s a lot more where that came from.” Javi smirked, pulling away just enough to see the smug smile between his cheeks, peppering a few wet kisses on the inside of your thighs before his head was back between your legs, placing a soft kiss on your clit, already aching and throbbing for more of what you had just been promised. 
“Do your worst, Peña.” 
That one sent a low growl of approval humming through his chest, laughing to himself as his hands gripped tighter around your thighs, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your skin before another slow, broad stroke of his tongue was traveling through your folds. 
While you were truly convinced there wasn’t another man who loved going down on their wife more than your husband did, you could always tell when Javi wanted nothing more than to stay buried between your thighs, making you cum over and over until you were begging him to stop, lapping up every last drop of you until there was nothing left to give, and right now, you already knew Javi meant what he said when you were about to have to hold on for dear life. 
The hand buried in the dark waves of Javi’s hair only began to tug tighter as his tongue began to work meticulously across your cunt, pressing just enough pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves to already have you a squirming, whimpering mess, but painstakingly slow enough to have you begging for more. 
“Javi… Oh, shit. Fuck, more baby, please. P-please.” You moaned, looking down at Javi with what you were already sure was a wrecked expression painted across your face. 
You could practically feel Javi’s smug smirk pressed against your cunt as he eased one, then two fingers into your aching core, curling them to bump against the spongy spot inside you that already had you fisting at the edge of the bathroom counter to try and keep your composure, and better yet, your voice down. 
“Oh my god, f-fuck. You feel so good, baby.” You moaned, feeling the strong arch of Javi’s nose bumping against your clit, placing a soft kiss there before the flat of his tongue licked another long, broad stroke across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to send the sweet tingling sensation to start building in your spine. 
“Fuck, I love this perfect pussy so much. I still can’t believe she’s all fucking mine. My perfect fucking wife. Tell me, Hermosa, whose pussy is this?” Javi asked, pulling away for you to see your slick covering his mustache and the lustful look pooling in the dark brown of his eyes, the quiet possessiveness of his tone making your cunt clench even tighter around his fingers as they continued to pulse in and out of you. 
“It’s y-yours, Javi, It’s all- fuck- It’s all yours.” You whined, your breath hitching in your throat as you spoke. 
“And who’s the only one who makes you feel like this, huh?” Javi tutted, sliding a third finger into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting making you let out a ragged whimper as you threw your head back in pleasure. 
“Y-you- Jesus- Y-you are, Javi.” 
“And who’s gonna be a good girl and soak my face when she cums for me?” 
“M-me.” 
“That’s fucking right, you are.” Javi growled before diving back between your legs, working his tongue relentlessly against your clit, circling and flicking in fast and firm motions as his fingers curled deeper into your core, eating you up like a man starved, desperate to make you fall apart. 
You could already feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten from the way Javi was working so relentlessly to make you come undone, drinking every ounce of you up as his lips latched around your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch and mind go blank while that all too familiar tingle began to creep through your core, cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around him. 
At this point, your fingers were tugging so tightly around the soft, brown curls of his locks to try and hold yourself together, that you were convinced that you were close to pulling his hair out of his skull, but with the way you were on the brink of collapse from the way Javi’s mouth was working against your cunt, you almost didn’t have a choice. 
“Fuck, Javi. Oh shit- Baby, I’m so close. Don’t stop.” 
“I won’t stop, mi amor. Won’t stop until this pretty pussy fucking soaks me.” Javi mewled, peeking his head out from under you just enough so that his sweet, brown eyes were locked with yours, the hot words of his breath dancing against your pussy as his fingers continued to rock in and out of you. “I’ve got you, Osita. Promento. Damelo, bebita. (I promise. Give it to me, baby).” 
Before you could respond, your jaw dropped open and face scrunched in pleasure as Javi dove back in, burying his face in your cunt as each press of his tongue became more firm and precise than the last, feeling your pussy begin to flutter as you clutched tighter around the edge of the counter, trying to keep from screaming out in pleasure and raise any suspicion. But as your legs began to tremble and your heart race, teetering on the brink of collapse, it was taking every ounce of willpower you had left to make that happen.
“Fuck, Javi. Fuck, I- fuck- I’m gonna, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm crash through you, pleasure radiating in your veins as you fell apart, losing all inhibitions to keep yourself quiet as you threw your head back in all consuming bliss. With his fingers still buried in your cunt, gently working you through your high, Javi shot back up, his mouth engulfing yours in an electric kiss to try and capture your ragged moans that had been coating the walls of the bathroom, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips. 
Your heartbeat finally began to slow, your chest heaving in long, heavy breaths as you slumped into Javi, your head resting on his shoulder as your hands stayed buried deep in his hair, grasping onto his now sweat-dampened ends to try and pull yourself back down to reality.
After a few moments of letting you come to, Javi gently pulled out his fingers, all three drenched and glistening with your slick, pulling them out and bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk of satisfaction on his face. 
“God, you taste so fucking sweet. You really weren’t kidding about the hair, huh Hermosa?” Javi chuckled, cupping your jaw to cradle your cheek with his broad palm, forcing your gaze up at him. 
“I told you.” You giggled softly, still trying to catch your breath as you smiled at him, pulling him in for another long, tender kiss. “Hottest looking Jonas Brother I’ve ever seen.” 
The two of you burst out into laughter, practically snorting at your comment, taking a second to compose yourselves as Javi crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at you. 
“If that’s the fucking case, I’m getting out the clippers tonight.” 
“Not until you take me to bed and do this all again, you aren’t.” 
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taglist:
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morallyinept · 3 days
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Pump - A Javier Peña One Shot
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Summary: A man starts coming into the gym where you work, and you find you can't keep your eyes off him when he starts to pump...
Pairing: Javier Peña x GN!Reader (No name, defined sex or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)
Word Count: 2.6k
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/Triggers: PWP/Javi wearing the tiniest satin shorts ever made/cock outline/possible peek of a ball/very pervy thoughts over a very sweaty Javi 🥵
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: I saw this amazing fanart today of Javi, and the thots just thotted the fuck out of me... 🫠
MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
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His visits are the fucking highlight of your day.
You find yourself searching for him as you meander through the gym with an added bounce in your step, stack of laundered towels in hand as you drop them around the equipment like newspapers tossed on garden lawns.
Rows of clunky weightlifting machines stand proudly, their chrome frames gleaming under the dim fluorescent lights.
Tattered, vinyl-covered benches line the perimeter of the room, each one bearing the marks of countless hours of use by sweaty bodies and muscled lunkheads striving for physical perfection.
The sound of heavy metal plates clinking together fills the air as the group of agents, from the local DEA office across the steamed pavement street, load up barbells and dumbbells, their focused expressions a melee of pinched, taut brows and refined muscles.
Despite the seriousness of their profession, the moderately sized gym is a tatty haven where they can unwind and bond over their shared passion for catching dangerous narcos and pumping iron in machismo camaraderie.
The walls in Manny’s Gym are adorned with curled edge motivational posters featuring slogans like No Pain, No Gain and Train Hard, Fight Easy, with iconic muscle men of the current era plastered over them like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Franco Columbu, and Lou Ferrigno, serving as constant reminders of the grit and determination required to succeed in both the gym and the field.
The air is always thick with the unmistakable scent of musky sweat, mingling with the earthy aroma of old leather from well-worn punch bags that hang from the ceiling like dangling scrotums swaying in a pendulous rhythm.
Steamy showers and weak powdery deodorant permeates. It’s a heady concoction that hints at the countless hours of exertion and dedication that's saturated the space.
A scent that you’re all too familiar with and breathe in like starved oxygen.
The wooden floor creaks beneath your sneakers as you make your way further into the gym, the sound echoing off the walls.
As you approach the rows of clunky weightlifting machines, the tangy scent of metal fills your nostrils, accompanied by the faint whiff of oil used to lubricate the gears.
Despite his gruff exterior, Manny himself hosts a warm and welcoming demeanour to the regular gym goers, always ready with a word of encouragement, or a pat on the back for those who train under his roof.
He takes great pride in the sense of community that’s flourished within the gym, fostering a supportive environment where the local Bogotá law and DEA alike choose to pump here.
It’s not exclusive, your regular Joe Sixpack will frequent on occasion, but the familiar faces make it far more easy on the eye as you bask in the array of sweaty limbs on the daily.
They give you wolf-whistles and jeers as you shimmy on by handing out towels and sweat bands with a beaming, enticing smile.
But you don’t pay them no mind when they flirt back and grin with glistening rows of hungry teeth like you’re ripe for the plucking. A juicy peach bobbing in a swamp full of toothless alligators. They're physically respectful despite their obvious leers.
Most of them aren't really your type anyway. Stiff, upper pale bodies with honeyed hair falling in waves; the Americans are all the same Mattel crafted hard plastic.
Whereas you prefer something more dark and velvety rich like Colombian coffee that goes down easy and smooth and leaves a heady aftertaste on your lips.
There's one man in particular you'd like to drink down, whom you’ve noticed coming in a few times in recent weeks.
It’s hard to forget him with those tiny, satin shorts he wears in a stark canary yellow, and riding dangerously high up his lean, caramel thighs.
A neatly trimmed moustache adorns his upper lip, thick and fluffy, adding a touch of rugged charm to his otherwise clean-cut appearance. His standard issue DEA gym t-shirt seems a little on the small side, hugging around his golden biceps and riding skintight across the broadest set of shoulders you’ve ever seen on a man his size; a complete opposing parallel to the trimness of his waist. He’s like an inverted triangle.
A break in the tight denim jeans that wrap around his legs when you’ve spied him leaving the gym, freshly clean and dressed after a hard workout, and heading back into the office.
Package stuffed tight up in there, poor thing; the brilliant tightness restricting and choking around that hefty bulge all day.
It rides up a little over his tiny belly; a galaxy of dark hairs trailing down into his shorts that makes you lick your lips every time your eyes fall onto that hairy column.
His dark brown hair, slicked back slightly and curling on the nape, glistens with sweat, adding to his aura of intensity and focus. He exudes an effortless confidence as he moves from one exercise to the next.
The Latino-looking man focuses on a combination of strength training and cardio, showcasing his versatility and athleticism needed for the job he does.
And you find yourself enthralled in his routine, interrupting yours as you covertly watch him from behind the small desk trying not to flood it with your drool.
He usually starts with a set of heavy deadlifts; the sound of his puffs hissing through his teeth and reverberating through the gym as he lifts with perfect form.
Next, he moves on to explosive plyometric jumps. Clad in those tiny, satin shorts that hug his muscular thighs, his powerful legs propel him effortlessly into the air before landing with precision. You can’t help but watch as the muscles and cords in his thighs ripple with each slam of his soles on the floor.
Throughout his workout, he maintains a steely determination and laser-like focus with punishing chocolate eyes, pushing himself to the limit with each repetition; sweat glistening around his brow and temples and falling in tracks.
Despite the intensity of his workouts, there’s a relaxed confidence in his demeanour, reflected in the easy, fluid movements of his svelte body as he moves through the reps.
You watch his back move and shift, broad shoulder blades folding in and out as they flex under the snug fit of his fading t-shirt. His posture is upright and nonplussed, conveying a sense of self-assurance.
Standing at an average height, his frame is lean, yet powerful, and you can’t help but let your thoughts drift into murky territories as your eyes wander all over him and drink him up like a quenching soda on a sweltering day.
You know very little about him, only hearing his name muttered by the other agents as he addresses them pre-work, out or when they stop mid-way through to discuss, what you can only assume, is the cases they’re working on.
The dusty jukebox in the corner playing the current Billy Idol hit drowns them out somewhat at this distance.
He speaks with a soft, deep cadence; a gravelled grizzle wrapped around his pert lips, which is almost muted and out of full earshot.
But they call him Peña, or Javi as they sometimes greet him through lazy Spanish chit-chat.
He called you cariño once as he passed, mouthing a good morning to you with little effort.
But the one thing that's unmistakably loud and clear, is the grunting that pelts out of him.
Particularly when he does bench presses, or those barbell squats with the large weight resting on his shoulders. A deep, guttural grunt ruts out of him that sets your skin alight and makes your genitals want to break out the pompoms and start cheering his name doing high kicks.
They flow unabashed out of him as he pants and hisses. And you like it when he does those squats the most, watching as he parts his feet steady, and slowly lowers his pert ass down towards the floor, rendering those tiny shorts to almost disappear entirely into the rounded crack of his cheeks.
Fuck...
Javi focuses on his reflection in the mirror, lips curled back under that buoyant dark fluff lining his top lip, and teeth clenched in a snarl as he breathes out and grunts loudly with every push upwards from those strong thighs that tense and quiver.
As you observe him from across the gym, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you feel towards him as it licks up your spine; it makes you clench and sweat just watching him and the fantastic sex-like faces he makes in the mirror.
His sculpted physique and rugged good looks are certainly appealing, but your eyes betray you and head further south at the constant movement inside his flimsy shorts.
Gaudy in their brightness, you see past them at the way they flout their thinness like they’re almost fucking see-through. You like the tease of how low they sit on his svelte hips. A simple tug and they’ll be round his ankles with ease.
You can make out the perfect outline of his heavy, flaccid cock hanging between his legs. Curves and ridges imprinted against the material like muscle memory. Flopping about so uncouthly as he moves like it’s battering you in the face.
Jesus fucking Christ.
With your task temporarily forgotten and brain slowly sluicing out of your ears, the sight of his cock outlining around the thin satin draws you in further. A third arm beckoning you in. Punching against the material with every movement from his hips as though you're mesmerised and drunk on the wildly pornographic view.
You’re pretty certain he’s not wearing any underwear, which is only confirmed by a fuzzy, pink sack peeping out at you some time later when he works on the bench, and draws his leg up.
You just want to push him back on the bench, naked from the waist down except for his faded white sneakers on, ribbed thick socks pulled up to his shins, and spread his legs wide.
You swallow dryly as you stare at it, and wonder instantly what it would taste like as you imagine running your mouth around its swell.
Tasting damp, matted pubic hairs sticking to your tongue, with a salted sweat and mixture of his own masculine musk on your tastebuds, and the more you ponder it, the more it makes your mouth water.
You want to slide your inquisitive tongue all over those sweaty, heavy balls of his and watch his cock throb and pulse before taking it deep into your throat.
A tight clench and a hiss. A pucker of a fluttering hole as you tease it with your tongue. Lips and hips bruised in unison.
Googly frog eyes stare out at him in wonder. A noise at the back of your throat registers, something inhuman between a gulp and a hiccup as he rises up again off the bench.
Humming and sighing audibly as he presents that ass out at you, shorts flapping around his cock lewdly in the mirror’s reflection as he squats again.
As you observe him from across the gym, you feel the pull of heavy want flooding your body in a stifling and suffocating heat. It makes your toes tingle and your heart thrum a bit harder. White noise steams inside your ears.
The dull, aching throb between your own legs makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair as you gulp and swallow at the spectacle.
With each lift of the weights and every drop of sweat that glistens on his brow and moustache, you find your mind sinking further into a perverted swamp of lust and unbridled thoughts running amok over your amygdala.
In your mind, Javi’s pushing you up against the mirror, face crushed against it, trailing bites down on the back of your slick neck like a dog in heat. Your breath fogging against the reflective sheet as he pins your wrists to it with his hands, leaving misty fingerprint smears on the polished glass.
You can taste the sweat on his top lip, fuzzy and damp, and it's damn delicious as he pushes his crotch into your ass. Hard and thick under those flimsy, lacquer-like shorts, leaking a patch of pre-cum soaking into them that blooms and darkens the silk.
His hands let go of your wrists and work their way down your arms, tickling gently and sending prickles to bubble and blister against your burning skin. He skims over your belly and hovers above your waistband; his hot breath inside your ears in gaspy, mouthed moans as he breathes out.
He whispers how much he wants you, how much he wants everyone to watch him fuck you up agasint this mirror, before he slips his nimble, thick fingers down inside the front of your shorts, grinding and rubbing himself against you.
He’s pulling down his satin shorts to let his hard, thick cock bounce out at you, pumping its uncut, rosy head inside his giant hand. Weeping and sticky, it shines at you as his fingers and thumb smear in the secretions, and you watch as he licks his fingers free of his own greased drippings.
You lick your lips ready for a taste as he guides the bulbous head towards your mouth as you sink, thudding to your knees. Feel him weighty and warm in your palm, squeezing just under the head and sliding the skin back to reveal that succulent bulb as you lick the tip and taste glassy bubbles flowing from him before swallowing him down deep.
Suck it, cariño, yeah like that… Tómalo todo. Trágatelo profundo. Si… aah, si. Fuck... (Take it all. Swallow it deep. Yes, aah yes.)
Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice when Javi actually glances in your direction; his dark eyes meeting yours briefly with a knitted brow and pink pout, before returning to his workout.
The brief exchange sends a thrill of wanton excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a spark of curiosity and anticipation that you can't ignore as it pulls tight between your legs and makes you pulse.
As the DEA agent finishes his workout and begins to gather his belongings - he carries a modest blue duffle bag, although never takes anything out of it's fullness - you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving you so riled up for another day.
He grabs his worn water bottle and squeezes a stream of water into his mouth, swallowing deep and plentiful mouthfuls of the jet, and wipes at his lips with the back of his hand when some of it trickles down his smoothly shaved chin.
You watch him pick up the towel you’d laid out, wipe his face off and that onyx-like stare is in your direction again. Two pools of dark tar sucking you in.
A wet, slithery thought creeping in between your ears makes a mental note to take that towel when he's done and defile the fuck out of it.
He finds something in your eyes, perhaps something that excites him, or repulses him. You’re not sure. You’re yet to embark on any formal conversation beyond a simple greeting out of politeness.
As Javi makes his way towards you, passing the desk towards the showers, you're convinced you see a small smirk prick at the corners of his lips.
Another wanton thought bolts its way into the filthy pit of your mind. You see yourself rising up on the balls of your feet in the shower block and presenting your behind out to him and he bends you over further to touch your toes.
You feel his grip around your waist as he slides in and packs you out, stretching you around him. Knees buckling and being drowned by the spray from above as he fucks you hard against the cool, mildewed tiles in the shower block.
You feel like your spine will crack with the pressure, but you don’t care as he pulls you back, hammering up into you. Fingers grazing around your throat, teeth biting into the ball of your wet shoulder.
So fucking tight, just like I love it, baby...
You're gasping his name as your orgasm rips through you and he spills himself inside of your hole with Spanish expletives howling in your ear.
His thick, plentiful come seeps out of you; leaking, pouring. So much pumped into you as he grunts into your ear - shuddering with a high-octane thrill as his moustache tickles against your skin.
You’ll think about this again - about him - when you're at home later; that towel shoved between your legs and soaked with your own leakings.
You catch the hazy scent of Javi as he passes by the desk, subtly inhaling the stench of his sweat; an intoxicating, potent blend of musk and masculinity that leaves you feeling breathless.
A primal aroma that grabs you by the lapels to shake the cock-addled stupid out of you as you catch a glimpse of that package swaying and bobbing around in his tiny flaxen shorts to torment you further.
And once more you swallow around a constricted gulp as he meets your wandering gaze.
“Hasta la próxima vez, cariño.” (See you next time, honey.) He simply husks, as he tosses his duffle bag over his shoulder and struts towards the showers.
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Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this sweaty story. Please consider re-blogging so others can enjoy it too. Thankies! 🖤
MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST
349 notes · View notes
notjustjavierpena · 2 days
Note
Reader coming home from a night out a little tipsy and just happy. Javi is waiting up as he always does to make sure she’s safely back in his arms. Kids are already in bed and it’s just a little cute moment between the two. Reader being quite lovey dovey i guess.
Lovey-dovey
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A/N: This was a joy to write for you, anon!
Summary: Would Javier Peña still love you if you were a worm?
Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)
Tags: +18, Drunk and horny reader, javi is a respectful man, undressing, kissing, making out, drunken tears
Word count: 1.8k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54772312
Lovey-dovey
Javier knows you’re home from the jingling of your keys outside the house, your shaking hands trying desperately to fit the key and unlock the front door without much success due to your drunken state. He is standing on the other side, entertaining himself briefly by listening to your quiet swear as you give up on your mission to get inside the right way. 
However, considerate as you are, you don’t even try to knock in case you wake up all your sleeping children. Instead, you start to pocket the keys to go around the back of the house and get inside the house through the door to the garden. 
It’s just before you step off the front porch that he opens the door for you, leaning against the doorframe to watch you whirl around in confusion. For a second, it looks like you think that you have made the door open by just wanting it enough, but then you smile warmly as you see your husband. 
You are drunk but not out of your mind. It is just enough for you to be clumsy in your state of giggles and heated cheeks, and you waltz inside with confidence that you shouldn’t really have with the way your heels make you walk like a newborn giraffe. 
“Hello husband,” you snicker. 
“Wife,” Javier closes the door after you, holding back a laugh as you hold onto the coat rack to keep your balance while stepping out of your shoes. He drops to his knees to help you, grabbing your ankle to gently slip off a heel, “Had a few martinis, huh? A few tequila sunrises?”
“No,” you grin widely.
Javier rises to his feet once more when your shoes stand perfectly perched on the shoe rack, “No?”
“I just had a little sip of everything,” you confess in a whisper, your words slightly slurred, “Connie let me taste all of her drinks, I barely got to drink mine.” 
“So you mixed a lot of alcohol?” He tuts, reaching around your waist to guide you towards the staircase as you look too unsure on your feet to not end up with your face falling into the floor if you miss a step. 
“A LOT!” You exclaim with a laugh. 
“Shhh,” he shushes you as you begin to ascend the stairs together. Not so considerate after all then but he wouldn’t have you any other way, even when you are trouble. 
“Shhh,” you parrot him with tired eyes, holding a finger in front of your pursed lips. He rolls his eyes affectionately, stepping onto the next few steps of the stairs and watching you watch your feet as you follow. 
“Sorry, I may have gotten a little drunk,” you finally admit, arm slung around Javier’s shoulder. 
“No, really?” He teases in the same tone as he might tease his daughter. 
“Can I sleep in your bed?” You ask in another whisper, almost as if you are fourteen again and Javier is your secret boyfriend that you are not allowed to be alone with. 
“Your bed is my bed,” he reassures with a twinkle in his eye. You have reached the top of the staircase now, and carefully move down the dark hallway to your bedroom whilst Javier tries shushing you when you comment on the family pictures on the walls. 
“You look so handsome here,” you point to a picture from your honeymoon but your finger slips from the glass as Javier has already dragged you further through the house. 
“Thank you. It was a long time ago,” he opens the door and pulls you inside.
As you enter the bedroom, you wrestle free from Javier’s arms and collapse onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. You have your arms out to the sides, staring up at the ceiling which spins slowly above you. 
“For the record,” you say absentmindedly, “You’re still very, very handsome.” 
“Thank you, mi amor (my love),” he chuckles softly, “C’mon, sit. I need to get you out of these clothes.”
“Oooh,” you whistle as his gentle hands start unbuttoning your blouse until it falls open and reveals your bra. He gives you a look, not even having to speak because you know he wants to say really? 
He shrugs it off your shoulders and you visibly shiver at his touch even though your skin is burning from the alcohol in your system. Javier would have you right here if you weren’t drunk. 
“Stand up,” he orders and then helps you out of your skirt, his careful fingers lingering on your waist as he lowers it to the ground. Your head swims. Javier goes quiet. He taps your legs to signal that you need to lift them one at a time so he can pull the skirt away. You sway slightly, leaning into his touch as he steadies you with a firm grip. His eyes meet yours from where he is kneeling on the floor, filled with warmth and adoration, and you can't help but smile back at him. 
“T-shirt?” He asks. 
“Mhm,” you hum.
For both of you, it is almost too much to have him undo your bra without following it up with making love to you. He remembers the first time you met and he had walked you home, drunk out of your mind and trying to get laid. He hadn’t done it back then either, and not even a ring on your finger would change that now. 
He slides the straps off of your shoulders and down your arms, collecting all the pieces of clothing from the floor so he can throw them into the laundry basket by the dresser. Then he gets one of your loose t-shirts from your drawer and turns to walk back to you.
However, you ambush him by pushing him up against the furniture to kiss him. You taste of fruity cocktails that mix with his own minty breath and Javier lets himself indulge for a moment, deepening the kiss to taste your silky tongue but keeping it slow. He throws the t-shirt over his shoulder so he can settle two hands on your cheeks, framing your face in his large palms. 
"You're so good to me," you whisper into his mouth. 
“It’s because I love taking care of you, wife,” he murmurs and guides you back to the bed, tricking you to think that he wants more (and he does, revealed by the tent in his underwear, but not like this; his cock will flag eventually). Instead, he helps you sit down and pulls the t-shirt over your head before you can protest. 
“Javi,” you pout as you move your arms through the sleeves with his help. 
“I know, baby, we can kiss tomorrow when you aren’t drunk,” he says softly, “Tell me about tonight instead. Did you have a good time?” 
“We had such a nice time,” you giggle, seeming to move on pretty quickly. He leaves your side to get you a glass of water and your makeup remover wipes from the bathroom. 
“That’s nice, mamá,” he replies with concentration on his face, beginning to rub your mascara off, “Did you talk about your husbands? Scold me behind my back, huh?”
“We talked about how horribly you treat us,” you bat your lashes innocently, “I don’t know if we can take it anymore.”
“Running off together, are we?” You take a tiny sip of your water. He holds his fingers under the bottom to make you gulp it down instead. 
“I think I might love you too much for that,” you say after swallowing. Javier’s fingers are gentle as he cleanses your skin. 
“You love me?” He asks playfully and crouches to wipe the foundation off your neck too. You hum as an answer. It’s almost too much to feel him like that, so you try to initiate another heated kiss but he shakes his head and pulls away. 
“No,” he says in the same tone as one would use to stop a cat from doing something naughty. 
“What if I promise to be a good girl?” You challenge.
“You’re making this extremely difficult for me, baby,” Javier’s breath catches in his throat, conflict written all over him. He looks like he is just about to give in but then, “No.”
“But,” you pout again, watching him leave your side. 
“Go to sleep,” he orders albeit reluctantly as he climbs into his own side of the bed, “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Time goes by after he has turned off the light. Javier hears your breathing in the quiet room but there’s no sign that sleep has found you yet. He gives you the space you need to rest, tries to think about something that will make his cock flaccid again.
“Javi,” you suddenly say into the dark.
“Yes, honey?” He tries not to sigh. Besides him, you have moved to sit up once again and you are flicking on the light on your nightstand. 
When Javier turns his head to look at you, he sees, much to his shock, that you are on the verge of drunken tears. He sits up immediately with slight panic at your shifting emotions, “What’s wrong, mi amor (my love)?”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You ask just before turning into a blubbering mess. You let yourself fall against your husband’s shoulder, and he wraps his arms around your crying form. 
There’s a fond smile on his lips as he finds out that it is nothing serious. Instead, it is you feeling everything at a heightened rate. He shushes you gently, rocking you back and forth whilst kissing your hair. 
“I would love you so much as a worm,” he promises through a chuckle. 
“Don’t laugh,” you whine into his chest, “There are physical boundaries that come with me being a worm.”
“We would overcome them,” he replies but you just continue sobbing to the point where he feels tears on his bare skin, “But I really need you to go to sleep right now, okay? I know you’re upset but I promise you that I’d love you even if you were un escarabajo pelotero (a dung beetle).” 
You breathe hard for a few seconds to calm your tears, and Javier figures that you have seen some kind of logic in his argument or at least enough to let yourself be calmed. You wipe your eyes when you pull away. Javier gets some tissues from his nightstand and helps you with the tear streaks you miss. 
“No need to cry, okay?” He runs a hand over your back.
“Okay,” you repeat with a final sniffle. 
“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he purses his lips and you peck them almost shyly. However, he just kisses you a few times more, “Good girl. Now lie down and go to sleep.” 
You do as you are told, and he lies down on his side to look at you. The crying seems to knock you out, causing you to snore softly as the clock ticks on your nightstand. He slings an arm over your stomach, cupping your side, and falls asleep too. 
You make him so happy. Even like this.
Especially like this.
.
.
.
FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️
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ilovejavierpena · 2 days
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member-picture · 24 hours
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milla-frenchy · 1 day
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I'm thinking about my man. don't get me wrong, javi is hot as hell. but the size of this man, and the way he kisses, and fucks you from the bottom, and holds you like a koala, and sings, and every single thing he does 🫠🫠🫠. TYSM for The Hounds of Hell 🩷 a real masterpiece by you and @aurorawritestoescape
Aaaah thank you so much 😍🖤 Love the mood boards 👌
Here's a little snippet of part 2, with our big Steve, your man 🫠🫶
****************
“You don’t remember?” he asked, looking at you with narrowed eyes. You shook your head. “Lemme help you”, he added.
He slipped his hand between your thighs, pulled up your dress and brushed against your folds through your panties.
“Damn…seems like your cunt ain’t forgot, baby…she’s already soaked.”
He kneeled and pulled down your panties, looking at your pussy for a few seconds before looking up at you. You bit your lower lip, waiting for him to place his lips on you, there, and here, in this bathroom. But he smiled and stood up, covered his thumb with your slick, and went up to your clit. He rubbed it gently, while your eyes were fixed on each other, your breathing speeding up every second. He kept his thumb on your clit, and pushed two fingers in your pussy, making you moan. You rolled your hips on his fingers, fucking yourself on them. You grabbed his shirt to hide your face from him, your nose in his neck, as if you were ashamed of breaking so easily for him. 
“Fuck…I’m gonna…”
“Yeah baby, I know. Come on my fingers, clench ‘em again. Even faster than in the car, fuck.”
He pressed his crotch against your hip, and you could feel his bulge. You knew he loved to show how hard he could be, how big his dick was. “Oh fuck,” you whimpered, just before you came. He let you ride out your orgasm, his thumb resting on your clit, his fingers still buried inside you. Then he slowly removed them from your dripping cunt and licked them one by one, not taking his eyes off you and added “I remember everythin’, baby.”
***********
Thank you for the tag, @mermaidgirl30 and @bonezone44 🙏
npt: @aurorawritestoescape @toxicanonymity @magpiepills @pedge-page @kewwrites @iamasaddie @corazondebeskar-reads
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dancingtotuyo · 2 days
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Better Man (Javier Peña)
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Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lorraine sees Javier for the first time since he left her on their wedding day.
Warnings/Tags: implied smut, Lorraine's perspective on her & Javier's encounter at the wedding, pining
Notes: Written for @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift event! Thank you beta reading as well my dear! Shoutout to @saradika-graphics for the dividers on this one and keeping all of our fics looking nice and sharp!
Words: 659
Author Master List | Javier Peña Master List | Resources to Aid Palestine
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I hold onto this pride because these days it's all I have
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She catches sight of him the moment she walks into the room. It doesn’t matter that she’s on Randy’s arm with her toddler in her arms or that she can only see the back of his head. She would know it anywhere. 
Javier Peña.
She hasn’t seen him in ten years, since the night before their wedding. Well, the day they were supposed to get married. 
Randy doesn’t catch the way she trips over her feet as he guides them toward an empty table. She’s barely let their son, her and Randy’s son before he’s running after his sister. She doesn’t have the energy to yell at them. She needs a stiff drink and a cigarette. Randy doesn’t seem to notice her distracted state. It’s better that way.
Lorraine narrowly avoids getting a drink spilled down the front of her dress as she approaches the bar. She can see his profile from this vantage point. He’s still the same Javi she remembers. He smiles at a kid and cringes at something someone else says. He’s good at hiding it, but she knows him. She knows when he’s putting on a facade. Well, she thought she did. Maybe the fact that he never made it to the church on their wedding day says differently. 
She lets out a deep sigh, shaking her head. She won’t let him do this to her. He doesn’t get to throw her off a whole decade after the fact. She’s married. She has two beautiful children. She’s living a life she much prefers to the idea of being a rancher’s or federal agent’s wife. 
The bartender puts her drink on the bar top. She shoves a couple of bills in the tip jar and thanks him, making her way back to the table. She refuses to look his way on her way back to the table. 
Then she’s at the table, helping the kids with something. Her mind is clear of him when she hears her name, her name in a timbre that feels like coming up for fresh air after nearly drowning. She curses internally. She can’t let him see it, the effect he still holds over her.  
“Lorraine.”
She steels herself, paining the indifferent look on her face, and keeps her body language indifferent before she turns around. He’s charming and he’s laying it on thick. She takes it as a sign that she’s succeeding, that he can’t tell those brown puppy dog eyes are making her insides melt. 
Lorraine loves her life. It was for the better that he left her that day. 
Javi seems to reel it in when Randy shows up. She feigns forgiveness even to herself. She wants to mean it.  
Neither man catches the way her eyes linger a little too long after Javi as he walks away. 
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Sometimes in the middle of the night, I can feel you again
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Randy makes love to her that night in her parents’ home. They have to be quiet. It’s a bit of a relief to have to hold back her sounds of pleasure for once instead of exaggerating them. It keeps her mind from wandering. He’s not a bad lover. If anything, he’s better than any of the other men Lorraine has been with, all but one that is. 
There was only one person who could ever make her brain completely stop and block the rest of the world out, only one man who made her leave her body only to bring her back into herself. 
Randy snores softly next to her, arm thrown over her bare midsection, but Lorraine is wide awake, mind wild with the “what ifs” of life. 
She knows it was all for the better. 
She loves her husband.
Randy is a good man.
But sometimes she wishes Javier was a better man. 
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You would've been the one if you were a better man
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entitled-fangirl · 1 day
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If you pick other, PLEASE COMMENT, I'M SUCH A CURIOUS LITTLE SHIT <3
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The Hounds of Hell
just popping by to let you and @milla-frenchy know I'm still thinking about it 🖤🖤🖤
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OMG Toxic I LOVE IT!!😍😍😍🥵🥵🥵Look at them scheming and being so hot!!! TEAMWORK! 😆😏😏😏 I’m so happy those menaces are still on your mind🥹 Thank you for the love and the moodboard!🥹😘🫶🫶🫶
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bella in the background 🥺😭
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djo · 11 months
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PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos | 3.08: Convivir
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perotovar · 2 months
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NARCOS (2015-2017) 3.07 “Sin Salida” THE LAST OF US (2023-) 1.02 “Infected”
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notjustjavierpena · 3 days
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Terror
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A/N: By popular demand! This turned awful in my brain very quickly. I know instantly that this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, so please read the tags before jumping into this. Not everything is fun and games for hubby. 
Summary: Javier doesn’t think that he has nightmares about Colombia anymore until he suddenly does. The difference is that he also has you and the family that you have given him.
Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)
Tags: +18, graphic description of gun violence, some gore, PTSD night terrors, major character death (but not really), panic attacks, domestic, cuddles, hurt/comfort, family time, love confessions, pregnant reader dies in this dream
Word count: 2.6k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54592621
Terror
Javier searches and searches to no avail. He walks with frantic determination between burning cars and bullet shells, occasionally hitting the latter with the tips of his shoes so they go cascading down the asphalt with a clinking sound. He doesn’t trip on them though, as his steps are sure, moving around the chaotic scene of the aftermath of an ambush by grabbing at whatever he can to push himself forward. 
He knows where he is but he doesn’t remember getting here, and he has no clue if he was involved in the shooting that has evidently occurred here. However, when he looks down at himself, he finds no bullet wounds and no tactical gear either. So why does he think that you are here? He yelps as he accidentally grabs the hood of a car that seems to have been burning for a while, the metal so hot that it scorches his skin. The heat radiating from the vehicle makes his body prickle with sweat, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin that is riddled with damp sweat from anxiety. He clutches his burnt hand and continues down the never-ending street. 
Where are you? Where are they? He searches through several empty cars, nearly ripping the doors off of their hinges to get to you quicker. Perhaps you know where they are but he doesn’t even know where you are. 
When he gets to what feels like the hundredth car, finally reaching the end of the road that somehow resembles a labyrinth despite only moving forward, panic has started to rise in his throat. He calls for you but you don’t answer, and then he calls for Lucas in case he has managed to hide himself and his sibling somewhere. 
“Lucas! It’s alright, it’s just me!” He yells out but it’s just the echo of his own voice that answers him, “You can come out now, it’s over, te prome— (I promi—).”
Javier has turned the corner. It is the sight of Horatio Carrillo’s face that makes him realize that this isn’t real. Carrillo is dead, and he has been for nearly twenty years. Javier will never forgive himself for not having been there. He should have been there with everyone. It should have been him; he had had nothing waiting for him back in Laredo. 
In front of him, a row of children and teenagers are kneeling but he doesn’t recognize any of their faces. He has seen this scene before. He remembers doing nothing back then, and the thought is enough to make his gut twist with guilt and nausea even if nothing could have been done to change Carrillo’s attitude towards the kids. He hears a gunshot and a young child falls to the ground, head split open from the way the bullet has torn through soft, young flesh. He flinches in a way that he didn’t back then, in a way that only a man who is a father can. 
Carrillo’s blank and indifferent stare terrifies him to the point where he wishes that he could wake up. It is clear that this is a nightmare, so why hasn’t he woken up yet? Aren’t you supposed to wake up when you have figured it all out? He tries pinching his arm but nothing happens, and the claustrophobia of being stuck in his own head makes his chest constrict and his heart, too big for his rib cage by now, hammer with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. 
The stare he is watching is not one of being rid of emotion but rather the look that washes over a face when the person it belongs to is dead. His old colleague is standing in front of him in a zombie-like state and Javier cannot shake the feeling that Carrillo looks less like a person and more like a thing. 
“Carrillo,” he says sternly. On the ground, the blood oozes towards his feet and he shifts to avoid it soaking through his shoes. 
His colleague turns to him but doesn’t say anything. He still has the weapon in his hand, arm stretched out, and pointing the gun at the row of innocent children. Javier speaks quietly despite his anxiety, “C’mon, they’re just kids. Look at them; they’re just ki—“
He turns to look at the kneeling figures but the faces aren’t unknown to him anymore. His blood runs cold at the sight of his eldest son who has his arms stretched out to hold Inés close to his body, effectively shielding her from any shot that may be coming at her at any moment. 
“Lucas,” he croaks, “¿Dónde está tu madre (Where is your mother)?”
“I don’t know, Dad,” his son replies, “I’m scared.” 
“I know, don’t worry, I— I’m gonna take care of it,” he replies with a dizzying heartbeat followed by the urge to throw up. 
It’s then that you appear too. His heart skips a beat as you materialize right behind your kids, pregnant with his child and vulnerable as tears stream down your cheeks. Your arms are in front of you, wrapped around your children as you try to protect them while whimpering in a way that makes Javier more than desperate. He tries to sound more assertive than anxious but listening to his own voice, he doesn’t feel very successful. He turns back to Carrillo who hasn’t moved the firearm even an inch, “For fuck’s sake, get that gun away from my family!”
“Están trabajando para Escobar, Peña. Si quieres justicia, entonces esta es la única manera (They are working for Escobar, Peña. If you want justice, this is the only way),” is the only reply he gets. Carrillo spits at the ground.
Javier takes a step forward but suddenly, a shot is fired at his feet and he is forced to jump back with his hands in the air. His eyes are pleading, his voice wavering, “Jesus Christ, Carrillo, they’re not working for him. Put the damn gun down! They’re mine. They are my kids. You’re pointing a gun at my wife!”
Lucas shifts on his spot on the ground. His knees can barely hold himself up anymore, gravel gnawing at his kneecaps but Javier holds out a hand to stop him, “Don’t move, mijo (my son). I know you’re scared but—“
But Lucas’ eyes are wet with terrified tears. He panics, throws himself to the side to crawl away and the ghost of Javier’s previous colleague seems to come to the conclusion that it is too risky to attempt a shot in the boy’s direction in case he misses, so instead—
Javier flinches at the loud sound of the gun going off. You lie on the ground in the next moment. He lets out a cry of anguish, crawling across the gravel road to get to you until his hands are scraped and his knees are dirty. The love of his life and his unborn child.  
“No,” he yells as tears spring from his eyes. He clutches at you whilst you breathe rapidly and try to hold onto him as well but your grip is slowly loosening on him with every beat of your heart. He can see the way your pulse slows in how your clothes soak slower and slower, knows where it is going. You try to say something but he cannot understand it, your voice having been replaced by gurgles of blood, “No don’t try to talk, baby. Shit, I— look, it’s not even that bad. Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s not even that bad, it’s fine, you’re gonna be fine, mi vida (my life). You and the baby. I promise.” 
The same blank stare as the one that Carrillo sports washes over your face. He says your name over and over, “Mi amor (my love), no, no, look at me. No, no, no no no.”
Inés has started screaming in panic. She’s crying for you in the most heart-wrenching manner, terrified when you don’t react to her words like you always do. Her pitch climbs with each passing second but Javier has no strength to soothe his daughter because he yells your name until it feels like he cannot breathe. 
Lucas yells for his mother in the background. The agony of hearing his children cry mixed with hearing you say nothing is too much for him. He panics, shakes you violently— 
He jolts awake in the next moment to the sound of your voice. Fear still has him in its grip and leaves him disoriented, ready to fight whatever comes his way. He hyperventilates until he feels lightheaded and tries to figure out where he is, beads of cold sweat having collected on his forehead during his restless sleep.
“Javi,” you say with a hand on his shoulder and he whips his head around to face you. A moment ago, your eyes had been glazed over by death.
Immediately, he grabs your wrist in an iron grip. You place your other hand on top of his, speaking softly, “Javier. Let go.”
“Are you alright?” He chokes out and grips you harder, eyes wild in the dimly lit bedroom. He wants to run a million miles, “Are you alright?” 
“I am okay, baby. We’re both safe,” you reassure him with a hand on your pregnant belly. Tears start to roll down his cheeks. He is unable to shake the image of you lying dead on the ground, “Shh…”
“Are you sure?” He whimpers, eyes flickering from your face to your stomach and back to your face again. 
“Yes. It was just a bad dream. It was just a nightmare,” your voice is still ever so gentle and nowhere near the way it had been in his state of terror. He releases the clutch on your arm and you carefully run a hand over his forehead, “Breathe. Hold my hand. Tell me you love me.”
You offer your free hand to him and he carefully takes it, trying to convince himself that you won’t slip away from him in the dark bedroom. You squeeze his hand slightly. It’s a silly thing you came up with years ago. 
“I love you,” he says quietly, already feeling a little better but when you say it back ever so gently, he finds himself bursting into tears. He cries and it is the kind that comes from the very bottom of one’s lungs; frantic and breathy sobs that sound almost painful.
He thought that the nightmares had stopped. They had been bad when he first met you, and he connected it to his decreasing alcohol consumption because back in Colombia, he was sometimes too boozed up to even dream. However, meeting you - marrying you - had been a glimpse into a future where he could get better because you were together. So why does his brain still do this once in a while? 
“Pensé que te había perdido para siempre (I thought I had lost you forever),” he sobs when you engulf him in your arms. He rests his head against your soft chest, grabbing onto whatever he can of you to make sure you are real. It’s only times like these when his strong, broad hands feel unsure on your skin. 
“Oh, baby. I’m right here,” you rock him carefully in a way that a mother does, “I’m not going anywhere, te prometo (I promise you).” 
“No puedo vivir sin ti (I can’t live without you),” he continues. You reassure him that he won’t have to, that by then, someone will have discovered eternal life or made all of you into kind-hearted robots. Despite the chuckle he lets out, you also let him cry for as long as he needs to. 
It takes you a while to calm him down again, resting your chin on top of his head as he lets himself fall into you instead of going out of his mind. He mumbles, “Where are the kids? Where’s Inés?”
“They’re in bed,” you promise him, arms cradling him and rubbing his back until his breathing starts to slow again, “They’re okay. They’re just asleep.”
Except they are not asleep. Your hand stops moving on his back, and he looks up at you to find your eyes on the door. 
“Inés. Lucas. Stop standing at the door,” you say gently. 
“Sorry,” they say in unison.
Relief floods Javier’s system at the sound of his children’s voices. His chest expands as he breathes in deeply for what feels like the first time since he woke up. He watches their little faces, hears the click of the lamp on your nightstand as you turn on the light. 
“Is Daddy okay?” Inés asks carefully. Her eyes tell Javier that he has noticed the tears on her father’s face.
“We heard you yelling,” Lucas elaborates to his father, “Inés didn’t want to go in here alone. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetie,” your voice is sweet and calm. It is in these moments that he loves you the most; when you prove to be the anchor in any storm, knows that the only times he might actually get a good night's rest is when you are right here beside him. 
“Come here, mis amores (my loves),” he scoots a little away from you to open his arms. His children look uncertain for a moment but then Inés rushes forward to climb into bed and into his embrace. Lucas follows a moment after, the both of them earning a kiss on top of their heads. 
Inés’ eyes are wide as she stares up at him, “Papá, you scared me.”
“I had a bad dream,” he explains to both of them and attempts to smile, pulling them closer to his chest. They make faces as they are squished but he doesn’t let go, “but I’m okay now. I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Then why are you crying?” Lucas gets out of the embrace to study his face, shocked to see the tears running down until they drip down from his chin. 
“Daddy! You are crying!” Inés parrots her older brother as she notices too. She kneels in front of her father and tilts her head. 
“I am?” He asks, pretending not to know. Inés’ tiny hand reaches to wipe a few tears away without much success and his heart clenches in his chest with how lucky he feels to have such a beautiful family. 
“It’s okay to cry,” Lucas explains softly, “That’s what Mom says.”
“Alright, let’s give your father some space,” you lock eyes with your husband, cup his cheek for a moment before brushing away the last traces of tears from his face with the back of your hand. He smiles at you and it is completely genuine for the first time. 
“I don’t want to sleep,” Inés protests loudly.
“What if you both sleep in here for the rest of the night?” You bargain whilst still smiling at Javier, however a little more goofily now, “Just for tonight.”
Lucas is already crawling under the covers to cuddle up next to you, and Inés lays down next to her father. It takes a moment of quiet chatter and soothing caresses to make them both fall asleep again, their bodies exhausted from being awake in the middle of the early hours of the morning. 
Javier can’t fall back asleep but from the way you breathe, he can tell that sleep hasn’t found you either.
Outside, the first light of dawn has begun to filter through the curtains. There’s a warmer glow in the room now, and he peeks at you from where he lies, looking like someone catching a glimpse of their crush. 
"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely audible. 
You turn your head to face him and smile tenderly, the morning glow illuminating you from behind. You are so beautiful, he thinks, beautiful and pregnant, and he is so lucky. 
Your voice is filled with genuine happiness, warm and loving. You look down at your sleeping children, place a hand on your bump, and then look back up at him, "We love you too.”
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ilovejavierpena · 3 days
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pedropascal24-7 · 1 year
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Pedro always has the wildest stories when it comes to finding out he has a new role
- Game of Thrones when there was miscommunication and HBO had hired him, but his agents didn’t know for sure, but he was already getting his head cast, getting costume fittings, and going to rehearsals. And he didn’t wanna ask if he had the part
-he only had a day or two to accept his role in Narcos
-he was in the bathroom when Matthew Vaughn called him about Golden Circle
-took an Ambien before he got the call that he got the role of Joel and then fell asleep and forgot he got the part
Like absolutely incredible stories
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