#narcos-daily

[seokmattchuus]

Did I finish The Brothers Sun in one sitting? Yes.

Did it fuel my mafia life dream? Also yes.

#dumb fuck ted talk #oh to be a trophy wife to someone dangerous 😔 #just gotta sit there and see nothing #it's like being a sahm but with extra steps #i could be like el chapo's wife “i know nothing. never saw anything.” #i have a total of four friends and only one would believe me if i said i bagged me a narcos #the others would think i'm just being delusional #when will i have a crusty old man who likes to kill people 😔 #rain's daily issue #rain's daily issue pt.2 #the brothers sun

[dailypascal]

#pedro pascal daily #pedro pascal #pascalitos #pascalispunk #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fandom #javier pena narcos #the mandolarian #dieter bravo #joel miller #tlou

[scrambledslut]

thinking 🧘

#need him to stare @ me like that #interrogate me sir🫡 #the amount of scenarios i think of daily that include javi and joel.. it’s getting concerning #if only i was able to write it down #cause i be having some good ideas #need a ghostwriter 💀💀 #javier pena #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena imagine #javier pena x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #narcos

[molt3ngold]

#horrendously down bad #rewatching narcos again #I’m also hungover #severely hungover. help. #daily pedro thirst trap #pedro pascal #javier peña #javier pena edit #narcos #man i love dilfs

[mountinez]

today i woke up thinking about a neymessi narcos au

#if americans stereotype us in a daily basis why can't i in a fic? #neymessi au #narcos #neymessi #fanfics #south america #well yeah i'm brazilian not colombian but wagner moura is also brazilian and played pablo escobar

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

the mediterranean sea of the future

#our sacred duty is to set up colonies on every island we can #venezuela will be our troy #we will liberate cuba #filibustering and hero cults and adventures worth writing epic poems about #we will restore gran colombia #state issued daily coffee #techno-oracle prophecies #futurist free corps #stalking through the jungles hunting for narco and commie scalps #to fulfil state sanctioned bounties #roving fleets of pirates sanctioned by letters of marque #modern day sea peoples #tropical island homesteading #pirate republic cyberpunk mega-city-states

[lazymuse]

그다지 좋아하지 않는 여름이 지나고... 8월이 그렇게 가고 9월이 왔다. 요 며칠간 집안일에서 거의 손을 뗄 수 있어 좋았는데, 다시 시작됐다... 이제 뭐 설거지는 익숙하다. 요리도 뭐... 그럭저럭. 아직은 괜찮지만 일이 더 바빠지면 그 때는 집안일도 하기 버거울 듯. ㅠㅠ

재택근무 덕에 9시 전에 일어나기도 참 힘들었는데, 엄마를 대신해 집안일을 도맡게 되면서 8시 기상이 필연적이 되었다. 그나마 요즘 8시 기상이 가능한 건, 다 c 경기를 보기 위함이랄까... 동부 시간이 저녁 7시 즈음이고 그 때 하는 경기가 많아서... MLB TV 무료 trial 이용이 끝나고 SPOTV로 매달 몇천원 내고 경기 중계 보기로. 오랜만에 한국어로 하는 중간에 한국 광고도 나오는 중계를 보고 있다. 사실 MLB 사이트에서 경기 중계를 틀어놓고 보면 미국에 있는 기분이 들었는데, 그런 기분이 좀 없어진 건 아쉽지만, 여튼 돈이 덜 드니까. 예전에 알쓸신잡에 따르면 10-12살에 잘 했던 팀을 좋아하게 되면 계속 그 팀 팬이 된다는데, 나는 Mets를 좋아했을 때 이미 30대 중반이었... -_-;; 사실 Mets가 월드시리즈 우승할 때 나는 아예 태어나지도 않았거나 아니면 너무 어렸다. 하지만 내가 Mets를 좋아했을 때도, 월드시리즈에 올랐고 잘했다. 챔피언은 되지 못했지만 그래도 준우승이면 잘 한 거지... 어쩌면 그 때가 나한테는 Mets가 월드시리즈 우승이나 마찬가지의 느낌이었을 것 같다. 다만 그 해 우승팀이 별 볼 일 없던(?) Kansas City Royals라는 게 좀;; 그리고 한동안 별로였다가 이번 해에 다시 잘하고 있다. (가끔은 잘 하다가 다시 뒤쳐지길래 기대 안 했는데 올해는... 여름이 거의 끝나갈 때 즈음 보니 계속 잘 하는 것 같아 Mets 응원 중. ㅋㅋ)

오늘 경기는 그 동안 Mets 경기 중 몇 안 되는, 너무 즐겁고 인상적인 경기였다. 사실 Dodgers에 간신히 2:1로 이겼지만 (어제는 3:4로 졌음), 우선 Jacob deGrom이 선발 등판해서 잘 던졌다. 하지만 deGrom도 사람인지라 실수를 하고 - 그래서 홈런도 한 방 맞았다. Justin Turner가 홈런을 칠 뻔한 걸 Brandon Nimmo가 잡아낸 장면이 최고였음. (비록 잠깐이지만 국내 뉴스에서도 살짝 보여주길래 기대했는데, 정작 선수 이름 한 마디 안 꺼냄... ;;;)

Nimmo의 저런 모습은 처음 본다. 본인도 스스로 엄청 만족하고 완전 흥분했더만... 하긴, 내가 본 몇 안 되는 Mets의 최고 수비였다. 그리고 deGrom이 야구 경기 중에 저렇게 웃는 모습도 처음 본다. 하긴 저거 못 잡았으면 Turner 홈런인데. (사실 다저스에서 뛰기 전에 Turner도 Mets 선수였다. 그냥 이적했거니 싶었는데 방출된 거라고... ;; 그래서 Mets와의 경기 때는 정말 독기를 품고 한다...라고 중계하던 사람들이 말했다. 역시 한국어 중계를 들어야 이런 것도 알게 되는군.) 7회까지 던지고 내려올 deGrom이 하필 7회에서 Turner에 홈런을 맞을 뻔 했군. Nimmo가 구세주다. ㅋㅋ

경기 끝나고 인터뷰도 재밌었다. 경기 끝나고도 흥분에서 가라앉지 않은 Nimmo.

사실 Mets는 deGrom 얘기 나올 때마다, 걔만 잘 한다고... 저런 팀에 있기 아깝다는 말 참 많이 나왔는데... deGrom이 엄청 잘 해도 Mets 타선이 조용하거나 해서 진 경우도 워낙 많았고. 그래서인가 deGrom을 위해서 뭔가 크게 도움이 될 기회가 별로 없었던 만큼, Nimmo가 이 공을 잡아내서 그를 위해 뭔가 했다는 것에 만족하는 것 같았다. 여튼 평소에 인터뷰 할 때의 Nimmo의 모습과는 달리 엄청 흥분해 있었다. 뭔가 되게 응원단장 느낌이구만. ㅋㅋ

라커룸에서의 deGrom 인터뷰.

그래... 내가 그 동안 일반적인 미국 영어라고 생각한 게 이런 건데, Nimmo는 좀 다르긴 하다. Wyoming 그 동네 억양인가 싶어 괜히 거긴 어떤 동네인지 궁금해지는군. ㅋㅋ 여튼 Granderson 이적하고 은퇴한 뒤로... Mets의 현역 선수들 중 내가 좋아하는 두 선수. 사실 나는 그 동안 백인 선수를 좋아해 본 적이 없었는데. 외모는 deGrom이 더 내 취향. (그나마 머리 잘라서 좋아하는 거지만 ㅋ 긴 머리는 싫다.) Nimmo는 외모는 별로 내 취향 아니지만... 그냥 사람 자체가 괜찮음. 모범생 느낌이면서도 좀 어리버리한 느낌. ㅋㅋ

이건 그냥 웃자고 만든 꽁트 같은데... Nimmo 성격이 실제로도 저럴 것 같다. ㅎㅎ (너무 사람 좋은...?)

오늘은 수비 말고도 투수들도 다 잘 했다. 당연히 deGrom도 잘 했고 - 보통 5-6회 던지고 들어가더니 오늘은 7회까지 던졌고. 8회에 구원투수로 등장한 Adam Ottavino도 오늘 괜찮았다. 마무리 투수 Edwin Diaz도 대단하고. 사실 처음 그 선수 봤을 때 실수한 걸 봐서 난 '쟤 뭐야' 그랬는데 알고 보니 Mets에서 마무리 투수로 엄청나게 잘 하는 애라는... 게다가 얘 등장할 때마다 나오는 트럼펫 음악 덕에 관중들이 장난감 트럼펫도 준비했고, 이번에는 심지어 그 곡을 실제로 연주한 아티스트, 트럼펫 연주자 Timmy Trumpet까지 초청되어 퍼포먼스를 보여줬다. (호주 사람이라는군. 야구장에 와 본 적도 없는데 오늘부터 자기는 평생 Mets 팬이 될 거라며... ;; 호주 사람들이 뭐 야구 관심이나 있겠냐만은...)

정말 미국 야구는 스포츠 그 이상인 것 같다. 온�� 이벤트도 난무하고... ㅎㅎ 이 곡이 KBO에서도 기아 타이거즈의 외국인 선수 소크라테스(Socrates Brito) 응원가라고 한다. (그 선수 이름은 스포츠뉴스에서 들어본 기억은 있지만 얼굴은 모르고 기아 소속인지도 처음 알았다.)

Mets ���스타그램에 가 보니 저 연주자랑 같이 찍은 Mets 선수 가족들 사진이 올라와 있더군. (이제는 어쩌다 한 번씩 볼까 말까 한 선수들 아닌 이상, Mets 선수들 얼굴 보면 누군지 알겠음. ㅎㅎ)

각각 Taijuan Walker, Max Scherzer, 그리고 오늘 등장 음악의 주인공 Edwin Diaz의 가족들과.

뭐 퍼포먼스도 재미는 있었지만, 역시나 오늘의 주인공은 Nimmo임. ㅋㅋ What a catch!

#let's go mets #jacob degrom #brandon nimmo #edwin diaz #timmy trumpet #narco #nimmo saved degrom #daily

[morallyinept]

Pump - A Javier Peña One Shot

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! 🖤

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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 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 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 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.

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

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #narcos #jett's writing

[wheresarizona]

Terra Incognita

pairing: Javier Peña/f!Virgin Reader (no physical descriptions)

summary: Being the secretary for the attaché, Javier Peña, isn’t too bad. In the months you’ve worked together, he’s warmed up to you. Having flirty conversations daily and being the only recipient of his rare smiles you know all means nothing since he’s your boss; your unattainable, unbelievably attractive boss you have a raging crush on. Then he decides to do the unthinkable and asks you out for a drink, and not an innocent, HR-approved drink between colleagues, but a forbidden, going on a date drink—that goes so well you ask him to take your virginity and make you orgasm for the first time. 

He happily obliges. 

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, can be read as age gap (reader’s age is unspecified, but she’s at least 23), Soft Javier Peña, Inexperienced Reader, boss/employee relationship (very consensual, he puts you in control), explicit smut, loss of virginity, first time, first orgasm (Javier teaches you how to touch yourself), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie (it’s me), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, masturbation (f), mirror sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spit mention, (1) spank, Javier being a consent king, sneaking around, insecurity, self-esteem issues, Javier making you feel beautiful, feelings, Javier being cute and flirty, talks of the future, Javier hating you think he’s too hot for you)

word count: 12.8k+

a/n: I got an ask about doing reader’s first time with Javier months ago, and this week, I finally had a chance to write it. There’s plot, there’s a lot of porn, this took on a life of its own, and I’m sorry about how long it took me to get around to it. I hope you enjoy! Takes place during Season 3 of Narcos, a couple of months before they get Gilberto. Thank you so much to @senorabond for betaing super last minute!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

“Peña,” he answers on the second ring. 

Sitting at your desk outside Javier Peña’s office, you have the corded phone receiver held to your ear and documents in front of you that you’re preparing for his signatures. 

“I have someone from the ambassador’s office on the other line,” you tell him. “I’m going to assume you’re in a meeting?”

He isn’t. 

The smile is clear in his voice when he replies, “Yeah, I’m definitely in a meeting.”

“I’ll send them to your voicemail.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, sir.”

“Just Javi.”

“It’s no problem, Just Javi.”

An amused breath leaves him. “Smartass.”

“I’m just calling you what you requested. I need to take care of this call. Bye, Just Javi.”

“Javi. Bye, Florecita (little flower).”

The nickname makes you smile, knowing he calls you it because there’s always a bouquet on your desk—today, it’s daisies. 

Pressing a couple of buttons has you back on the line with the other person, apologizing that your boss is indisposed in a meeting and transferring them to his voicemail. Immediately, you return to the task you were working on before being interrupted. 

Being the secretary for the attaché isn’t too bad. 

For months now, you’ve worked with Javier, and at first, he didn’t even know what to do with you until requests started coming in for him to attend meetings, be on conference calls, and turn in paperwork by deadlines. That's when he tagged you in to be the keeper of his schedule. He was polite and professional at the beginning of your partnership, and a little sulky, which you figured had to do with the job. Over time, he still sulked, but he’s warmed up to you, especially with how you run interference with his calls that come through and keep him from talking to people who annoy him to the best of your ability. Occasionally, he has to speak to them; rarely, however, because you have no issue lying through your teeth for him—he gets grumpy after those calls so it’s better for him to hardly take them. 

He’s friendlier now than when you first met, and the only time you’ve seen him crack a smile is when he’s talking to you. The first and every time after he has made you feel like you’re melting—yes, you have a crush on your boss. 

Have you seen him? 

Those suits? The hair? The mustache? His shoulder-to-waist ratio? His ass? He’s gorgeous, and you don’t have a chance in hell, so you bask in the smiles he gifts only to you, and the fun, flirty conversations that aren’t leading to anything since he’s your boss, and way out of your league. 

Glancing at the watch on your wrist informs you it’s time for lunch—it’s crazy how quickly time flies when you’re working sometimes. The small stack of papers on your desk gets stapled and set off to the side and out of the way. When you pull open your bottom desk drawer, your purse is in there, along with two small paper lunch sacks. Pulling the latter out, one is set in the space the papers once occupied, and the other you carry as you roll your chair back and get up. It’s only a handful of steps to the closed door, rapping your knuckles against it twice. 

“Come in,” says a voice from inside. 

Opening the door, you make your way in, closing it behind you. Your boss is sitting at his desk sans his navy blue suit jacket, a cigarette cushioned between his plush lips, wisps of smoke rising from it as he reads over documents. 

That’s another thing about Javier—you’re pretty sure he lives on coffee and cigarettes, not buying it anytime he says he’s quitting them. 

To be annoying, you put the paper bag directly over what he’s reading. His head pops up to look at you with his big, brown puppy dog eyes, his fingers pulling the lit nicotine from his mouth and depositing it into the glass ashtray he keeps within reach.  

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to bring me lunch,” his words come out in a deep rasp. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you can’t help but snort, noticing his gaze dropping to your bosom for a split second before it’s back on yours. 

“That’s a lie,” you reply, and he frowns. “You always forget to eat because you’re too busy working. So, the solution is for me to bring you food. That way, you can eat and keep doing all your important stuff.” 

His eyes dart away as he sighs. “Can I pay you for the lunches?” he asks. “You probably didn’t have making lunch for your helpless boss in your food budget.” 

You smile. “I didn’t, but I’m happy to make them for you. There’s no need for you to pay me for the food.” 

His eyes meet yours. “There’s gotta be some way for me to thank you.” He sits back in his chair, letting you take in the ample breadth of his shoulders in his white dress shirt, his red patterned tie running down the center of his chest. “How about I take you out for a drink tonight?” 

That causes your brain to record scratch. 

“A drink… with me?” you answer slowly. 

There’s a confused expression on his face. “Yeah? I would’ve asked you sooner, but I’m always fucking working, and tonight I’m free—this entire weekend, I am, as long as I’m not called in.” 

He would’ve asked you sooner?

“I know you are…” You are the keeper of his schedule. “It’s just a thank you drink…?” 

His hand goes to his mouth, your eyes stuck on the journey his thumb makes, swiping over his bottom lip and wondering for the thousandth time what it’d be like to kiss him. 

“Can be…” he answers, his eyes darkening when you look at them. “Or, it can be more if that’s what you want.” 

He wants to go on a date with you? 

“I like the sound of more,” you quietly reply. 

“I like the sound of more, too.” And you’re gifted with one of his smiles, this one crooked and charming. 

It makes you swallow, your skin feeling heated. “I just want to make sure I’m reading this right,” you start, feeling discombobulated. “You’re asking me out on a date, right? Me?” You point at yourself, so there’s no mistaking who you mean. 

That confused look is back on his face as he leans forward. “Yes, I am asking you—” He points at you. “—to go out with me.” He points at himself. “Why are you so surprised? I like you.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“You like me?” 

“Yes? Querida (Darling), why are you having trouble believing I’m interested in you?” 

This is so embarrassing, you have to cover your face in your hands, your voice muffled when you answer, “Because you’re extremely attractive, and I’m me, and I’ve seen the women you normally go for.” Everybody knew about his one-night stand with the woman who worked here. “I’m nowhere near as beautiful as them.” 

The sound of his chair wheels rolling met your ears, and seconds later, you jolt when big, warm hands are grabbing yours and pulling them away. A concerned look you’ve never seen is on his face, his thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands. 

“Don’t say that,” he says in a soothing tone. “Wanna know something?” 

“Sure.” 

“I find you more attractive.” You huff in disbelief. “I’m serious,” he continues. “Not only do you look beautiful—” His hand moves to cup your cheek. “—what’s inside you is beautiful, too, with how thoughtful and caring you are. You’re also funny and smart. I’ve been dying to take you out.” The sincerity in his gaze takes your breath away. 

Has hell frozen over? Are pigs flying? How in the hell is this perfect specimen of a man interested in you? He’s adamant he is, and you know he’s telling the truth, which seems insane, yet it’s exhilarating. Your love life is non-existent; you’ve never even been in a relationship, not for lack of trying; it’s just no one’s ever been interested. Now, someone is, and he’s so hot. There’s just one big glaring problem…

“You’re my boss…” you point out. “We’re not allowed to have any kind of romantic relationship due to the fact there is a major power imbalance here.” 

“The person who has all the power is you. You decide how far things go and if things should end. I’d never fire you or hurt your career in any way if you wanted nothing to do with me—I just wanna take you out for a drink, and from there, it’s all you.” 

His last sentence causes a nervous flutter in your tummy. 

“Okay, I’d like to get a drink with you. What’s your plan for us not being seen together?” 

He smiles, taking a step closer so your bodies are practically touching, smelling his spicy cologne that makes your mouth go dry. “I’ll take you to this little hole-in-a-wall place I know. Can I pick you up at seven?” 

You frown. “You know I live in a building full of people who work here—they’ll see you.” He’s occasionally driven you to and from work when the usual person you carpooled with was sick. 

“I won’t go to your door. I can park in the back of the lot and call you to come out to me.” 

“Have you put a lot of thought into this?” you ask. 

His cheeks pink up while he looks away. “Yeah…” 

The answer makes your heart pound in your chest, wondering what all he’s imagined, and something comes to mind, your curiosity getting the better of you. 

“What, um, is your plan if after the drink we want to go somewhere quieter and more… secluded?” 

His eyes are back on yours, his voice going a little deeper. “I’d take you back to my place.” 

The thought of that both excites you and makes you nervous.

“People won’t see me?” 

“No one from here—I had them put me up somewhere away from everyone else.” 

“Oh.”

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

As soon as you say the word, his lips descend on yours, his hand cradling your head, his other arm wrapping around your back to pull you into him. This is a scenario you’ve daydreamed about countlessly; and the real thing? Even better than you imagined—his lips are soft and plush, the kiss tender, working his mouth against yours in a way that has something stirring low in your belly. He tastes like cigarettes and black coffee, which shouldn’t be as appealing as it is, your body feeling warm, the skin hot where he touches, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

The moment comes when your lungs ache for breath, and he kisses you one last time, ending it with a playful nip to your bottom lip, his own lifted in another smile. You’re breathing heavily, seeing his lips had reddened, his eyes heavy–lidded. 

“Was it everything you hoped for?” he asks. 

It’s hard to think, not knowing what he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” you answer. 

He’s smiling cheekily now. 

“All the times you thought about kissing me—actually doing it, was it how you imagined?” 

The way your stomach drops, feeling your face heat. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “Was I that obvious?”

“Yeah. You don’t know how many fucking times I thought about giving you what you wanted.” 

“I am so embarrassed.” You squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Don’t be. I love it, and it gave me hope you’d agree to go out with me.” 

Looking away, you tell him, “It was better…” 

He grins, his head moving to kiss the side of your mouth, turning so your lips can meet. It’s quick, him whispering, “Yeah?” When he breaks away, nudging his nose against yours. 

This sweetness has you feeling all gooey. 

“Yes.” 

“Eat lunch with me.” 

“Is that an order from my boss or Javi?” 

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “It should’ve been a question from me, Javi—sorry.” 

You smile, pecking him on the lips. “In that case, my answer is yes. I’ll need to go grab my food.” 

Both of his arms hug around your middle, pressing his face into your neck. “I don’t wanna let you go yet.” 

Hugging him back, you reply, “Okay,” kissing his hair. 

Him being all touchy-feely and sweet is very unexpected but a welcome surprise. 

The blinds are all closed on the glass walls that enclose a good portion of his office, and there’s no worry of anyone stumbling upon the two of you in this embrace since they’d knock first. With how his body relaxes into yours and the way he lets out a happy sigh, it seems this hug is something he’s needed, and you’re more than willing to give him the comfort. 

“If you ever need a hug, just let me know,” you whisper. 

His arms loosen, raising his head to look at you. 

“Thanks. What, uh, if I need a kiss?” 

You giggle. “Same. Just let me know.” 

“I think I need one before you go.” 

“I will be gone for less than thirty seconds.” 

“It’s thirty seconds too long.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you reply in exasperation. “Kiss me, you goober.” 

And he does, slotting his mouth against yours, kissing you. 

It might’ve lasted seconds or a minute, you’re not sure, with how lost you get in his lips on yours and his body pressed so close. When he finally pulls away, you chase his mouth, and he chuckles, making you frown. 

“Go get your lunch, Florecita,” he rasps. “We’ll eat, finish working, and tonight, I’ll kiss you as much as you want.” 

Opening your eyes, they’re locked on his, smiling as you reply, “I like that plan.” 

He has the same expression, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I do, too.” With that, he gives your hips one last squeeze and walks to sit behind his desk again, and you make the quick trip to get your lunch and bring it back, shutting the door behind you. 

Javier tries to get you to pull one of the chairs in front of his desk around to sit beside him; however, you give him a firm no in case someone comes by. Instead, you end up across from him, talking between bites of your sandwiches and chips. 

There are things you already know about him, such as he’s from Texas, only his father is alive, and, of course, how he helped take down Pablo Escobar. During this lunch, you learn his mother passed away five years ago; he has no siblings but a large extended family, he dearly misses his mother’s tamales, he’s still good friends with Steve Murphy, and he grew up on a cattle ranch where his father still lives. 

You finish your food, and you put all the garbage into the paper bag to throw out. 

“What are your plans for the weekend?” you ask him. “I can’t remember the last time you had one off.” 

“I haven’t.” He crumples up his trash in his own bag. “And I’m not sure yet what my plans are,” he answers with a wink, your mouth falling open. 

Clearing your throat, you quickly get up, avoiding eye contact with how hot your face feels. 

“What about you?” he asks. 

“Um, I’m not sure, either.” The original plan was to deep clean your apartment, but now, with your date tonight and Javi having the whole weekend off, things might be changing. 

“Maybe we can figure out something together tonight.” 

“Maybe,” you reply, walking backward with your garbage in your hand, still avoiding looking at him. “I have to get back to work, Mr. Peña, sir—”

“Just Javi,” he interrupts. 

“I have to get back to work, Just Javi, and pretend like I don’t know what it’s like to kiss you or think about how I’m going out with you tonight, so if you can do me a favor and not be sexy for the next—” You check your wristwatch. “—three hours and fifty-eight minutes, I’d greatly appreciate it.” 

“I’ll try…?”

Your back bumps against the door. 

“Great!” Taking a deep breath, you chance a glance at him to see he’s smiling. “Me?” you whisper in disbelief, reaching behind you to grab the door handle. “He likes me?” 

Turning, you open the door, Javier saying loud enough for you to hear, “Yes, you,” and butterflies flutter rapidly around in your belly. 

Thankfully, the rest of the day goes by quickly, the two of you staying very professional, aside from the one kiss he stole when you needed him to sign something. 

When it was time to leave, you told him goodbye from the doorway, and he made you wait so he could walk you to the car park, where you went to catch a ride with your friend, and he walked to his Jeep. 

With how nervous you were, dinner was light and quick once you got home, followed by taking your time to get all gussied up for your date—showering, getting out your cutest black dress, doing your hair and makeup, and spritzing on some perfume. 

Doubt creeps its way into your brain that maybe you imagined all that happened—Javi didn’t ask you out, Javi didn’t kiss you or hold you in his arms. It makes you think there isn’t actually going to be a date, and all the work you put into getting ready is for nothing. You try your best to push it down; becoming nervous because it all did happen, and you are going out with him, making your mind race with possibilities of what could happen that evening—what you hope will happen. 

By the time it’s five to seven, you’re so lost in thought you practically jump out of your skin when your home phone rings on the wall in the kitchen. Making your way there, you answer it on the third ring, picking up the receiver to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, It’s me. I’m here.” 

“Okay, I’m heading down.” 

“Can’t wait to see you. Bye.” 

“Bye.” 

Hanging up the phone, you grab your purse, put on a jean jacket, and slip on some sensible, easy-to-walk-in heels as you leave, locking up your apartment tightly. 

It’s a Friday night, and you live in a large apartment complex, trying to avoid as many people as possible as you leave. 

Do you ensure no one is around as you walk into the parking lot, trying to keep to the shadows? Yes. 

The sun has already gone down, the headlights off on Javi’s Jeep, the vehicle dark at the back of the parking lot, save for the tiny orange glow of the cigarette he’s inhaling.

The overhead light doesn’t even come on when you open the passenger door and jump in, the dashboard and radio softly glowing. His window is partly down, and he tosses what he’d been smoking. 

He leans toward you, and you stop him with one palm, the other digging in your purse on your lap, relying on feeling around to get what you’re looking for, finally finding it. 

There’s a shining stick of gum between your fingers when you hold them up to him. 

“You’re the hottest man I’ve ever met,” you say, “and I’m really into you, but I’d prefer not to make out with someone who tastes like an ashtray.” 

He sighs, taking and unwrapping the gum. “I’m quitting,” he grumbles, putting it in his mouth and chewing, the wrapper getting rolled into a ball and tossed in the empty cup holder between you. 

“Uh-huh, sure, Javi. You’ve been saying that for months now,” you reply, patting his chest. 

Snatching your hand, he brings it to his lips, softly kissing each of your knuckles. 

“I’ll get some nicotine gum tomorrow, so you’ll kiss me.” 

That has you taken aback. 

“You’re going to stop smoking, so I’ll kiss you…?” 

“It’s one of the perks, and I know you fucking hate the habit.” That’s true. “Is my mouth minty enough? I wanna kiss you.” 

The fact you could smell the spearmint on his breath told you it was, your hands pulling his head toward you, smashing your lips against his. You can feel him smiling, his large palm cradling the back of your head, and allowing him to deepen the kiss when his tongue seeks entry into your mouth, unable to keep from moaning when it slides against your own. 

Kissing, you have some experience with, not a lot, but some, so you follow his lead, and he takes your breath away. 

When he pulls back, you feel dazed with your eyes closed, heart pounding, and chest heaving. 

“You okay?” he asks.

Blinking open your eyes, you answer breathily, “Yes. You’re just really good at that—wait, why is there gum in my mouth?” you ask, chewing it. 

When did he slip it in?

In the lowlights of the radio, you can see him smiling as he laughs, and you’re almost positive this is the first time you’ve heard such a wonderful sound, determined to hear it again. 

“You’re adorable,” you say, cranking down your window, spitting out the wad, and rolling it up again. “And I’m positive you’re going to be the death of me.” 

His hand guides your chin to make you look at him, a serious look on his face. “I’m not gonna be the death of you,” he replies.

“With how much I like you, how hot you are, and the way you kiss? I’m fucked.” 

“We’re both fucked.” 

When he finally starts driving, his hand holds yours on your thigh, confirming he’s a big physical touch person, always needing to be touching you. 

It’s quiet as he takes you out of the area you’re familiar with. For you, it’s because your stomach is aflutter with nerves, and you’re trying to figure out what’s going to happen, or really what you want to happen that night. How far do you want to take things? He said you’re the one who decides. How brave are you? 

The place you end up is unfamiliar to you, Javi parking along the curb and jumping out to come around and get your door. He’s smiling as he offers you a hand to help you out that you happily take, his eyes moving up and down your body when you stand in front of him. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, shutting the car door. 

It’s your turn to check him out, seeing he’s in criminally tight jeans, a maroon button-up, and a black leather jacket. 

“You’re pretty handsome yourself.” 

“Thanks. I promised you a drink.”

“Yes, you did.”

Your purse is dangling on your shoulder, Javi taking your hand as he leads you down the sidewalk, past a bakery and a little mini-mart, until you arrive at your destination. It’s a tiny neighborhood bar, the wooden sign above naming it La Sirenita.

“Is the owner a big Disney fan?” you ask before entering. 

“What?” His eyebrows scrunch together, his free hand ready to pull open the door. 

“It’s called ‘The Little Mermaid,’ like the Disney movie from a few years ago,” you explain. 

“I haven’t seen that… It’s named La Sirenita because the owner used to work on a fishing boat and swears when he fell overboard once, a mermaid saved him.” 

“That’s basically the plot of the movie…” 

His eyebrow rose. 

“Florecita, this bar has been here for twenty fucking years. He didn’t name it after some dumb kid’s cartoon.” 

“The Little Mermaid is a masterpiece of cinema, thank you very much. Now, let’s get inside.” 

As you expected, the inside has artist's renderings on the walls of mermaids, and over the bar is a fishing net. Seats line the bar top, and there are a few tables and a few booths. The place is not too terribly busy, spotting one empty two-person table in a corner. It’s not very loud, with people talking and laughing, music playing in the background at a reasonable volume. All in all, the atmosphere is lovely. 

“Do you wanna go have a seat, and I’ll grab our drinks?” he asks, nodding toward the empty table you spotted. 

“Sure,” you answer, telling him what you’d like. 

There’s no one here you recognize, which makes you breathe easily, hanging your purse on the back of your chair with your jacket, sitting down, and looking around the room. A few minutes later, Javi arrives with the drinks, not even a little surprised he got a whiskey for himself. 

He’s in the seat across from you, taking a sip while you stare into your glass. 

“I’m going to be honest with you,” you say. “This is technically my second date.” 

His hand reaches to grab yours on the table, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. 

“I don’t date either. Fuck, I’ve been in one relationship? And it was a fucking nightmare.” 

Lifting your head, you ask, “So, you’re not interested in dating or being in a relationship? It’s okay if you’re just looking for something casual without commitment.” 

You’ll take him any way you can get him. 

“Shit.” His eyes close tightly, pressing his fingers to his brow. “I already fucked up. I should’ve said, ‘I didn’t date until now,’ and I am interested in being in a relationship with someone right for me. The last person… wasn’t.” 

Hope rises in you. 

“Okay. That’s good to know.” 

His hand drops, gaze meeting yours. “Are you interested in all that? Or just wanting something casual?” 

“I’m interested in dating and a relationship. I’ve never been in one, but I think I can figure it out.” 

He smiles, his hand tightening around yours. “You can,” he replies. 

You hide your own smile by taking a drink and setting it back down after some seconds. 

“What do you want to talk about?” you ask. 

“I wanna hear your story.” 

“It’s awfully boring compared to yours.” 

“I don’t care. I wanna hear it.” 

“Fine.” 

And you give him a rundown of your family—divorced parents who remarried, and now you have a handful of younger half-siblings. Graduated from high school, went to college, and got a degree in business, and you’re in your current job because the pay and benefits are decent, and it puts you on a different continent than your family. He, of course, inquires why that’s a good thing, to which you have to explain they always need something from you—money, favors, your time, but can never help when you’re in need. Thus, you moved far away to make it so they couldn’t use you anymore. 

The glasses in front of you both become empty, so he gets each of you another drink. 

Then it’s his turn to share—he loves his family, misses his mom, and talks to his dad at least once a week; he does know how to ride a horse and does not like wearing cowboy hats but loves the boots and wears them when he’s feeling a little homesick. He doesn't bother telling you all of his history with the DEA because you pretty much know all of it. However, he does give you the details about his failed relationship with a woman named Lorraine from his hometown, who treated him like shit, and claimed to be pregnant when he tried to leave her so he’d have to marry her. Luckily, he discovered the lie the night before the wedding and left her at the altar, which he recognizes was a shitty thing to do, telling you he apologized to her the last time he was home.

Things get more lighthearted when he tells you stories about cooking with his mom growing up and her teaching him, getting flirty about his skills. 

“I make a good breakfast,” he tells you, winking as he takes a drink. 

It feels hot in the room, stifling almost, gulping while your eyes look anywhere else than at him, trying to figure out in your flustered state how to respond. 

“I bet you make a good breakfast,” is what comes out, your eyes rounding. 

“You’ll have to try it and let me know.” Your gaze latches onto his, seeing him smirking. His lips are shiny from his whiskey, and all you can think about is kissing them and tasting it on him. 

“Come here,” he says, pushing back in his chair. The second drink in your system gives you the courage to get up and walk around the table, letting him pull you down to sit across his lap with your legs dangling over the side. His arm locks around your back, his other hand stroking your cheek. 

The tip of his nose rubs against yours. 

“You wanna kiss me?” he purrs. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

“Then do it.” 

Crushing your mouth to his, your fingers end up in his hair, surprised by the softness. The kissing heats when he presses his tongue between your lips, tasting the whiskey when it tangles with your own. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or him, or a combination of it both, but your skin feels so hot you’re wishing there were no clothes on your body. Your lungs start to ache, and his mouth moves to your jaw so you can take a deep breath. 

“What do you want?” he asks between kisses. 

“You,” you gasp. 

“You wanna get out of here?”

The throbbing you’re feeling between your legs has you answer immediately, “Yes.” 

His hand, not on your back, moves down to grab the side of your ass while he sucks on your pulse point, the sensation making you moan.

“There’s just a bit of a problem,” you force out, trying to ignore the burning arousal in your belly. 

His head rises to look you in the eyes, his mouth turned down in a frown. 

“I’ve got condoms,” he says quickly. “And I’m clean—got tested recently.” 

“That’s wonderful?” you reply, unsure how to respond. “I’m on birth control? But the problem has nothing to do with preventing babies and STDs…” 

“What’s the problem…?”

There’s no way you can look at him, so you close your eyes. 

“It’s a problem I’m really hoping you can help me with, actually, if you’re willing.” 

“What is it?” 

“I’ve, um, never had sex?” you say in a hushed voice. “And it’d be great if you could fix that…” 

There’s still chatter, laughter, and music happening around you, but in the little bubble of the two of you, it’s silent—which goes on for too long, and you open your eyes to see a gobsmacked look on Javier’s face. 

“Javi?” 

“Never?” he asks, barely above a whisper. 

“Never.” 

He must regain his bearings because he asks, “But you’ve fooled around with people, right?” 

“I’ve done some kissing and rubbing over clothes?” 

There was an almost drunken hookup in college, but you chickened out. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. 

“If this is too much pressure, you can tap out. I just trust you and know you’ll do it right and take care of me.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. Zero hesitation.” 

He nods his head. “Okay, I’ll do it, but if you change your mind at all, you tell me.” 

A thrill runs through you. 

“Of course.” 

“Good.” 

“One other thing…” 

“Yes?” 

“I’ve also never orgasmed…” 

That has him harshly whispering, “What?!” A look of disbelief on his face. “Don’t you touch yourself?” 

“Not really,” you reply, shrugging. “I could never really figure it out.” 

“Get up.” He pushes you to stand from his lap. “We’re leaving right now.” He gets up, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, tossing some cash onto the table while you grab your purse and jacket. His billfold is back where it belongs, and he takes your hand, pulling you out of the bar in a hurry. 

He’s driving fast once you’re both belted into his Jeep. 

“What is going on, Javier?” you ask. “Why are you being so intense about my lack of orgasms?”

His hand is gripping your thigh. 

“Because it’s not right you haven’t had one, and I need to fix that immediately.” 

“Maybe slow down, so we make it to your apartment safely?” 

He slows a tiny bit, and you count it as a win. 

His apartment building is definitely away from where you knew the other employees were housed and much nicer. He parks beneath the building in the parking garage and leads you to an elevator that requires him to enter a code in a keypad before it will work, your eyes bulging when he hits the number for the top floor. 

“I had them put me in the nicest place they could find with the budget they had for my housing,” he explains without you asking, standing beside you with his arm around your waist. “They offered me a house, but I preferred the security of this place.” There’d been a gate you had to come through to get onto the property. 

“It’s way nicer than my dingy apartment.” 

“I used to live in your apartments back in the day.”

Your eyebrow lifts. “Back in the day? It was literally, what? Maybe two or so years ago.” 

“Yeah, back in the day when I was nothing but a dumb DEA agent.” 

“Who helped take down Pablo Escobar… The Los Pepes shit was dumb, but you still made a difference.” 

“I guess.” You can hear him frowning. 

Turning your head toward him, he meets your eyes. 

“You made a difference, and now that you’re in charge, you’re gonna take out those Cali cartel fuckers, too.” 

A little smile curls up on his mouth. “Maybe.”

“You will.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me.” 

“Because you’re an amazing man who’s good at his job and actually gives a shit—you’re gonna do it, and I’ll celebrate with you when you do.” 

The elevator dings as the doors open, both of you walking out into a hallway, following as he goes to the right. 

“You’ll have a drink with me at the office?” 

“Sure, if that’s how you wanna celebrate.” 

Arriving at his door, he digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks both locks. 

“How did you imagine we’d celebrate?” he asks, stepping inside and welcoming you in. 

The front door is closed and locked behind you while you use the wall beside it for balance to take off your heels, Javi already kicking off his boots and hanging up his jacket on a nearby coat rack. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, getting one shoe off, then the other. “Aren’t celebratory blow jobs a thing?” you ask as you straighten and face him, passing him your purse and coat, which he hangs up with his jacket. 

His eyes narrow. 

“You said you’ve never fooled around with anyone?” 

“Yeah?” Your arms cross in front of you. “I haven’t—I shouldn’t know different sex acts because I’m inexperienced? I’m a virgin, not a prude, and a very curious virgin who’s watched porn.” 

“...And you didn’t touch yourself?” 

“Watching the porn? I tried. Like I said, I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe I was thinking too hard?” 

“Maybe. I’ll get you there. Come on, baby,” he says, retaking your hand and leading you through his massive apartment that has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in the living and dining rooms. The place is sparse in terms of decorations and sticks to neutral colors—white, beige, and black. There’s furniture, of course, and a television in the living room, along with a bookcase with some books on it that you walk past into a hallway you assume leads to the bedroom. 

“How many bedrooms do you have?” you ask. 

“Two, but I converted the guest room into an office.” 

“You work too much.” 

“You got a better idea of what I can do with my time?” he asks over his shoulder. 

“Assuming you fuck as good as you kiss, yeah.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he faces forward. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” 

His bedroom is spacious, featuring another wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and also sticks to a neutral color scheme; his neatly made bed is king-size with bedside tables on either side and lamps atop them, spotting a dresser, a closet, and a door you assume leads to an en suite—the pièce de résistance that really pulls the place together are the panels of mirrors directly over the bed. 

“I like the horny—”

“They came with the apartment,” he cuts you off.

“Well, if you hate the mirror, why don’t you move the bed?” There’s enough room for him to place it somewhere else. 

Standing at the end of his massive bed, he turns to you, his dark eyes on yours. 

“Because I’d like a chance to use it.” His tongue peeks between his lips. 

“Wait, you haven’t fucked in here?” You have a hard time believing that. 

He sighs. “When would I have time?” he asks. “I’m always fucking busy or too fucking tired—I hate saying it, but I’m getting old.” 

“Javi, you’re not even forty. You’re not old.” 

“I feel old.” He pouts. 

Taking a step forward to press your body into his, you rub your hands up his chest. 

“Well, I think you’re young and sexy, and I’d love to use the mirror with you.” 

He’s crookedly smiling, his hands on your hips. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can I take off your clothes?” 

“Sure.” 

The nerves are back with a vengeance. 

Capturing your lips in a kiss, his palms move up your back, easily working down the zipper on your dress and helping to get it off your arms, where it falls, pooling around your feet. His mouth makes a wet path along your jaw while his fingers unhook your black lacy bra, where it quickly joins your dress—you’d been thankful you had one set of cute matching lingerie, Javi’s mouth moving down your neck to your chest. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, placing a soft kiss over your thudding heart. 

“Yes,” you answer, confused about where to put your hands, so you rest them on your waist. “You can, um, touch me anywhere. I don’t mind.” 

He takes your tits into his hands, lightly massaging them while kissing the tops. When he sucks a pebbled nipple between his lips, you gasp at the shock of pleasure that shoots to your cunt—it feels so good as he sucks and nibbles at the hard bud, moving to the other to give it the same attention, your fingers ending up in his hair, unable to keep from moaning. 

You can feel your heart beating at the apex of your eyes, your panties feeling wet, and your desire thrumming in your core. 

His hot mouth continues its worship of your breasts, Javier grabbing your dominant hand and moving it down your body and under the elastic of your panties, having you slide two fingers through your wet slit. 

His lips leave you. “Feel how wet you are?” he asks, having you make another pass. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes closed. 

“Does it feel good, Hermosa (beautiful)?” 

“Yes.” 

“While I suck on your gorgeous tits, I want you to rub right here.” He places two of your fingertips over your clit. “Do what feels good, but don’t be too gentle.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Here.” Slowly, he has you start circling the nub, your breath catching in your throat. “It feels good,” he says, and you agree. “But you’re being too nice. Go faster and apply more pressure—don’t be afraid to fuck it up.” With that, you do as he instructed, your fingers rubbing furiously against your bundle of nerves. 

“Oh my god,” you moan at the pleasure coiling inside you. 

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Keep doing that for me, baby.” 

His mouth goes back to your breasts, and you feel like you’re losing your mind at how amazing the combined sensations feel. An odd tightening is happening in your center, getting tighter and tighter as every second passes. 

“Something,” you gasp. “Something feels weird.” 

His lips come off you with a pop.

“That’s good, Florecita. It means you’re close. Keep going, baby. Keep rubbing that pretty little clit and make yourself come. I want you to be my good girl and come for me.” 

Whenever he calls you his ‘good girl,’ a pleasant tingle moves down your spine. 

He’s back to sucking on your nipple while he rolls the other between his fingers, and the coil in your belly is winding so tight, it feels like something is going to happen, and it does—the coil snaps, and suddenly euphoria is overtaking your body feeling it spreading out from your center to your fingers and toes, Javier having to catch you when your legs give out, hugging you against him. 

“There it is,” he murmurs in your hair. “My good fucking girl coming for me. I knew you’d do it. Fuck, you’re amazing.” 

It takes you a minute to think a coherent thought and another to remember how to speak. 

“I know this is only our first date,” your words are coming out slurred, “but I don’t wanna let you go, like ever. I really like you, and it’s not because you helped me come.” 

“I don’t wanna let you go, either.” He kisses your head, hugging you tighter. “You wanna see where this will go?” 

“You mean I can be your secret girlfriend?” 

He snorts. “I’ll take you any fucking way I can get you—if I have to, I can switch you out with someone else’s secretary, and then it won’t be an issue.” 

“You’d hate that.” 

“I’d fucking hate that.” 

“Let’s date in secret—that sounds fun. Having rendezvous’, making out in storage rooms, fucking in your office—”

“Fucking in my office?” 

“The door’s got a lock. Lunchtime quickies. Especially on days when you’re stressed.” 

“You’re perfect.” 

“I’m horny, and I’d really like to see what you can do with this.” Your palm rubs over the front of his jeans, feeling him hard and straining against the zipper. 

He groans, and the sound goes straight to your pussy. 

“Can you stand?” he asks. 

Your legs are working fine now, putting all your weight on them. 

“Yeah.” 

His arms loosen around you to meet your gaze. 

“Do you wanna undress me?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “Am I allowed to touch you?” 

“You can do any fucking thing you want to me.” 

His answer makes you smile. “How romantic.” 

It’s a little nerve-wracking having his attention on you as you work open the buttons on his shirt, his hands soothingly rubbing over your bare hips. 

“Relax,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips are at your ear as you finish unbuttoning him and untuck his button-up from his jeans. “You’re doing good.” His breath tickles your skin. “All you’re doing is getting my clothes off.”

He calms you, but now you’re trying to figure out the logistics of getting the shirt off him. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculously broad?”

He huffs in amusement, standing to his full height to look at your face while he smiles. 

“No one has told me that.”

Now, you’re able to push the button-up off his shoulders and pull it to fall from his arms onto the floor. 

There’s a lot of golden skin in front of you, your eyes taking in the freckles, and his soft belly with the tantalizing trail of hair below his navel leading down into his jeans. 

“I’ve always wondered what you were hiding under those suits,” you murmur, rubbing your hands along the warm skin of his shoulders, down his chest, to his stomach. “And I’m not disappointed.”

“I love how you look naked, too.”

The comment makes you duck your head, feeling heat creep up your neck. 

His fingers go under your chin, tilting your face up to see his warm expression. 

“I mean it,” he says. “You’re beautiful, and I need you to believe me.”

The truth is clear in his eyes, yet it’s hard to accept he thinks that.

“I know you’re not lying to me.” Your gaze shifts to stare over his shoulder at the bare cream-colored wall. “No one’s ever wanted me,” you say quietly. “No one ever looked at me as more than a friend. My first date? Was with this guy I was best friends with from elementary through high school. I was madly in love with him, and he saw me as nothing more than the sister he never had. We only went on the date because it was our senior prom, and neither of us had dates, so we went together. No one has ever wanted me.” 

“I want you,” he replies with conviction, so there’s no doubt. “I want you, all of you.” 

It makes you sigh. “And that honestly is insane to me.” 

“I’m not liking whatever this shit is where you think I’m too attractive for you, or whatever the fuck it is,” he says, his hands going to his belt, hearing him unbuckling it. Your eyes flick back to his, and you’re greeted with the grumpy expression you’re used to seeing at work. He pops open the button on his jeans, and you hear the teeth pull apart as he unzips them, making you gulp. 

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“What?” His face pinches in confusion, pushing his pants down, and you can’t help but look—he’s not wearing underwear. Bobbing between his legs is his sizable hard-on that has your eyes rounding at wondering how it would fit inside you. “No, I’m not mad at you, baby—fuck, the way you’re staring at my dick is driving me crazy.” He steps out of his jeans and does the awkward dance of getting his socks off. 

“I’m trying to figure out how you’re gonna get that thing inside me.” 

He chuckles, his bare feet planted on the floor, putting his hands on his hips. 

“I’ll tell you, and you can keep touching me if you want, but first—” He closes the distance to have your bodies practically touching, his dick pressing into your stomach, while his palms come up to hold your cheeks, your own going over his. “—creo que eres hermosa y te deseo (I think you’re beautiful and I want you). Eres muy hermosa (You’re very beautiful). Te he deseado por mucho tiempo, y no sabes lo feliz que estoy de finalmente tenerte (I’ve wanted you for a long time and you don’t know how happy I am to finally have you).” 

“¿En serio (Really)?” you ask. 

“Sí (Yes).” He nods. “Estaba chingado desde la primera vez que te vi (I was fucked from the first time I saw you.”

“No, estás mintiendo (No, you’re lying).” 

“Sabes que no lo estoy y tu también estabas igual de chingada cuando me conociste (You know I’m not and you were also just as fucked when you met me). Admítelo (Admit it).”

“Por supuesto que estaba y aparentemente fui muy obvio al respecto (Of course I was, and apparently I was very obvious about it).”

He grins, and an adorable dimple appears in his cheek. “Así era yo (So was I).” 

Your eyes narrow. “How were you obvious, Javier?” 

He gives you a look. “Remember when I had that meeting with HR, uh, a month or so ago?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Apparently, people are under the impression we’re fucking.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, caught me off guard, too. I guess I treat you differently than everyone else and act differently.” He shrugs. “I told them we just have a close professional relationship, and I’d do nothing untoward to jeopardize it.” 

“You say with your hard dick jabbing me.” Reaching down, you wrap your fingers around him, Javi’s mouth falling open—he’s hot to the touch, hard like steel, and smooth as velvet, slowly stroking him. 

His throat works as he swallows. “Got them off my ass.” 

“Good, now tell me how you’re getting this—” You squeeze him, and he groans. “—into me.” 

“Fuck, if you’ll let me, I’ll eat your pussy and use my fingers to loosen you up. Once I think you’re ready, I’ll get some lube to make fucking you as painless as possible.” 

“You want to go down on me?” 

He’s smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. 

“I’d love to go down on you. I wanna see how you taste,” he answers with a wink. 

It makes arousal stir in your belly at the thought. 

“Okay. I’d like that.” 

His lips descend on yours, kissing you while his hands grab your waist to turn you both so your back is to the bed, guiding you until your legs bump into it. One moment, his mouth is on yours, and the next, it’s not when he lifts you by the thighs onto the mattress with a grunt, pushing you further onto it. 

“Head on the pillow in the middle,” he orders, tapping your hip. 

Crawling back, you do as he says, Javi climbing up after you.

He’s on his knees, the bed dipping as he moves toward you, his big hands latching around your calves to spread your legs. He picks up one, bending and turning his head to kiss your inner ankle, keeping his eyes on yours while his lips blaze a trail along your leg to your knee. It feels like electricity is under your skin where he touches, it prickling, his mustache tickling you and making you squirm a little. He brings the other leg up and makes the same journey from ankle to knee that has you biting your lip and wishing he’d touch you where you are pulsing. 

His eyes are so dark hardly any of the familiar chocolate brown remains, excitement bubbling in you when he opens your legs further apart and moves to lie between them, setting them up on his broad shoulders. You’re still wearing your lacy panties, and he shoves his beautiful nose into them, feeling as he inhales deeply and groans, his head moving side to side, nudging your clit, the sensation causing you to dig your fingers into the bedding. 

He must get to the point where he can’t wait any longer, sitting up enough to tug your underwear down and off one leg before he’s back in position. For some odd reason, you suddenly feel self-conscious, shy, and embarrassed about being completely nude, hiding your eyes behind your hands. 

Javi rubs along your sides in comfort. 

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks gently. 

“No,” you answer. 

“Is it being naked?” 

“Yes.” 

“I love your body, and I’ve told you I think you’re beautiful. Would you be more comfortable wearing one of my shirts?”

“Um, yeah, but I want to do this naked. It’s just new...” 

“Don’t force yourself,” he replies, kissing your inner thigh. 

This tiny conversation has made you feel much better, lowering your hands. Staring at the ceiling, you can see your naked body, and Javi’s lying between your legs in the mirror. 

“I’m not.” Sitting up on your elbows, you want to look at him, a reassuring smile on your face. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

His eyes lock on yours. 

“Promise me, you’ll stop me if I do something you don’t like.” 

“I promise.” 

“Good girl,” he purrs, and you shiver. 

With two fingers, he spreads open the lips of your pussy, and looks at it with a hungry gaze, wetting his lips like he can’t wait to taste. 

“So fucking pretty,” he says. “I’m gonna make you feel good—need to get you really wet.” 

Suddenly, you watch his jaw flex, him spitting onto your clit, you gasping at the warm saliva slowly dripping down toward your entrance. A loud moan leaves you when he dives in, his tongue licking a hot stripe up through your center, feeling the vibrations of his groans. It’s different, odd, new, and you can’t get enough. He has to lock an arm over your stomach to keep you from moving as he goes to work, lapping all over your folds, tracing every bit of your sensitive skin to get all your arousal from the source. 

“You taste so good,” his words are said against your cunt. 

Heat races up your spine as he sucks your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it with his pleasure-addled gaze on yours—it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and it’s so good, every nerve in your body alight in bliss, your belly starting to tighten. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “It feels so good. I think you’re gonna make me come again.” 

Your heels dig into his back, your toes curl, fisting your hands in the comforter for something to hold on to while your thighs tremble. Somehow, he just knows how to take you apart, finding a rhythm that’s turning you into a mess.  

There are a few seconds where his mouth leaves you to suck on his fingers before he goes right back to working you over; your jaw’s slack, your skin’s heated, and there’s tension in your belly that’s rapidly growing. He carefully starts pressing one thick digit inside you, your eyes snapping shut as you whimper at the new sensation, so tight he has to wiggle it in order to get all the way in—his tongue is teasingly flicking over your sensitive bundle of nerves and counteracting the slight discomfort of his finger, eliciting soft sounds from your parted lips.

It takes some time to get used to the foreign feeling, it slowly turning into pleasure and fanning the growing flames in your tummy. Sucking hard on your clit, another digit slips inside, your body jerking at the intrusion and the stretch it causes, whimpering. 

“Relax, baby,” he says. “Your pretty little pussy is taking my fingers so well.” 

His mouth is back on you, and it’s a tight fit for his fingers, but thankfully, you’re wet enough it eases in, and he languidly works them until your body relaxes, and he’s easily pumping them in and out of you. 

It’s embarrassing how he reduces you to a mewling mess with how amazing he’s making you feel. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” his muffled voice says into your pussy. 

His mouth, his fingers, your stomach is bunching up into tight knots, knowing it will not take much more to get you there—it’s insane that before today, you’d never been able to make yourself come, and here’s this man on the precipice of making you orgasm for a second time.

You’re ruined. 

He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

His fingers twist and scissor to stretch you out, making you whimper, grabbing his hand on your tummy that he squeezes back. He crooks his digits, and on the next pass, he slides against something that has your back arching and eyes blurring with stars, moaning his name loudly. 

“There it is,” he groans into your skin. “Come for me, Florecita. Give me another.” 

His arm is like a band of iron holding you down as you writhe. 

It’s all too much—what he’s doing to you, hearing the squelching of his fingers, the obscene slurping noises, and the rough sounds coming from his throat. Your body is quivering uncontrollably, and then you’re shattering, falling back onto the pillow with your arms giving out, pleasure surging through you as you come with a silent cry. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, your brain a blissful haze. 

His face comes up, his voice a rough rasp, “Good girl.” His fingers are still working inside you. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come.” 

Your eyes are closed, riding out the high, and you’re starting to believe he actually does think you’re beautiful. Was there a tiny voice in the back of your head telling you he was saying all the sweet things just to get into your pants? Yes. But you’re almost positive he genuinely has feelings for you and does find you attractive. He’s given you so many opportunities to back out and offered to let you wear one of his shirts so you’d be more comfortable—guys who only want to get laid aren’t that kind. 

Javier obviously cares about you, which has you feeling over the moon. 

You’re coming down, your body starting to relax, and your heartbeat slowing. 

“Come up here and kiss me,” you say, sounding drunk and doing grabby hands at him. 

He chuckles, his fingers slipping out of you, and he gets out from under your legs. His mouth ghosts a trail of kisses over the soft skin of your belly to your chest and along your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake until his hips are resting between your thighs and his face is over yours, smelling your musk on him. 

“You’re gonna boss me around at work and home?” he asks, kissing your chin, the question causing your heart to skip a beat.

At work and home. 

“Maybe.” You wrap your arms around him, feeling his hard cock pressing into your belly. “Someone's gotta do it.” 

“Mmm, I like it when you boss me around.” He kisses your cheek. 

“Kiss me.” 

His lips press to your other cheek, your eyes opening to glare at him. 

“I said kiss me,” you order. 

“I am kissing you.” A peck to your jaw. 

You pinch his ass, and he chuckles. “Please kiss me on the mouth.” 

He’s smiling. “I can do that.” 

His lips claim yours in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, running your fingers through his hair and moaning at tasting yourself on him. His tongue plunders your mouth, licking the edges of your teeth and tangling with your own, Javi’s hips slowly rutting into you to ease his throbbing dick leaking on your skin. There’s an ache you’re feeling deep in your core that needs to be filled, and you know he’s the only one who can ease it. 

Coming up for air, he kisses along your jaw, nibbling on your chin. 

“Javi?” his name comes out breathy. 

Immediately, his head moves into your vision with a look of concern.  

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I want you to fuck me.” Your lip pulls between your teeth.

“Are you sure? I can finger you some more.” 

Smiling, you stroke his cheek. “Javi, please fuck me.” 

“Okay.” He nods. “Let me grab a condom and some lube.” He starts to move, and you stop him by grabbing his arm. 

“You’re clean?” you ask. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m on birth control—it helps with my periods. I’m obviously clean, too, and okay without the condom if you are.” 

His eyes go a little wide, and he swallows hard. “You’d let me fuck you bare?” 

“I trust you and want to know what it feels like without the barrier. Is that okay?” 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re on birth control?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “The pills are in my purse if you want proof.”

“I believe you. Shit, yeah, it’s okay. I’m kicking myself in the ass right now for not asking you out sooner.” 

“Because you could’ve been having a lot of condomless sex?” you ask with an arched brow. 

He frowns. “I care about more than sex,” he answers defensively. “You know I care about more than sex, right? I’d be happy with cuddling with you in bed or on the couch and talking if you didn’t want to fuck right now—hell, I’d be happy falling asleep with you. It’s as long as you’re with me, and I wish I would’ve asked you out sooner so I could’ve had more time with you outside of work.” 

What he says makes you feel like you’re floating—you knew his feelings were genuine. 

“Oh, I know you care about more than sex,” you reply right away. “To be honest, you’re very dreamy, Javier. Like, you make me swoon. I’ve thought about investing in a fainting couch.” He snorts. “But, seriously—” Your palm presses to his jaw. “I know you care about more than sex. I mean, there was that time you had soup delivered to my apartment when I was sick, and now that I know where you live geographically, you had to drive really out of your way to carpool with me for that one week.” When the usual person you rode with was out with a bad flu. 

“That was a good week.” He smiles, turning his head to kiss your palm. “And the flowers.” 

Your eyebrows crease. “What flowers?” 

His eyes sparkle. “The bouquet on your birthday.” 

“The mystery bouquet was you?” you ask in disbelief. 

It’d been a large, beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers whose card only wished you a happy birthday with no name or idea of who’d sent them. 

“Yeah.” 

“Javier, you ridiculously sweet man.” Sitting up, you kiss him, something tender and loving. Breaking apart, you say, “Okay, now I can see how you obviously like me. I have no idea how I missed it.” 

His lips turned down, Javi sighing. “You didn’t see it ‘cause you convinced yourself I wouldn’t be interested in you.” 

“And the whole you being my boss and figuring you wouldn’t break the rules. Now I’ve learned not to make assumptions.”

“Fuck the rules.”

“Aren’t you the rebel. What do you want to do?” 

He looks confused. “Huh?” 

“All night, you’ve been focusing on me, and I want to know what you want to do. Would you prefer cuddling naked and talking, or do you wanna have sex?” 

“Sex,” he answers immediately, making you giggle. 

“Which are you more excited about, taking my virginity or fucking me bare?” 

“Fucking without a condom. I’m happy I get to be your first so I can make sure it’s good for you, but I’m really fucking excited to be inside you with nothing on.” 

“I’m really excited to feel you inside me with nothing on, and I’m happy you’re my first, too. I wanted you to do it because I knew you’d take care of me.”

What you say makes him smile. “I am. Let me get what I need.” Quickly, he pecks you on the lips before moving off of you, the mattress jostling as he heads toward the bedside table on the left side of the bed. He’s stretching and reaching inside the drawer, returning to you with a small bottle, kneeling between your spread legs. “I’m just gonna use my fingers to make sure you’re ready,” he says, popping the cap and slicking up his digits. 

Looking in the mirror above, you watch and feel as he presses in one that goes in easily, then a second. His attention is on you, his focus alternating between his fingers buried inside your wet cunt, and the expressions your face is making as he slides in a third that stretches you more than before and really tests your limits, reveling in the burn. His other hand is rubbing your thigh. “Relax, baby,” he says, pushing them in and out and spreading them. There’s a thin layer of sweat on your skin, and it takes a second for you to do as he told you. “Do you still want me to fuck you?” he asks. 

You nod your head in answer. 

“Words, Florecita. I need to hear it.” 

“Yes, Javi. I want you.” More than anything, you leave out. 

“I think you’re ready.” He removes his hand. “If it hurts too much or you want me to stop, tell me, and I will immediately. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Javi.” 

“Good girl.” 

The bottle being opened sounds again, seeing Javi in the mirror stroking lube onto his hard shaft, it glistening in the lights of the room. Your heart is hammering in your chest over what’s about to happen, nerves fluttering all about in your tummy so rapidly you think they might get out. 

He shuffles forward a little, rubbing the tip of his cock through the wetness between your folds. 

“Are you ready?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

It’s sweet that he moves to have his body over yours, holding himself on one arm beside your head while the other hand notches himself at your entrance—he distracts you by pressing his soft lips against yours in a searing kiss as he slowly starts sliding into you. He has you moaning into his mouth as he fills you, your tight walls stretching around him to accommodate his girth, digging your fingernails into his shoulders. Surprisingly, there’s no pain; Instead, you’re wondering how much more of him you can take with how insanely full you already feel when he’s barely halfway in. 

When his hips finally meet yours, you can’t breathe. 

It’s almost too much for you and bordering on overwhelming. 

The kiss ends, his eyes searching yours while his words come out strained, noticing the sweat on his brow, his bangs sticking to his forehead, “Are you okay?”

Finally, you suck in air. “So big,” you gasp. 

He looks worried. “Is it too much? Do you want me to pull out?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “I just need a second.”

“Okay.” He kisses the tip of your nose, then sweetly nuzzles his face against yours. “You feel better than I imagined. I could stay like this for hours, having your tight little pussy warming my dick. You’re so fucking tight and wet, squeezing me like a goddamn vice. Once I get going, I don’t know how long I’m gonna last ‘cause this perfect cunt is gonna milk me dry.” 

Everything he’s saying has arousal thrumming in your veins, your body getting used to having him inside you to the point you need him to do something, anything at all.  

“Move,” you tell him. 

His eyes meet yours, a flush covering his cheeks. “Okay.” He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, then the other, your heels resting at the small of his back. You can feel the splay of muscle under your calves work as he does an experimental roll of his hips, the angle putting pressure on your clit, pulling a moan from your throat at the pleasure. 

“You feel so good,” his voice is breathy. “So fucking perfect.” He’s thrusting slowly, and you can tell he’s holding himself back, his face ending up in the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking perfect and beautiful.” He groans, and the sound makes you clench, him pausing with a hiss. “Shit, don’t do that, or this will end quickly.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay.” He kisses your cheek. “Fuck, when you come, you’re probably taking me with you.” 

That has a thrill rolling through you. 

He starts back up again, going slow, languid, feeling every ridge and vein on his cock as it presses into spots of bliss you weren’t even aware existed—the beginning of an orgasm is starting to take shape in your center, your toes curled up tight and needing more to get yourself there.

“Faster,” you say.  

Gradually, he picks up speed until there’s a wet slap of skin against skin, and he’s grunting in your ear, his thrusts steady, hard, and fast, the muscles in your belly tightening. All you can do is hang onto his shoulders, your mouth open as his name spills from it in gasping moans, chanting it over and over again. He’s pushing in so deep you’re sure he’s rearranging your guts in order to make himself fit.

His dick is moving in and out of you at a punishing pace, flooding your system with pleasure, unable to think about anything else except how you’re being wrecked by the man above you. 

In the mirror on the ceiling, you can see him fucking you—the way the muscles in his back are moving just under his golden skin, the glistening layer of perspiration shining in the light, the redness on his shoulders from your nails scratching at them, and add in the sounds—the rhythmic bang of his headboard hitting the wall, the mattress springs squeaking beneath you both, the wet suck of him working his cock in and out of your pussy, his rough noises, and your softer ones; it’s all utterly obscene and rocketing you toward your release with how it turns you on. 

One time, and you’re addicted. 

You want Javi to show you more—try out different positions and teach you new things, wanting to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel right this second. This has awakened something in you that’s hungry, and you want to feed it. 

His strong arm wraps around your back, and you squeak in surprise when he rolls you both so you’re on top, keeping himself buried to the hilt in your sopping cunt. Your knees are bracketing his hips, hands on his chest for leverage, and Javi doesn’t make you think about what you need to do; his large palms grab your ass, using his strength to work you up and down his slick cock. 

Somehow, he’s deeper like this, your mouth falling open, and helping him by rising and falling on your own as you keen. 

Sweat is coating both of you, seeing drops caught in Javi’s happy trail, loving the flush that starts on his chest and moves up his neck to his cheeks, the flexed muscles in his arms defined—from the look on his face you’d think he’s in pain, his eyes glazed over in lust and shifting between watching you ride him and looking up at the mirror. It gives you the idea to lean back and hold yourself up with your hands on his thighs to give him a better view as you bounce in his lap. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re fucking gorgeous taking my dick so well,” he says the words through panted breaths. Your climax is near, getting closer and closer with every deep kiss of his cock inside you. “Are you gonna come for me? Are you gonna let me feel you come around my dick? You gonna take me with you? Come on, Florecita, give it to me.” 

His calloused thumb circles your clit so perfectly that it has you falling over the edge, coming with a loud moan of his name, laying forward onto him. Your inner walls tighten around him, hearing Javi groan, euphoria exploding out from your core to spread to your limbs, your mind going blissfully blank. 

Javier firmly grips your ass, grunting as his hips thrust upwards frantically to chase his own high. 

He says something you don’t register, a sharp slap to your asscheek quickly following to get your attention. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Gonna come,” he says through his teeth. “Need you to get off.” 

That made little sense to you since you discussed how you’re on the pill. 

“Come inside me.” 

A pained noise leaves him, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, are you sure?” 

“Yes, come inside me, Javi.” 

His orgasm must catch him off guard with how long and strained his moan is as he comes, his hands pulling you down hard and flush against him—it surprising you how you’re able to feel his cock thicken and jerk, the hot spurts of his spend filling and coating your inner depths. 

His chest is rising and falling hard beneath you, welcoming his arms that hug you close to his body, your face tucked into his neck and content on where you’re at, not wanting to move—with how your arms and legs feel like they’re made of Jell-O, there’s a chance you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

There’s no way your first time could've been better—it was perfect. 

Minutes pass as you both share in the relaxing post-coital bliss, your hand ending up in his hair where you play with the sweat-damp strands, Javi humming appreciatively. 

“How was it?” he finally asks, his voice rough. 

“Amazing,” you reply, not sounding any better.

His head turns, kissing your forehead. “Yeah?” 

“Oh, yeah. How long before you’re able to go again…?” 

A huff of air leaves his nose. “Am I in for a long night, Florecita?” 

“You’re in for a long weekend, Javier.” 

“One time, and you’re fucking insatiable,” he chuckles. 

“The one time was life-changing, and I want you to show me all the things I’ve been missing out on.” 

“Your pussy is probably gonna be sore tomorrow, and you won’t want me touching it.” 

There’s already an ache. 

“True, so tomorrow we can go over the art of sucking your dick and hand jobs?” 

He sounds amused, “We can do that, and I’ll make you breakfast.” 

“Yes, I’ve gotta have that breakfast.” 

“And I want to take you out to dinner.” 

It takes you a second to process what he said.

“Like on a date?” 

“Yes, Florecita. I want to take you out on a proper date.” 

Moving your face over his to meet his eyes, you reply, “Where will you take me so nobody from work will see us?” 

His hands rub over your back. 

“I know some places only locals go to. I can also take you to a different city if that will make you feel better.” 

“I trust you.”

A serious look came over his face, his hand coming up to slide along your cheek. 

“I’m really fucking busy with work,” he says. 

“I’m intimately aware.” 

He nods, sighing. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at being your boyfriend.” 

“Are you gonna cheat on me?” 

He looks offended. “What? No. If I’m with someone, I’m with them and them only.” 

“That’s good. When you’re not busy with work, will you want to spend time with me?” 

“Even when I'm working, I want to spend time with you.” 

“You’re so sweet,” you reply, pecking him on the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a busy man, Javi. The way I imagined this going down is we’d spend time together on lunches and breaks at work. I can either keep you company and rack up overtime at the office when you stay late, or we can come here for you to continue working, and I’ll do my best not to distract you.” 

There’s a curious expression on his face. “How would you distract me?” 

“I don’t know, maybe walk around your apartment in little to no clothing?” 

He wet his bottom lip. “I think I’ll start working after hours at home more…” 

His horniness makes you laugh. “You’re adorable. Then, on the rare occasions you actually have a night or day off, we’ll do stuff.” 

“It’s not gonna bother you we won’t have a traditional relationship?” 

“I’ve never been in one, so no,” you answer with a shrug. “I mean, we already spend basically all of our time together; this just changes our dynamic and means I can kiss you whenever I want.” 

He smiles. “Yes, you can.” His hand gently pulls you down for a kiss. Separating after some seconds, he says, “We need to get you cleaned up.” 

“Right.” You also needed to empty your bladder since that was important after sex. 

“There’s a huge fucking tub in my bathroom, so I’ll run us a bath, and afterward, I want you to drink some water and have a snack.”

“It’s surprising to me you have food here. I honestly thought you survived on coffee and cigarettes.” 

A sigh leaves him. “I usually remember to eat breakfast and dinner… The people who clean this place also buy my groceries, so yeah, I’ve got food here. I’ll make you something to eat.” 

“That’s very sweet of you,” you reply, kissing him briefly. “Thank you.” 

“And I’ll give you a tour—there’s not much, but I’ll show you everything.”

“I���d love that,” you say with a smile. 

“Then you can tell me what you want to do next.”

“I wanna rub your back.” With how tense he always is and the sounds he makes getting out of chairs, you know it has to bother him. 

His eyes get bigger. “Okay.”

“Work out some of that tension, and after, if you’re up for it, there’s this position I saw in a dirty movie where the woman was on her hands and knees, and the guy was just really giving it to her from behind and spanking her, and I wanna know what that’s like.” 

He’s staring blankly at you like his brain has stopped working. 

“Javi?”

It gets his attention. 

“When my job’s finished down here?” he says. 

“Yeah…?”

His hands cradle your face, his eyes staring deeply into yours. 

“I want you to come home with me, back to the States.” You didn’t expect him to say that. “I’ve had you by my side for months,” he continues, “and now that we’re together, I don’t want to go home without you.”  

“We just started dating…” 

“And I already know I’m going to marry you.” 

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

Tagging: @theorganasolo @nicolethered @nessamc @vanemando15 @fiscinthirst @melancholyy-hill @hnt-escape @sherala007 @jadesabre83 @rainbeaubrightchild @blub-senpai @pedrohoe04 @theherothesavior @captain-creampuff @javiersjeans @zetasaturno99 @amb11 @lovedbyth3sun @siidereeus @marvelousmermaid @mrszdjarin @themarcusmoreno @ms-loverman-066 @star-wars-fan-2005 @kissing-stars @chloeinpink @notyourlovemonkey @unofficialavenger90 @fictionismyreality @sheetsof-lennon @damnyoupedro @katareyoudrilling @iamskyereads @enjoyourlattebitch @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @theewokingdead @guess-my-next-obsession @pedrostories @deadhumourist

#pedro pascal #javier Peña #javier Peña/reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #wheresarizona writes

[stylesispunk]

Nothing's gonna hurt you baby | prologue

Detective! Javier peña x f! reader

summary: You were kidnapped one winter night, but you have no memories of the incident or the person who took you. A year later, a homicide leads Javier Peña to your door, seeking help. He soon learns that he must protect the woman he loves.

chapter warnings: mentions of kidnapping, death, angst. The story doesn't follow the plot from narcos, but the use of Javier as the main lead in this story.

w.c: 1,7k

a/n: So lately I've been reading a little bit of this kind of genre and I wanted to give it a try, I got inspired by some readings and movies, and I know that this kind of topic may be triggering for a lot of people, but I'll try not to describe anything hard to read. Thank you in advance for allowing me to keep practicing with my writing, I hope I get better at this someday and I would love to know what you think!

masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

NEXT CHAPTER

There was a pain in your head when you woke up. The different voices in your surroundings were pounding against your skull, and terror creeped in.

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the bright light piercing through your headache, intensifying the pain. You tried to recognize the people’s voices around you echoing in your ears, jumbling together into an unrecognizable symphony.

You attempted to move, but a sharp ache shot through your body. You winced. Panic crept in as you struggled to put the pieces together. Tiny fragments of broken memories flashed through your mind, but nothing seemed to explain why you were here.

As you blinked away the haze of confusion, you noticed a figure standing by your bedside—perhaps a nurse—with a gentle expression and a comforting presence. Their voice cut through the chaos, speaking softly to you, trying to reassure you. But the fear remained, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness like a relentless predator.

Questions flooded your mind, demanding answers that seemed just out of reach. What had happened to you? Why were you in the hospital?

“I was coming home from the restaurant; I had this fight with Tom,” you struggled to answer.

“Who is Tom?” the officer asked, walking towards your bed.

“My boyfriend,” you replied.

“That’s the last thing you remember?”

“That’s the last thing that happened yesterday.” You were completely confused, not understanding what was going on.

“Miss,” the officer began, carefully with the next words he was about to say: “That happened a year ago; you had been missing for a year.”

Your hands were shaking; you were completely lost, and the officer tried to comfort you. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, each one feeling like a struggle against an invisible weight pressing down on your chest. Panic clenched at your throat, making it difficult to swallow, as the reality of your situation crashed over you like a tidal wave.

The officer, sensing your distress, motioned urgently to the nurse, who hurried to your bedside with a concerned expression etched on her features. "We need something to help her calm down," the officer instructed, his voice laced with urgency.

You had woken up and come back from hell.

You had survived from a nightmare, your captor.

ONE YEAR LATER

Javier parked his car at the curb. The chaos of curious people had already gathered outside the house. Surely, for people to witness a homicide was not an everyday occurrence, and what had happened at this place woke great concern among the neighbors.

He had been working on the Violent Crimes Division for years. However, despite facing things that people wouldn’t normally endure, he had never fully gotten used to them. He had to face death almost on a daily basis, and yet it hurt to see a human become a lifeless frame on the ground because another person took their life away.

Yet he made his way through the crowd, avoiding the concerned people around him. He passed by reporters who asked such morbid questions he couldn’t even believe. The withering look he gave them was enough to make them feel angry, so he kept walking towards the cordoned house, with some officers making sure no one got too close.

“Good morning, people." He greeted her, crouching down under the police tape.

“Good morning, Peña." Steve was welcomed, joined by their other partner, Lauren.

Javier’s gaze traveled down and up his female partner, mesmerized not only by her blonde hair but also her hips. She was a doll, and he considered himself a lucky guy to witness her presence not only here but inside the four walls of his department almost every night.

“How are you, Javier?” She greeted her, placing and swagging her hair.

“Blessed by your presence here,” he answered, smirking.

Not long after, Lauren furrowed her eyebrows, signaling for their partners to follow her to the crime scene.

“What do we have here?” Javier asked, analyzing the horrid image in front of him.

“Naomi Warren. She was found dead this morning at eight thirty by her roommate. She told us Naomi always ran in the morning; it seemed like some crazy bastard followed her here,” Lauren explained, and they kept studying the situation.

They walked closer, and the girl laying there, lifeless, broke Javier’s heart; she didn’t seem older than twenty-five with a life ahead that stopped so suddenly. She was lying there in a white gown with her hands placed over her chest, holding a bouquet of daisies in between. 

“Guys, how are you?” the forensic greeted

“What do you think?” Steven replied, walking around, being careful not to step on the evidence around the girl.

“Do you have the cause of death?” Javier wanted to know, although he could imagine it already.

“It seems like she was strangled, but I’ll be able to tell you more after the autopsy,” she said.

The forensic officer motioned for them to crouch down. But he would initially assume that it was very likely that she had been strangled. The three detectives observed traces of blood in the victim's eyes, and the answer was almost clear.

“There was a note, though,” she clarified.

“A note?” Javier asked, taking a pair of latex gloves from the forensics’ briefcase and kneeling down.

With a gentle hand, he reached out to retrieve the note, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the words written in hurried script, and his brow furrowing in concentration.

The note was brief, yet its message was chilling in its simplicity. "You can't hide forever," it read, the words scrawled in dark ink that seemed to seep into Javier's consciousness like poison.

There was a name next to it: yours.

Javier's heart skipped a beat as he read the name next to the ominous message. It felt like a punch to the gut, the familiarity of the name sending a jolt of recognition coursing through his veins.

As the weight of realization settled upon him, Javier's mind raced with questions. What connection did this person have to the victim? And why had they left such a chilling message behind?

“Who kind of bastard could have done something like this?” Lauren asked as she gazed at Javier’s hands.

"Wait,” Steven said. “Do you remember that case from that girl in Boston?”

“Which one?” Javier asked,

“The girl who went missing for a year?” Lauren questioned.

Javier's mind flashed back to the haunting memories of the Boston case—the details of the missing girl, who had disappeared for a year before her tragic fate was discovered. The parallels between that case and the current one sent a shiver down his spine, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place with eerie precision.

"The Boston case," Javier muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of dread and determination. "It's all coming back to me now."

Lauren's eyes widened with understanding as she connected the dots, realizing the significance of Steven's mention. "You think there's a connection between that case and this one?" She asked, her voice hushed with apprehension.

“There is a way to find out.” Javier's gaze hardened with determination as he contemplated Steven's suggestion. He knew they had to pursue every lead and exhaust every avenue of investigation to uncover the truth behind the chilling message and its connection to his own name.

"What do you have in mind?" Lauren asked, her voice betraying a hint of urgency.

Javier took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. "We need to revisit the Boston case," he declared, his tone resolute. "We need to dig deeper, reexamine the evidence, and see if there are any overlooked connections between that case and this one."

Steven nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Javier's determination. "I'll reach out to the authorities in Boston," he said, his voice steady. "We'll request access to the case files, interview witnesses, and do whatever it takes to uncover the truth."

"I know someone from there," Javier said, his voice resolute as he recalled a contact he had in Boston. The mention of this connection sparked a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that hung over them like a shroud.

Javier had found that you and the victim were, in fact, similar. The eerie similarities between yourself and the victim painted a picture of connection that couldn't be ignored. His heart clenched with empathy as he imagined the fear and uncertainty you must have faced, knowing that the same darkness that had claimed the victim now threatened you.

You had moved from Boston and changed your last name. It was clear that you had been running from the ghosts, seeking refuge from the nightmares that haunted your past. But now, those same nightmares seem to have caught up with you, threatening to consume you once more.

With each passing moment, Javier felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He knew that time was running out and that he had to act swiftly to ensure your safety.

Armed with newfound resolve, Javier spared no effort in his quest to track you down.

As the first light of dawn broke through the darkness, Javier stood before your door. He knew that this moment would be pivotal and that the truth awaited him on the other side of that threshold.

With a steadying breath, he reached out and knocked, the sound echoing through the silent morning air. Seconds stretched into eternity as he waited, his anticipation growing with each passing moment.

And then the door opened, revealing you standing before him, bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Javier's breath caught in his throat as he took in your appearance, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Javier drank in the sight of you, his heart swelling with a mixture of awe and protectiveness. There was something about you—something that stirred a deep instinct within him. The need to protect, to shield you from all the dangers of the world.

For a moment, he found himself lost in the depths of your gaze, the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him like a heavy burden. But then, with a shake of his head, he pushed aside his doubts and fears, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"I'm Detective Javier Peña," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "I need to talk to you.”

#javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javi peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[lxstfathier]

Cachorrita

Los Vaqueros x Reader

Headcanons

Summary: you got caught in the middle of the narco violence, losing everything. Thankfully, the vaqueros rescued you and decided to adopt you… as a pet.

Warnings: murder/trauma mentions, pet play, collaring, poly relationship (?), slight smut.

A/N: i can’t stop thinking about Ale and Rudy, they’re both so cute and boyfriend shaped and i love them very much 💗 so i got this silly idea in the middle of the night and decided to write it, don’t ask me what the hell is this, just enjoy it. And please remember that english is not my first language. Hope y’all like it :)

♡ Your parents were killed by el sin nombre, and you were kidnapped for a few days with the intention of human trafficking. Luckily, you were rescued by los vaqueros before you ended up being trafficked for real.

♡ It was nice to be free again, but everything you had ever know didn’t exist anymore. Not even your home. You had nowhere to go, and such a naive little girl like you would be an easy target in Las Almas… again. That’s why the vaqueros offered you to stay with them, in their base.

♡ You accepted immediately. They saved your life, and you would trust them with it.

♡ At first, it was weird to live among military men. Seeing them always with a serious look on their faces and yelling orders was quite scary, but soon you got used to it. You got along with everyone, and they all treated you in the nicest way possible, so it wasn’t as bad as you thought.

♡ They even gave you your own little room!

♡ Once you started to get more comfortable, you gained the confidence to get out of your room more often, exploring the base and helping around with the daily tasks, learning the basic things. And it wasn’t long until you grew closer to Alejandro and Rodolfo, following them around any time you could.

♡ Alejandro thinks of you as one of those stray dogs that Rudy used to bring into the base (in a cute way), that’s why they started calling you “Cachorrita”.

♡ You love the nickname, but you loved it even more when they actually started treating you as a puppy, making sure that you’re always happy and taken care of.

♡ One day, they surprise you with a pretty collar. It’s made from the softest and most finest leather, in your favorite color, and it also has a cute heart-shaped tag that says “Cachorrita” and “Propiedad de Los Vaqueros” in the back. Such a sweet gift. It made you teary. You hugged every single one of them as a thank you and then Alejandro put it around your neck <3

♡ It doesn’t matter if they’re all at the base, or just a few soldiers, you always go out to spend time with them. You keep them company, listen to anything they have to say, comfort them, or just snuggle on their lap while they play with your hair. They say often that you’re way better than a therapy dog, but you don’t really think so.

♡ One time you decided it would be a great idea to cook something for them, so you prepared chilaquiles con carne, and they all went insane, saying that it was delicious, better than the bland military food they were used to eat daily. So now you cook for them almost every day, remembering the recipes your mother taught you.

♡ Even though they all agreed to collar you, only Alejandro is allowed to put a leash on you. He doesn’t do it often, just when he has to do a lot of paperwork in his office, taking you with him to keep you at his feet for hours. “Good girl” he says petting your head while you rest your chin on his thigh. “Keep being obedient and i’ll give you a treat when i’m done”. If he gets stressed, he might use that pretty little mouth of yours.

♡ They won’t hesitate to spoil you. You want new clothes? Stuffed animals? Jewelry? The newest iphone? don’t even worry about it, Ale and Rudy will be buying it all for you.

♡ When they go away on missions, they always text you whenever they can, making sure that you’re fine without them. Rudy always gives you one of his credit cards, telling you to use it if you need something. But you have never used it, you have everything you need at the base.

♡ When they come back, the first thing you hear is Alejandro yelling “Dónde está nuestra cachorrita?”, and you’ll come out of your room as fast as you can, running to them to hug them tight, glad that they’re all safe and sound.

♡ Sometimes, when Alejandro or Rodolfo get horny (which is often), they come to you, and you spread your legs for them, happy to please them however they want. Rudy fucks you sweet and slow. Alejandro fucks you fast and rough. But you like it more when they both fuck you at the same time.

♡ When you get your period, they all treat you as if you were dying, giving you everything you want and need. Alejandro makes sure you have pain pills and a hot water bottle to put on your tummy, and Rudy goes to the store to get more pads and your favorite snacks.

♡ When you wake up in the middle of the night because of your constant nightmares, you sneak into Rudy’s room, getting in the bed with him and cuddling up in his chest. “Qué pasa, cachorrita? you got nightmares again?” he asks, half awake, and when you whisper a “si” he just holds you closer, hearing his heart beat until you fall asleep.

♡ They teach you how to use a gun, just in case. But you really hate it. Those things are heavy and loud and scary.

♡ Speaking of things you hate, you also don’t like going outside due to your trauma. But Alejandro and Rudy insist on taking you out at least once a week, going to the local market for some groceries, and you hold Ale’s hand as if your life depended on it, way too scared to let him go. But, if you behave well, they buy you ice cream on the way back.

♡ You’re not a brat, but sometimes you accidentally do something they don’t like. They’re the military after all, highly disciplined men, and you aren’t used to that. If you do something slightly disrespectful or don’t listen to orders, it will result on Rudy or Ale yanking you by the collar, planting a firm smack on your ass. “Don’t do that again, entendido?”.

♡ You love stealing Ale’s military jackets. They’re comfy, oversized and smell like him. But you didn’t expected him to get you your own jacket, embroidered with “cachorrita” on the front and a bright pink armband that says “emotional support”. And you love it, of course, but that doesn’t stop you from stealing his jackets again.

♡ You have an oral fixation, and Rudy thrives off it, letting you bite his arms, lick his neck or have a really messy and heated up kissing session (if he’s not busy). Sometimes he even lets you suck his fingers, but be careful with that one cuz he might want to give you something bigger to suck on.

♡ If any of Los Vaqueros gets hurt on a mission or training, you will take care of them just like they do with you, not leaving their side until they feel better. You can’t stand seeing any of your -new found- family in pain, makes you feel sad :(

♡ When your birthday comes, Alejandro and Rodolfo enter your room early at morning, singing las mañanitas and giving you the gift they got for you. It’s exciting, so you quickly open the box, eager to see what’s inside. Gasping when you finally admire the pretty set of fluffy ears, tail plug, and thigh high socks with paw print, all in your favorite color. “Why don’t you try it on for us, cachorrita?” Alejandro suggests, and you’re more than happy to do so, already feeling a tingle between your legs.

♡ You’re on birth control, obviously, but Rudy and Ale are already thinking about getting you off those stupid pills…

#alejandro vargas smut #rodolfo parra smut #cod smut #alejandro vargas x reader #call of duty fanfic #rodolfo parra x reader

[softpascalito]

Peluda - Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: A snowstorm hits Bogotá and you bring back a surprise visitor. Javi is not amused. But, it leads to a realization about himself- and about you.

Relationships: Javier Peña x F!Reader WC: 1700 Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Emotional, Nicknames, Soft Javier Peña (Narcos), Sweet Javier Peña (Narcos), Healthy Relationships, Fights (blink and youll miss it), Snow, Blizzards & Snowstorms, This kitten is DEA Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: okay listen i am AWARE that bogotá does not get snow like this but this is my fanfiction and what i say is law so there is snow now.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thick snowflakes swirl around you, the ice crunching under your feet as your gaze flies over the windows of the building down the street. As you get closer, you can see it clearly, light spilling out from the right window on the ground floor. He's home.

You slip twice before you reach the house, hurrying past the parked cars and up the small flight of stairs that is also glazed over with ice, keeping your head down and your coat wrapped tightly around your body. When you reach the front door, you fumble with your keys for a moment, your hands shaking from both the cold and the adrenaline.

A curse escapes your lips as the bundle of keys falls down and you lean forward to grab it before settling for the doorbell instead of giving it another try. It's mere seconds until the door buzzes open and you push yourself into the dimly lit hallway of the apartment building. The wind howls around you, even after the large door has fallen shut, seemingly finding a way through the cracks around it.

“Hermosa?”

His door is slightly ajar, brown hair and a pink shirt poking out at the side of it. You practically storm towards him and you can tell by the way he flexes his arm that he's holding his gun, carefully checking who is showing up on his doorstep this late at night.

“It's me, calm down,” you brush him off as you reach the door and all but push yourself inside. Javier steps back, staring at you for a moment. His voice is a little lower than usual, which in your experience means one of two things. He's horny or he's mad. Occasionally a bit of both.

“Are you crazy, going out in this weather? I was worried sick.”

Mad it is.

You barely look at him as you shake your head, “I just wanted to get some more bread, we were out again and I didn’t know if the stores might close-” His gaze is on your face for a moment, resting on your slightly reddened cheeks, the slowly melting snowflakes that decorate both your hair and your coat. 

But that is what he stumbles over- the coat. Your arms are wrapped around yourself and the thick fabric is drawn over a lump that definitely does not belong to your body.

“What did you get?” Javier tucks the front of the coat down just as you turn away, sending a glare into his direction, “Don't scare it.”

“It?” Javi asks and you can practically see his brain going haywire as he tries to figure out what you’re talking about. The agent is so goddamn smart when it comes to tracking down informants and exposing cartel members but the most normal conclusions sometimes seem like a mystery to him.

His furrowed brows relax slightly when you peel the coat off yourself carefully and he is left staring at a trembling ball of fur in your arms. Very dirty, brown fur.

“Oh hermosa-” He starts but you shake your head before he even has the chance to complain. Bogotá has more than a few stray cats and dogs but so far, he has managed to keep you from taking any of them home.

“She was all alone, Javi, in the snow. She would’ve frozen to death,” you mumble. As if to confirm your story, the kitten gives a small, strangled noise and you hum quietly. Javier follows you into the bathroom, watching with crossed arms as you place the animal in the bathtub and begin to run the water, adjusting the temperature with one hand. The cat trashes around slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the cold porcelain below her and the attention of not one but two humans. Her claws strike your hand, making you curse as a thin trail of blood runs down your fingers.

“What are you doing?” Javier asks in a low voice, clearly exasperated. But you're not exactly calm either, your own hands still cold from the snow and now stinging slightly from where the cat has struck you. 

“I’m taking a bath,” you say with a roll of your eyes, voice dripping with irony. “I’m cleaning the fucking cat, Javi, what does it look like?!”

You don't need to see his face to know you're not the only one in the bathroom who looks like they've been struck. There's a small shuffle next to you as Javi closes the door behind himself and then kneels down beside you with a low groan, “Okay, how do we do this?”

A weak smile spreads over your face as you bring both hands back to the cat that has by now joined in on the conversation, audibly meowing up at both of you as you gently stroke its back, “I'll hold her, you run the water and get some soap.”

He does as told, filling the tub up just a bit so that the small animal can still stand. To your surprise, she doesn't seem to mind the water as much as a cat should. In fact, she almost seems to enjoy the warmth of it around her small paws. 

Javier seems to pick up on it too, “I thought cats don't like baths.”

“I guess not all of them?” You offer as he hands you the bar of soap and you begin to gently run it over the matted fur below your hands.

“Are we sure it's a cat?”

His voice is so serious that you can't help but laugh as you elbow his side, “Javi-”

“I'm just saying, hermosa. It could be a- an oddly shaped, brown raccoon.”

It does not turn out to be an oddly shaped raccoon. As the dirt comes off, layer after layer, staining the once white tub a gentle brown, it doesn't even turn out to be a brown cat.

The orange fur is dripping wet, making the small thing look even more pitiful than it had when you had spotted it hiding from the snow below a bench. At least the attempts to further scratch you have died down, the cat seemingly content to be warmed up and cared for.

“Hold on, I'll get a bigger towel,” you mumble and head to the small cabinet in the hallway. As you grab a well-worn one and pull it out, you hear a low voice coming from the bathroom, one that makes your head turn and hold still as you peek past the door frame.

“You're still shaking, peluda,” Javi whispers, crouched over the tub to gently brush his fingers through the dripping fur, no doubt not realizing you can hear him, “We’ll get you nice and warm, don't you worry.” A tiny meow comes as reply and he tuts softly, “Todavía no estoy seguro si eres un gato. You may fool her but not me. I'm an agent, you know? I can see right-” He punctuates his words with a soft, gentle pat on the cat's head, “- through - you.”

Your heart feels like it's about to jump out of your chest. You've never heard Javi talk to anyone so gently, anyone except yourself. And even then, it's usually reserved for when you're alone, tucked away in bed in the dark, tracing the skin of the person beside you.

A few minutes later you're seated in the living room, the tiny cat wrapped in a big towel on your lap as Javier hands you a baby bottle filled with some milk - both borrowed from the Murphy’s upstairs, who had both been equally confused when Javi had shown up on their doorstep to ask for both.

“Come on, peluda,” you reassure the kitten gently, repeating the nickname Javi used for her earlier, and very carefully, she begins to drink. The taste of the lukewarm milk seems to agree with her because after a few moments, the small sucks on the bottle becomes more eager and silence falls over the apartment, only interrupted by the small noises of the furball on your lap.

Javier is still standing in the open kitchen, watching as you feed the animal, occasionally reassuring her with a gentle pat or a different angle of the bottle.

He swallows, trying to get the realization that his head is producing back down into his stomach, the scenarios running in front of his eyes away from the surface. But there is no un-knowing the things he knows, no way to get rid of them.

He wants children.

It's not a possibility, not in Colombia, not with the cartel so close. Maybe it won't be one for a few years to come, until things are more quiet, until he has fixed everything he needs to fix. Including himself.

But as he watches you, the ever-growing wish settles in his throat, placing itself dangerously close to his mouth. Javi swallows again. He doesn't want it to slip out. Not yet, anyway.

He stands there, content to just watch as the cat eagerly takes one sip after another until the bottle is empty and the ball of orange fur purrs gently as it settles onto your knees, eyes already drooping.

Your voice is quiet as you urge him to come closer and with a small sigh, Javi settles down next to you, his arm automatically wrapping around your shoulder. He doesn't realize how close the picture of the three of you is to what he might have in a few years, minus a round stomach or a non-furry little companion on your lap. It's okay. He can wait.

“Can she stay?” You almost beg, your eyes finally leaving the kitten in front of you to wander to Javi instead. He sighs softly, both of you looking at each other. Then, his gaze leaves your face.

Brown puppy eyes meet green kitten eyes. They look at each other for a moment. Then Javi nods, “Yeah. She can stay.”

notes: shoutout to the person on my discord who said "funny, normally javi is happy to see a pussy" (i love you) also: do not give kittens cow milk (unless theyre starving and theres a snowstorm i guess?) idk this is no vetinary advice, google that shit if you ever bring home a kitten to your dea agent husband.

#softpascalitosadventcalendar #javier peña #javier peña / reader #javier peña / you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #narcos #pedro pascal #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #fluff #kitten #cat #snow

[dailypascal]

#pedro pascal daily #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pascalitos #javier pena narcos #the mandolarian #dieter bravo #pascalispunk #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pov pedro pascal is your boyfriend #pedro pascal x reader

[drenix004]

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝

𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

Part 2 here

Note: I plan to do headcanons of Valeria as chapters of Valeria's fanfic are published! besides, I also want to do the same with 141, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Valeria,Horangi and koning in different situations and contexts, especially if they are shapeshifters or hybrids feel free to ask for a headcanon, one shot or drable, I'll be happy to do it! And they'll be all soft, comforting and light angsty themes! Life is already too cruel and hard to make them suffer here too :)

Sadly there will be no smut or nsfw, I'm really bad at writing that kind of content, sorry. But, there will be slight superficial mentions of that as a reward.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Summary: You work at the bar of a night bar in Las Almas, you knew the menu backwards and forwards so you had a certain fame. One day you draw the attention of a certain narco when you kicked an idiot out of the establishment just as the armored van was passing by, not only did you draw attention because of the commotion, but also because not a sound came out of your mouth, not a whimper, curse or insult, nothing. Just a death stare at the man.

━━━━━━━━》❈《 ━━━━━━━

Valeria was looking boredly through the tinted window of her armored van as she was returning to one of the many safe houses she had after closing a successful deal.

A commotion catches her attention so she slaps the driver's seat to stop. Entre closes his eyes when he sees you kicking a drunk man out of the bar, he finds it odd that you don't utter a word even if it's to curse him, you just give him a death glare before re-entering the bar named "stellar".

You have caught the attention of the biggest drug dealer in Mexico.

She comes back the next night at the same time she saw you, sits at the bar and orders the most expensive tequila there is from another woman who worked with you. He sits for several hours just watching you work as a bartender before leaving, this becomes a daily routine every Sunday from then on.

You feel her penetrating gaze every Sunday, you know she watches you carefully, analyzing you, but you say nothing, you don't even look at her. The heavily armed men make it clear that she is someone with power and you didn't want to get involved with someone like that.

Luck is not on your side.

After three months of attending the bar, Valeria demands that you be the one to attend to her specifically, she has looked at you enough and has inquired about you. She knows you don't speak of your own free will and that's what's most interesting.

You feel uncomfortable to see the guards looking at you, but you still attend her without saying or making any gesture. She asks you for the Paloma cocktail and you prepare it under her watchful eye before handing it to her.

"Do the guards make you uncomfortable, bonita?" nothing escapes Valeria, she noticed your discomfort from the first instant, so she sent her bodyguards to guard the exit with the others. She tasted the cocktail you prepared for her and smiled "not bad".

From there it all started.

Every time she came, you were hers alone. You didn't attend to anyone else when she came through that door, all your attention was directed to Valeria and so you did.

She was a mysterious woman when she spoke, she was careful what she said. Sometimes she would complain to you about the idiots she herself had brought into her ranks.

Valeria looked forward every Sunday to talking to you, even if you didn't answer, your silence or answers with nods or shrugs were enough, it was a comforting thing to relax with someone she knew didn't want to kill her. Something in her stomach churned every time she saw you and talked to you.

Your interactions were weird, but she liked that, too much to admit it out loud.

You always smiled at her without showing your teeth every time she complained or talked about something that got on her nerves. You had gotten used to each other's presence in a matter of months.

Sometimes she would ask you questions, especially about your curly hair, she was curious how you managed to keep it so beautiful considering the infernal heat in Las Almas. You just shrugged your shoulders

One day you smiled openly at her without realizing it, because of something she had said about an idiot, leaving her stunned.

Valeria knew right then and there that she had fallen when she saw your smile and expression, cupid's bastard had done his thing.

Valeria Garza, El Sin Nombre, had fallen deeply in love with the curly-haired woman who made him several cocktails in one night.

As she came to terms with her feelings, a growing anxiety began to take hold of her when she didn't have you in her sights. The days of waiting for Sunday to arrive became exasperating, her temper tripled and patience waned.

She would only calm down and relax when Sunday came, just to see you.

When Sunday came and he walked into the bar he couldn't find you, so he asked for you.

Turns out you hadn't been to work all week, you weren't even answering messages.

The bloody and merciless beast inside Valeria emerged from the darkest part of her being.

She would burn Las Almas to the ground if she didn't know your whereabouts in the next 72 hours.

You had that time to show up, otherwise, the beast disguised as a narco would seek you out leaving dead in its wake.

First Headcanon I've written, I hope it's decent. :)

This has two other parts, if this one goes well I'll post the other two. reblogs and likes are much appreciated.

#valeria x f! reader #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #valeria cod #valeria mw2 #valeria garza #el sin nombre #valeria headcanons

[firsttimewriter92]

Neighborly shenanigans Pt. 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! reader (Neighbor AU)

Part 1; Part 2; Part 4

Description: Your first date with Simon draws near and it turns out to be absolutely magical

Warnings: cursing, some dirty thoughts, fluff, pining and longing getting stronger, reader is not vegetarian; mentions of previous mental abuse by an ex; Please be careful when reading

Word count: 4.368

A/N: Hi everyone <3 Part three is here. Please read this one with a bit of caution.

I´m discussing something that has happened in my last relationship and it might be a bit difficult to read. It´s how I cope. I did something like this in another fic of mine and I realised how much it helped me and apparently others. So I incorporated another experience in this fic, hoping that the toothrotting fluff will make up for it.

Please enjoy none the less <3

It was Friday and your heart was already pumping so many different hormones and feelings through your system that you actually began to doubt your sanity.

You hadn’t seen Simon since he hung up your shelf and introduced you to his dog. The dog. God, the moment you thought he had a girlfriend and had seen how he behaved around you had made you so angry for a second. Thankfully however it was all just a misunderstanding and Simon had given exactly what you had needed at that moment.

Total and complete clarity.

He seemed like the type of man that was not socially awkward per se but definitely a bit of an isolated character. You couldn’t see him at lavish social gatherings or busy events. I think the mask would be too much of a conversation starter for it to not get awkward eventually. If he wanted to wear it, whatever his reason was, you were in no position to question him. You didn’t lie when you told him that it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You were just curious, and if he didn’t want to tell you why he wore it, then that´s what it was going to be. 

Secretly though, your mind was itching with the numerous faces you´d conjured up in the middle of the night. You found yourself awake wondering how his nose was shaped, how plump or not his lips were, if he had stubble, a beard or was he clean shaven? It didn’t matter to you as much as you thought. You´ve had crushes on men before that had shown even less than hair and eyes. Given they were fictional, the cush itself was real.

And so was the one you´d developed on the brown eyed, whisky voiced half stranger living next to you.

When you got out of bed Saturday morning, you dreaded the whole day ahead of you. He´d only pick you up at 8 so you had to occupy yourself for, what? Another ten hours?

“Fuuuuuuuuck” you sighed as you made your daily dose of coffee and got some eggs and toast ready.

Taking it all to your living room you plopped down on your couch and started your TV. Narcos was silently playing in the background as you made some mental notes about what you needed to do before Simon picked you up.

Shower, shave (maybe even exfoliate), pick out a casual outfit, clean up your apartment at least somewhat. Enough time was spent living out of cardboard boxes and not really settling. Being comfortable in your home would surely help making you more comfortable with yourself and therefore comfortable with the thought of an absolute hunk like Simon being interested in you.

It wasn’t that you thought you were ugly or unlovable, no. Not at all. But the men than had shown interest in you before were never like Simon. And that didn’t mean just physically.

Your last relationship opened your eyes to the men that you usually attracted. Insecure boys, hiding behind a strong masculine façade and instead of working on themselves, or realizing what they lacked, always bound someone to them that wasn’t yet aware of their own worth.

Unfortunately, you used to be that kind of person. Your ex was one of the most interesting men you´d ever met. When he started to take an interest in you, you were ecstatic and soon after you began dating. Over the years however, he slowly chipped away at your confidence, misused your people pleasing tendencies and slowly…oh so slowly made you emotionally dependent on him.

So much so, that there was a time where you actually thought there was no other man for you on this planet other than him. That his actions and words were only for your benefit even if you felt deep down that something wasn’t right about the way he was treating you.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, however. So, every time you tried to have a talk with him about how his behavior made you feel, he only needed about 5 minutes of constant talking to make you believe he was actually a great partner and that the problem was either nonexistent, only in your head or your fault.

This led to the fact that trying to argument in your favor was something you´d completely lost.

By the time he almost convinced you that you couldn’t do anything right or at least without him, that you weren’t very much intelligent but super sweet, so it was worth staying with you, you had already forgiven him for cheating on you once.

The second time however was your breaking point. The fact that the girl was underage opened your eyes about him so quickly, that you basically ran for the hills. Behavioral therapy and some new complexes were the result of all that. It did work though. Two years later your life was yours again to take and you grabbed it tightly.

Still, some of the things that had happened changed the way you saw yourself.

Simon was different. He seemed confident in a way that didn’t need to put others down for it. He was friendly, mild and cheeky. And you were going on a date with him. You probably would have never asked him so his direct confession that he was indeed trying to flirt and him asking you out first, made your confidence spike like nothing had done in the past two years.

You tried not to let it go to your head. Never again would you define your worth over the attention of an attractive man. But that feeling never once arose when you thought about Simon. Only excitement and juvenile glee. You marveled in it as you practically danced around your apartment, cleaning, putting stuff away, getting a load of laundry going.

Around three o´clock you got hungry again and decided to walk to the market around the corner to get one of your favorite sandwiches.

You walked into your bedroom to put on a pair of lose, flowy beige pants and a black tank top before putting on your shoes. You grabbed your bag and walked outside. The sun was shining brightly, only disrupted by one or the other white and fluffy cloud as you made your way to the market. It was like the busy streets of London as well as the weather congratulated you on a successful and productive day so far. Smiling and humming happily you purchased your lunch and made your way back with an additional fizzy raspberry lemonade you just couldn’t pass up.

Back in your apartment you closed your door and looked around. It was all coming together. No more boxes, the plastic plants all where you wanted them, and the handing shelf finally filled with a colorful display of your favorite books. A deep breath came forth as you enjoyed your meal and lemonade on your couch. It was still a little weird to you to be fully responsible for your own feelings and the actions you had to take to achieve them. Making yourself happy was never something you put much effort into and that had also been something you had to learn the hard way.

Now, you thought about your life and for the first time in years felt content. Like you didn’t need anybody else to feel this way. Just yourself. And with this feeling you noticed, came the confidence and willingness to let somebody else in again.

There it was again. Your inner eye producing a mess of blond hair, brown, expressive eyes and an impressive body. With all the nonphysical attributes he´d shown you so far that made him so endearing, it was hard not to notice how your body reacted whenever you thought about his broad back, his waist or his massive thighs. You didn’t want to objectify him and still, in the late hours of the night you and your mind had managed to get you off so hard, you had to use a pillow over your mouth to drown out your screams and whimpering.

A shiver ran down your spine when you thought about last night. Even though it took you about 15 minutes to calm down enough from your orgasm to catch a coherent thought, Simon still managed to invade your dreams. His raspy voice in your ear telling you to go to sleep. Telling you gently to rest and leave it to him (whatever he meant), holding you close to his chest, tangling his legs with yours and drowsily stroking your back.

Waking up without him though always put a bit of a sting to your chest. That feeling was soon replaced with an embarrassed giggle as you fell backwards into your pillows again with your palm covering your eyes.

Maybe, just maybe these dreams could become a reality. If you played your cards right.

Determined to make this date a success even though you had no idea what his plan was, you made your way into your shower. Humming along to your little radio you turned off your shower to start shaving when you stopped dead in your tracks. There he was again, and your heart swelled twice its size. He was taking a shower, singing along to some tune you´d never heard before. It was mesmerizing. Slow and deep. The wall prevented you from hearing what exactly the words were, but the melody alone was so beautiful that you didn’t care.

You´d just finished shaving and were reluctant to turn on the water again when his shot off and the singing yet again stopped. “Bloody hell” you muttered with an airy, fluttering feeling in your stomach. Pampering was the next step. You used your rich body butter and your loveliest perfume. Feeling great and refreshed you used the rest of the time to put on your fluffy bathrobe, sit on your couch and tend to your toes and feet since you decided to wear sandals.

Only five minutes left, and you just finished putting the last efforts into your hair as you heard three strong knocks on your door. Hurrying over to your door you almost tripped over your own feet. Taking a deep breath, you opened your door. Holy gosh darn fucking crap!! That was not fair. It just wasn’t.

Matching his black mask, he wore a black polo shirt that hugged him way better than the other shirts you´d seen on him. His dark washed jeans were held up by a brown leather belt with a silver buckle. You knew he was built but this? The way his biceps was stretching the material and the jeans clung to his thighs made your mouth water. He´d styled his hair only slightly but it sat still adorably tousled upon his head.

You smiled up at him and squeezed out a breathless “Hi”. Simon looked down at you with slightly bulging eyes as he took in your outfit of fitted blue jeans and a flowy, emerald-green blouse. Flitting his eyes to yours again he smiled. “Hi” he repeated in a happy tone.

You grabbed your bag and walked out, closing your door behind you and locking it. Only now did you realize that Simon was carrying a small basket. A blanket attached to it and your heart started galloping in your chest. “Did you cook for us?” you asked in an impressed tone. He shook his head slightly. “Nah, I didn’t cook. Not this time.” This time, oh God help me. “But I did assemble of sorts.”

“I see” you said happily and started leaving the building next to him. “I thought we´re doing casual” you said teasingly as you eyed him from the side. Simon snorted shortly as he raised an eyebrow and let his eyes wander down your body. It gave you a sensation unlike any other. “So did I. But I´m glad I wanted a little more than casual. Otherwise, I would have been fatally underdressed.”

A violent shiver ran down your back when you saw his eye wink at you. Your face was burning, you were sure of it.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you noticed him leading you towards nearby park. “Patience” he scolded good naturedly.

About 15 minutes later you ended up on a slight hill in the middle of a beautiful park. Simon stopped next to a tree and began rolling out the blanket. His hulking form seemed a little out of place there, trying to straighten out the blanket. You felt your features soften as he gave out a small grunt before sitting up on his knees and looked up at you. His eyes were glimmering in the gradually setting sun and he patted the blanket next to him softly.

Grinning you lowered yourself and got comfortable. From your place up on the hill you had a stunning view of the soft, carpet like plane of grass spreading out in front of you. Many other people were out and about, walking their dogs, going for a run, casually hanging out with friends. The glimmering skyline of London was seen in the background of massive oak trees at the very end of the park.

“You hungry?” Simons deep voice seeped into your ears and with an excited smile you turned your had and nodded. You observed as he opened the basket and pulled out several boxes with tuna sandwiches (no crust), deviled eggs, veggie sticks, tomatoes, a bag of tortilla chips and what looked like self-made guacamole. The last item he produced was a bottle of what looked like expensive white wine before his eyes caught yours again. Your mouth hung comically wide open as you stared at the feast in front of you.

“You´re not vegetarian, are you?” he suddenly asked and looked at the sandwiches sheepishly. You almost squeaked the way he looked so adorably worried for a second.

“Vegan, actually” you said dryly and almost doubled over laughing when he gave you a shocked look. He rolled his eyes and handed you a tuna sandwich. “Sorry” you mumbled as you took it from him. Then, something came to you. “Uhm” you said carefully as your eyes fluttered down to his mask.

His eyes crinkled again. “If you don’t mind” he said quietly and produced something else from the basket that almost made you choke on your bite of tuna. The silk scarf dangled promisingly and naughtily between his fingers.

You couldn’t really tell if it was supposed to be a joke or not. You looked around you but there were no other people on the hilltop other than you. The next group of people so far away, their heads were the size of a pinhead.

“I´m asking too much, aren’t I?” Simon said as he lowered the scarf back into the basket. “No,” you said quickly. Your voice octaves higher. Did he not realize that this scenario was the beginning of almost every woman’s wet dream? “Give me the scarf, Simon. Please.”

“You sure?” he asked you. You nodded firmly. “If you need me to wear it while we eat, I will.”

His chest seemed to inflate dramatically. “Let me” he breathed and moved his body closer to you. This is a dream; it must be! Closing your eyes, you felt your hands shaking slightly in your lap as you felt the scarf being put over your eyes.

Simon´s warm breath cascaded over your face as he carefully knotted the piece of fabric behind your head. Your pulse was hammering away when you felt his heat, smelled his wonderful musky, citrussy scent cling to the skin of his throat and face. The deep breath you took before you felt him retreat slowly was nothing you could have stopped and again your ears were blessed with an adorable ´hehe´.

“Alright?” he asked. “Yep,” you breathed. “Can´t see a damn thing.” Grinning you tried to feel for your sandwich a little clumsily.

“Hold on” you heard Simon chuckle. “Seeing as I´m taking your ability to see, I think it´s only fair if I-“ a warm hand touched yours and placed your sandwich back in it. “Help you out a little.” His voice lowered even further. Something you would have bet on wasn’t possible. “Y-You really thought this through, haven’t you?” you asked with a hitch in your voice before taking another bite to occupy your mouth.

“Well. I really didn’t want to pass up an opportunity with you” he answered truthfully. A little strangled sound escaped you seconds before a huge smile split your lips.

You sat for another moment in comfortable silence. “How´s the food?” he suddenly asked. Something was off about his voice and suddenly you realized that he had to have removed his mask. A bead of sweat ran down your back. “It´s delicious” you said as you took the last bite of your sandwich. “Did you make all of it yourself?” Simon hummed. “I did. I usually only cook for myself so I don´t get too fancy with it. But I do enjoy it.”

You carefully patted around you to get to the devilled eggs, trying to remember where Simon had put the container but all you suddenly touched was smooth jeans. “Oh, ´M sorry” you said and retracted your hand quickly. “No worries” Simon said. “What do you want?” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Deviled egg, please” you sang and held open your hand.

“Nuh-uh” Simon said and moved in front of you again. “Open up.”

Oh you´ve got to be absolutely shitting me. This cheeky bastard wasn’t really going to…

You obeyed of course, what else was there to do? You opened your mouth and a moment later your lips wrapped around the egg. You could feel Simon´s fingers holding it to your lips before he retracted them in the last second. “Oh my god” you moaned around your mouth full of egg. “Simon, these are incredible.” You heard a gurgling noise in front of you; a bottle of wine being opened shortly after so you brushed it aside.

This is how you spend the next hour. Simon occasionally feeding you with deviled eggs, chips and guacamole. Only the veggie sticks he let you eat by yourself. He handed you the bottle of wine whenever you asked for it and you really tried not to think about how as teenagers, you and your friends had argued many times about weather drinking from the same bottle was equivalent to a kiss or not.

The alcohol settled comfortably into your stomach as did his delicious food.

“Almost time” he said. “Let me get the scarf off you.” Your senses already heightened, you knew exactly where he was on the blanket, when he was in front of you and when his fingertips were about to touch you.

“Time for what?” you asked with a curious smile. You heard a chuckle before the scarf was removed and Simons face came into view. So much closer than it ever had been. He didn’t move an inch, your noses almost touching. His eyes wandering over your face slowly it was almost like you could feel their path burning on your skin. The sun had already set and a warm breeze was wafting all around you, carrying the scent of hot soil, food and the distinct scent of the city.

“You´ll see” Simon murmured into his cloth before lifting his hand and gently touched your cheek. He looked like he was in some sort of trance. His posture was relaxed, his eyes attentive and staring into your soul. It wasn’t like you were any better off. The whole situation was written straight out of a romance novel and the main characters were about to share their first kiss. Even though it was already dark, the lights of the city were still bright enough to see how his breathing becoming heavier, his chest rising and falling in deeper breaths.

A high pitched tone cut the thick air and you saw how Simon momentarily froze before both of you looked over to the skyline of London. Not a second later with a huge bang, a display of beautiful golden flecks decorated the nights sky.

You grinned ear to ear as the fireworks really started and several explosions of light colored your face in green, red and gold. “I love fireworks” you breathed and looked over to Simon with a thankful look in your eyes. He was already looking at you. He stayed seated where he was when you´d moved to see the fireworks better so he was still quite close. His arm was brushing yours when he looked down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

“I´m glad” he said almost too quietly.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system or the fact that this man made you feel at ease, lighthearted and without a worry in the world. You couldn’t remember. You just let your head fall onto his shoulder, looking at the firework in front of you and smiling contently.

Simon´s POV

Simon didn’t dare move. The soft skin of your hand slightly brushing his was enough to make him lose his damn mind. Almost. The first firework had startled him but the way the golden light had illuminated your face and the smile you´d given him had made him forget almost everything.

The moment he saw you he knew that he wanted something special with you. You didn´t mind his mask, respected it even. That was something new he had never experienced with a civilian before. You´d managed to sneak into his life and heart so quickly and with such force it worried him a little bit. Any day now he could get called back to base again. Maybe he needed to speed it along a little?

No. Not with you. You didn’t deserve that. He´d let you know if he had to leave again and just take his chances. For the first time he wanted a kiss more than a night of passionate sex to get the edge off. He could take his own edge off, god knows he had to do it in the barracks often enough.

Your whole being however made him yearn for something that went deeper than that. A hug would be worth more than undressing, a kiss worth more than foreplay.

He took a deep breath without moving his shoulder too much, just letting himself fall into the moment. Watching fireworks, having your head lean on him, his fingers playfully chasing yours.

___ POV

By the end of the fireworks you felt like you were floating. Simons fingers were tangles with yours by this point and it felt so delicate and new, you felt like a teenager again. Your heart was doing summersaults in your chest. Thinking about this evening would end eventually made your heart sink.

The last colorful explosion brightened up the sky and you let out a deep sigh. “That was beautiful” you whispered. “Thank you.”

“You´re very welcome” Simon rumbled, locking his picky with yours. You were glad at this point that your position hid your huge grin. Now that the fireworks were over, the alcohol, food and late hour caught up with you. The small yawn you tried to stifle wasn’t lost on him however and he sighed contently. “Come on. I´ll bring you home.”

He stood up and held out his hand which you took immediately. As if you weight nothing he pulled you upright holding your gaze and your hand for several moments longer.

You helped him gather everything before you made your way back to your apartment complex. He didn’t try to take your hand again which made you wonder a little bit. The both of you talked about anything and everything until you were standing in front of your door.

“That was a lot of fun” you said as you turned to him and smiled. You saw how his cheeks lifted again as he nodded. “It was. I´m glad you liked the fireworks.”

“I did” you said. “How did you know there were going to be fireworks tonight?” Simon shrugged comically. “That´s my little secret.”

You giggled. The awkward silence you were afraid was going to come at any second now, did not come. Simon yet again proved that he was a man of action and the direct approach.

“I´d really like to do that again.”

You nodded immediately, feeling heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, me too.”

“Great” he said happily before stepping closer. He took hold of your hand and lifted it to his face. Without breaking eye contact he waited for the fraction of a second for your reaction. When he saw your almost pleading eyes his clothed mouth came down on the back of your hand, kissing it.

Your knees got week and yet again grew heavy with longing. The breath was propelled from your lungs by the way he did it so gently and sincere.

The soft material of his mask was slightly damp from his breath but you couldn’t care less. He was kissing your skin. His mouth was on you. Cloth or no cloth it made you vision blurr.

Simon let go of your hand after what felt like an eternity.

“Sleep well, darlin´” he muttered almost carefully as if the pet name could somehow be a deal breaker for you.

It wasn’t. On the contrary. You felt like your legs were about to give out.

“You too, Simon” you smiled at him dreamily. Reluctantly you turned around and fumbled for your keys. You opened your door and took another peek to your right in his direction.

He´d done the same thing. Pushing his door open he gave you that juvenile little wave again before disappearing from your sight. Sighing deeply as soon as your door closed behind you, this time you didn’t make it to the couch. Your knees gave out then and there and with the silliest of smiles you glided down your door. Your trusty little toy would have to work overtime until the next time you´d be able to drown in those hazel depths again.

____________________________________________________

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[undercoverpena]

xi. goodbyes can be sweet

javier peña x f!reader | chapter eleven of nowhere to run

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. idiots who confess they love one another. no use of y/n. mentions of smut. feelings. angst. word count: 5.2k.

AN: welcome to the long awaited last chapter. i was going to do an epilogue, but instead, i've included the one-shots that i wrote for this and posted unbeknown to you all because i needed the fluff. .

dedications: thank you to @yeyinde for listening to me go back and forth about this, and to every single person who has missed this.

“Be safe.”

“You worried about me?”

Your fingers trace his cheek, knees digging into his mattress—the sea of your things behind, both the amount you grabbed the night he brought you here from his office, and the following nights since when he’d told everyone you were sick.

In a sense, it wasn’t a lie. Not something far from the truth.

“I’m worried that others will be looking for Guillermo Pallomari, yes.”

His lips find yours—chapped, yet soft. All telling, a thousand promises he knows he shouldn’t speak, but he kisses to your mouth all the same.

“I’m not leaving you, baby. I’m not done with you either.”

Lips curling into a smile, you brush your thumb over his cheek. “You’ll need Salcedo.”

Javi thinks he’s endured bad days—has practically collected them at this point.

Yet, he still somehow seems to find more.

He’s noticed how he manages to bring more of them to his cabinet, them lining all up, sitting on a shelf, twinkling at him like trophies. Instead of highlighting his accomplishments, they remind him of his failing. They don’t bring him joy. Instead, they wound him, slice into him—thinning him out and wearing him down.

Each day clutters itself to the next until he finds himself almost ready to collapse under the sheer weight of them.

The only reason he manages to keep standing is you.

Each day of hardship is made considerably better by the fact when he can, he can fall asleep beside you and wake to another day with you pressed against him. Whether in the morning (when the sun tries to peek over the buildings) or in the night, when the shadows begin whispering and the thoughts of what he could do, should do, all don’t stop.

It hadn’t been intentional—you moving into his. Yet, you have. Him loading the car up that night, you a shell of a person after the conversation with Fiestl. How you’d looked haunted, broken down, cracked open until all that made you you was scooped out.

You don’t have to do this.

That’s what you’d said, a duffel in his hand, your eyes shimmering, ready to paint your face in another wave of pain.

I’ll be okay on my own—I’ve done it before.

When he thinks back to it, he’s not sure what irked him more. The fact that you’d told him that or the look on your face when he’d entered that room and had you pressed against him, shaking, crying, sad.

He’s glad he was able to convince you in Spanish, and then in English, that you had him. That he wasn’t leaving without you, almost sliding his suit jacket off and rolling up his sleeves to demonstrate as such.

Now, you’re in his place—healing, helping.

It’s a reason why he’s staring at your desk—a new daily occurrence he’s added to his to-do list since you’ve been on leave.

A moment, more minutes than he can afford to burn, spent staring at it—how empty it is, how it’s been collecting dust over the last week or so.

Thank Stoddard for me. For approving my leave. I think you should be thanking me, cariño. I’m the one who gave him the order. I think I’ve been thanking you a lot.

He misses you being here. The way you help, aid—give your opinion. He could call. You’re in his apartment after all—the one kindly offered to him to be a puppet, to be a trophy, to be a body, but not a voice.

Snorting, Javi can’t help but think of your voice that first day he met you: not a glass prison. You hadn’t been wrong then, and you weren’t now—the papers in his hands were proof of it.

Rolling his jaw, he feels his hand tighten around the file—the one creasing, almost scrunching—when his sight is blocked. Fiestl, all of a sudden, there, loitering, hanging in the doorway—his eyes barely able to meet his outside of things Javi requires him to do.

“It’s none of my business, Fiestl.”

It leaves his tongue with purpose. Intent. Trying to draw a line where he can because he’s not sure he can hold himself back if he doesn’t. It had taken a day before you unloaded, let out the combination of rage, sadness and grief—your bones growing weary, tiredness suffocating you until you slept the day away, and he found you in the same place he’d left you when he’d gone to Cali.

It’s a sight he wouldn’t so easily forget. It’s why he supposes he’s looking through his brows at him, tilting his head to the side to drive it further home.

Javi can see Fiestl is battling—either with whatever is rolling around his head or his better judgment.

“I know, sir.”

Chewing his cheek, Javi pushes out a breath from his nose, closing his eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. A list as long as his arm to enact, put into place—such as putting the word sir on a banned list, unless it comes from your lips.

“Just wanted to ask… see, I guess, if she’s…she’s okay?”

No, he wants to bark.

Almost does. Every part of him alight, fury mounting, spreading like lava that coats and ruins. The file in his hand—the drafted indictment—is almost cast aside because even if it’s not his battle, even if you’ve asked him not to get involved, he wants to.

Needs to.

That thrum, that pounding in his chest—the feel of your tears soaking his skin through his shirt—that first night when you shook and shook in his arms, in his bed, because you’d been hurt so fucking bad.

It makes him want to move around the desk and prod three fingers into his chest to drive the point home. He doesn’t. The title on his door is one of the reasons, the other being the shell of a person he remembers he’d had to leave in his sheets days ago—the one slowly becoming more and more you like as hours away from here tick on.

“No. No, Fiestl, she’s not okay.”

When he opens his eyes, he almost recognises it. The struggle, the battle—how it diminishes and skates inside the younger agent. He remembers it himself when the line got blurred when the need to win had reached a new pinnacle. Things shattering, never able to be repaired.

Javi straightens, standing up, placing the file down.

“I should have told her.”

Sighing again, but this time louder—Javi focuses all his attention on keeping his face unreadable, stern. Not that it matters, he’s not sure Fiestl is even aware, his hand on his hip, shaking his head—pity and guilt stitched into everything he wears now.

It's the only reason Javi softens, choosing to slide a hand over his chin, swallowing his annoyance, and putting it aside. “She’ll forgive you. I’m sure.”

Snorting, Fiestl looks up. “Nah, she won’t. But I don’t blame her. I… I wanted to get them. Make it right. I… I sent her there and I… it doesn’t fucking matter.”

Opening his mouth, he almost answers.

He almost spits out that he understands, and gets it—the edge a person can reach when doing the right thing. He swallows it—leaves the story buried where it’s supposed to be. Not needing gossip, more whispers, more things being muttered when he enters a room.

“You wanted to do good, Fiestl. You didn’t know when he approached you. Did you? I mean, fuck, when you asked for her to help, yeah, that’s an asshole thing, but she’s...”

Fiestl stares, either not knowing, or not wanting to know—both things he remembers seeing himself in the mirror when he’d been sent back home. The way he felt about himself and how it bled out, tainted everything else, tinged who greeted him back in the reflection.

How it attached itself to his clothing while he wrestled with the way people talked about him—and to him—seeing it now, all alive again, but this time etched, living and breathing in a solid person in front of him.

“She’s smart, brilliant—more than the two of us, right?” Javi continues, hearing a snort, low and underneath the shifting guilt. “And… she knows you’re a good agent. Told it me herself.”

Biting his cheek, Javi finds Fiestl doesn’t take his eyes off him—as though waiting for the words to be taken back that leave his mouth.

“Just… just fuckin’ learn from it,” he adds. “One day, she’ll forgive you. And in the meantime, maybe you can begin working on forgiving yourself.”

Something Javi realises you’ve said to him once before.

Alcohol burns differently when he coats his throat in the third mouthful in the last few seconds without reprieve.

Anger keeps mixing, churning, with the bile in his chest, all of it rising and falling—ebbing and flowing, bubbling and thickening. He’s alternated between clenching his fist and digging his thumb into the side of his skull for the better part of ten minutes—almost to the point he’s sure there’s a crevice there now, a hole, something else he’ll have to carry around with him.

Swallowing, he coats his throat in another mouthful—because it’s never enough.

Never. Ever. Enough.

He’d almost shattered the glass in his office door when he’d stormed back in. He had been close to breaking the buttons on his phone when he dialled his apartment number, only not crunching the receiver when you answered—all sweet, kind and full of snark when he said it was him.

Javi didn’t tell you, but a part of him figured you’d know deep down.

Your suspicions mounting anyway, ideas rolling, coming out in broken snippets as the two of you make heads or tails of his day.

It was different to know the two of you were right. As he’d said in the ambassador’s office, a part of him had been clutching to hope—that this time would be different, better, and more able to own the title of hero. Or at least be able to know he’d done good.

You should tell that part to grow the fuck up. You should be happy. You played the system like a goddamn fiddle. You won.

Shaking his head, Javi rolls his eyes. Something akin to grief melding into disappointment as he lets his head roll back, chin lifting to the ceiling, blinking and blinking—a part of him hoping he’d wake up, that this was a dream, a fucking nightmare.

It isn’t. The paper cut still throbbing on his palm is proof of it. His jaw slid side to side, thinking of the last few days—of the things he’s read and learned.

“Hey?”

Snapping his sight to the door, Javi takes a breath when he lands on you.

You all decked out in jeans, a shirt—likely one of his—open, barely buttoned over a t-shirt, looking the most casual he’s ever seen you in his office. Your shoulder leaning, face bare, but in his eyes, you’ve never looked better. You’re less weighted, less worried, your teeth not gnawing at your bottom lip, and stress isn’t scratching its way into your bones, even in his presence.

But in your hands, that’s what makes him smile: a coffee and a piece of fucking fruit.

Light blasting through the darkness, piercing holes in the mist that had begun descending since he found himself back in his office. The cage, the prison—the name and title on the door, which meant fucking nothing.

“Hey…” he replies, placing his glass on the desk, the base of it meeting the desk, sounding loud in the quiet. “You should know, I won, apparently.”

You snort, and he hears it thickly. If he thinks hard enough, he's sure he could even feel it on his skin. His eyes watching you as you move further around the doorway, still leaning, still keeping a distance. “I’m guessing it doesn’t feel like winning, though, does it?”

“No, cariño. It… fuckin’ doesn’t.”

Shaking his head, he runs his hand over his face—palm catching the tip of his nose—before he blinks, finding you still watching him, eyes narrowing, working him out, solving a puzzle.

“I didn’t… I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You seemed like you needed the friendly face. And a pick-me-up.”

He tilts his head, considering your words. “Who knew putting people behind bars would be so rewarding—and easy.”

Your eyes hit him, sliding yourself further into his office, placing down the cup and fruit on the side table before folding your arms. “I think if it were easy, you wouldn’t have come and taken the job—just an observation, but you seem like a masochist. Or, you seem to love a good challenge, Peña.”

Snorting, Javi looks up—moving around the desk, tugging at the loops of your jeans as he turns you from the glass walls.

“Well, I did like breaking you down.”

“I think it was me who broke you, sir.”

Lips curling into his cheek, he jolts you by your waist. “Such lies, baby,” he whispers, brushing the words over you, ghosting them over your lips.

He could sink into you. Move you to his desk, reenact an earlier night shared months ago—when feelings weren’t spoken off, and the two of you pretended things weren’t heading to where they are now.

But, the day is running through his head. It travels round and round. Distracting him. Pulling him back from falling into you—something he usually finds he can do easily.

Has been able to the last few days.

Even when it means doing so when you’re asleep in his bed, curling you towards him, pulling an arm over him, until you wake—sleep laced on your voice, movements barely solid. Glad you’re back, sir. Glad you came back to me, Javi—

“Javi?”

Swallowing, he blinks. “Why—why are you really here, cariño?”

Chewing your cheek, he feels you let out a deep sigh before staring up at him, all bold and unafraid. “You don’t believe that I’m here to cheer you up?”

“If you were, you’d be wearing less.’

You laugh. And fuck, when you laugh, he swears the world gets a little easier. It heals the chip in his shoulder and tries to smother the lousy day with sunshine and sweetness.

“Alright. Remember this morning when you asked me to think about things? Well, I have.”

“Okay…?”

Taking another breath (more shaky, troubled), you smile. “I’ve thought about how I know you have things you need to do. For you. And, I’ve thought about how I want to be the person you walk away from all of this with—side by side, y’know? That I know we’ve talked on it, but when you hang your tie up—when you’re done… done. I want to be there.

“And, I thought about how, for a while, I have stayed here for all the wrong reasons, a part of me feeling like to do that, I had to sit at that desk and help.”

Rolling your lips, you gently take his hand in yours—it all so smooth, warm, a piece of himself unsure if he deserves it. You’re good, kind—having been hurt by things he knows he’s been around. A butterfly effect, a choice that’s rippled out and somehow hurt you.

But he doesn’t move from it. Instead, the gesture cracks him, feeling something fall within him—doubts, the twisted idea that he’d forever be alone—all crumbling from the edges of him, slipping and falling, the last pieces of it turning to dust, leaving him more raw.

Clutching his fingers tighter, you hold his stare more intensely. “But I don’t think I need to be here, in this building, for that to happen, do I?”

“—Wait—“

“Javi, I quit.”

Dipping his head, his fingers brush against your jaw, staring into your eyes, watching and feeling your lips curl into a smile. “W-what the f—“

“I rang Stoddard this morning. Asked him to put it on your desk—it was something I drafted up ages ago, before you. I just… didn’t get rid of it in case you needed me to leave the building or something.”

Scratching your neck, you smirk. “Knowing your level of organisation, it’ll be under a sea of other shit. But, it’s okay, I’m okay—I promise. You protected me long enough while I decided… you giving me time off, just in case? But, every morning, I wake up thinking I’d feel the itch to come back, but I don’t. I feel done—really done. I can’t… I can’t bring her back, and I can’t get any more justice for her.”

His mouth opens, but closes soon after. Because he’s not sure he has words. Not sure there is even any.

So, he whispers your name—not Luna, not any of the other names the office calls you. Yours. All soft and gentle—clutching your hip as he brings you close. The same name he colours the air with when you’re bare, full of him, fingers digging into his skin as your hips connect with his.

“I told you then,” you continue, “But I’ll tell you now. I’m not done with you.”

Your hand slid around his waist, fingers flattened to his lower spine. A look on your face that’s so endearing, he wants to brush his fingers over it, capture it in all the ways he can.

Then, the scent of you meets his nose—soothing him, coating him, travelling up, moving his shoulders from his ears. It adds to the way your body curves around his, settling his earlier frustration.

“Not done with you either.”

“Good,” you whisper.

His palm cups the back of your head, pulling you close, your smile against his neck, giving into his need to hold you easily. Intimate. Delicate. Romantic.

He’s so lost in it, how good it feels, that it takes him a second to feel you kiss his neck, light, barely a touch—before leaning back. “When you called me… you found out things, more things, right?”

“Cariño…”

“You don’t have to tell me—I don’t work here, after all. But I know you. Know how you tick. Whatever it is, we’ll find a way,” you say, half-smiling, “You know why? Because you’re a good person.” Your eyes holding his, staring—all intense, almost burning. “You have a voice—a nice one, if I do say so myself—so do good.”

He nods in partial disbelief that you somehow always know—that you get him, understand him. He’s also unsure how you always have the right words to say, when you barely know the mountain of shit he’s uncovered. Him realising that whatever he did, whatever he saved, whatever he found out, it was all for—

“And I think you know that there’s more than one way to get your justice, Javi. So, don’t let them tell the story,” you add, lower voice, an almost whisper. “You’ll always be the bad guy if they tell it—and you’ve gotta stop letting yourself be the villain, when you’re the fucking hero.”

He shakes his head. The word wounding him, hurting.

You must tell, must be able to know, because you pull him flush against you. The minimal gap gone, removed, your face stern, almost unreadable.

“You are, Peña. Don’t let your self-deprecation taint the good things you’ve done.”

Letting out a heavy breath, he nods. A sudden desire to bury his face into your neck rising, a need to have you close, feel your pulse against him—anything to distract him from the way your words both make him feel and light something in him.

Because, he knows you’re right. Even if he feels he’s barely scratched the surface of repenting for before, he knows it—how deep it all goes. How there are only so many options, he has left.

Instead, he strokes your cheek: his person—the person who introduced themselves as someone who’d find ways around problems. And, even without being here, without knowing everything, you somehow still do.

“Do you know what you need to do?”

Biting his lip, he nods, gradually pressing his forehead against yours. Closing his eyes slowly—almost in the same way he did this morning when you were curled against him, fingers swirling around and around on his chest.

“Good. When you're done…” your hands sliding up his chest, looping at the back of his neck. “How about after we go make lemonade? Build non-white picket fences and… ride horses?”

His lips curl. “You want to go to Texas?”

“With you? Yeah. I think I’ve been thoroughly convinced.”

His palm slides up your cheek, brushing the tips of his fingers against the hairline against your face. “Fuck, you really must like me.”

“Shut up, Peña.”

“Say you like me…” His other hand gripping your waist, keeping you against him, lost in you—the way your lips curl, desperate to slide up into your trademark smirk.

The one which embedded itself into him the moment you shot him with it.

The one which he liked waking up beside this morning—secretly hoping for many more. A secret, which apparently, has been answered.

Please. He thinks to himself.

Running the tip of his nose against your cheek, he hears the softest rumble of a laugh in your chest. “Say it, cariño.”

“I love you… sir.”

“Not your sir.”

Your fingers wrap around his chin. “Javi, you’ll always be my sir...”

“I love you too.”

Smiling, you wear it with such softness that it spreads to your eyes and lives on your lips. He nods, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Tasting coffee and sugar.

“I’ll wait at yours?”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll see you there later.”

You nod, “I think they’ll cancel my Visa soon.”

Swallowing, he sighs. “Lemme guess, you don’t want me to use my charm to keep you with me for a bit?”

“I’d love you to, but you have more important things to do. Don’t you?”

He does.

Especially if he wants to build fences and spend evenings losing himself in tasting your skin.

Winking, you roll your lips. “Plus, I never cashed in my own favour with Stoddard.”

The air felt different when he had left the building.

Adrenaline thumped through him, pounding, matching how his heart hammered itself against his ribs. His hands grabbed at the things that mattered—leaving the array of files, the notes—only forcing the few post-its you’d written as he forced them into his trouser pocket.

He brushed his hand against them when he saw you leaning against the vehicle, waiting—a pair of his shades on your face as you folded your arms.

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the grin that appeared on your face when he told you what he’d done. That he’d met with Carolina Álvarez, that he’d planned to tell his story. He also rather likes playing back a version of how you’d shown him how proud of him you were—eyes all wide as you found a place between his knees, cheeks hollowing, his thumb swiping the spit from your chin.

One day, he’ll admit to you that’s when he felt he had succeeded. He felt like a winner when he got to peel your clothes from your body, when he got to spread you out over the sheets, the blinds open, the city lights flickering as he sunk into you.

Now, he’s surpassed that feeling as he strides towards you. The building behind him was slowly forgotten with every step—the regrets still clinging to him, the fact that he wished he could have done more for those who had to pay to bring down the godfathers.

But for that moment, as he strode towards you, he fixed and focused, only on you.

“I want you gone, Peña. So do the Colombians.” “I understand, sir.” “Any aspirations you have for your career, have been dragged behind the barn and shot.” He smirks, thinking of you—of that smirk you used to shoot him. Copying it, smothering it over his face. “I resigned from the DEA this morning.”

There had been a thing that powered through him as he strode closer and closer, almost able to smell your perfume before he even reached you. He thought back to the way it wormed itself into him when you’d stood in his office, calling it a glass prison. When it burned itself into his sheets the night he took you back, you left before the sun came up.

Now, it’s woven with him. Your hand in his on the armrest of the aeroplane seat—your knee bobbing, teeth biting the inside of your cheek.

“Didn’t know you didn’t like flying, cariño.”

“Maybe I’m regretting travelling to Texas. You thought of that?”

Tightening his hold on your hand, he grips it—feeling you do the same back. “Not gonna let anything happen.”

“You going to fight turbulence, now?”

Grinning, he leans closer. “For you? I’d try.”

Shaking your head, he watches as your knee slowly stops bouncing—your fingers still tightly holding him, nails just about digging into his skin. He doesn’t care; you could force them in more and make him bleed, but he wouldn’t be bothered.

He’s happy—content.

Something settled in him, something he hadn’t known if it would when he’d got on the plane back out here.

Your head turns to meet his as the pilot speaks, Javi just watching as your lips curl up into a smile.

—and I have some information about our flight—

“You ready, sir?”

—Our flight time today will be—

He thinks of telling you he’s been ready for days, weeks. Javi even tries to think of something witty.

Instead, he places two fingers under your chin, eyes focused on the way the corners of your smile drop, as he responds only by kissing you—openly, freely—doing so until he feels you laugh against him.

And fuck, does he want to feel you laugh against him for as long as he breathes.

You’d expected to like Laredo, but not as much as you do. It’s nice, warm. It's a different heat than Colombia, in a way you couldn’t explain.

The mornings are different, calmer, yet busy. Your days spent at an old dining table, boxes and boxes of receipts, papers and forms—because apparently Javi’s disorganisation is inherited.

When you break for lunch, you hunt for him. Moving past the animals, the fences he’s helped repair, your fingers brushing through the grass, tickling your palms as you head towards him.

Today, his back turned, the shirt he’d left wearing earlier now coated in sweat patches and earth. If not for the environment around you, you could easily place him back in Colombia. A thought the two of you must both have, but never talk about.

And that’s the problem.

One the two of you share. Some unspoken bond, rippling between the two of you—shaking, thrumming. It is there being plucked by lack of sleep and sorrow.

You hadn’t been sure at first if he felt the same, until you began finding him watching the river the same way you did. Then you wondered if he, too, spends the minutes before dropping off to sleep thinking about how you both could have done it all differently rather than looking back in gratitude that you both made it out.

You’re glad you did. You’re glad both of you did.

Being here helps. It healing. Repairing.

Javi’s father being the exact person you expected him to be: kind, loving and protective. All qualities that run through the man you love.

As you near him, a smile graces your cheeks on command—it’s always easy to smile around him—has always been, but it’s been easier since being here.

“Look at you, feeling all unemployed and lost with yourself.”

Sliding your arms around him, you catch the last embers of a snort and a smirk as he looks at you. His body is still turned, pointed in the direction it usually is when the boats go by. A thing you know, spot and see too.

“I’ve got a job, cariño.”

Humming, you sigh. “I wouldn’t blame you, y’know? I get—”

“No. I’m not—I’m not going back.”

You bite the inside of your mouth, digging it down until you begin to taste copper. Because there’s honesty rising in you, it there, itching, scraping—

Desperate to escape.

Because you love him, love the life the two of you could have. Fear is doing its best to keep you apart, sleep deprivation adding another bow to its arsenal.

“I see them too,” you mutter, finding his face shifts, his brow arching. “What, you think you’re the only one with eyes, Peña?

“At first, I’d begun writing when they’d go past. See if I could spot a pattern—old habits, right? It helped before when I had nowhere to run.”

He nods, so much understanding hanging behind the yellow tint of his shades that it hurts. Almost punches the breath from your lungs.

“But, the more I looked for one, the more I could feel all this slipping. Realising I didn’t want that, I had no reason to run or fix or save. I didn’t—don’t—want to lose the light—that fire you sparked in me in your office—when you basically told me you wanted me here.”

His fingers slide against your arms, palms brushing until fingers clasp at yours.

“I think we have to talk about it if we want it to work here,” you say more softly. “We both…. Gotta stop keeping the other out for the sake of saving face. Cause, I’m struggling too, Javi. I’m not…. I feel bad, guilty. Like I should be doing more than baking and taxes and…”

“Being happy?”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Just feel…. Fuck.”

“That we didn’t win?”

Nodding, he chews his cheeks. “But, we didn’t lose either. Did we?”

“No,” you say, sliding your hand in his. “We didn’t. This is why we have to try and talk about it—so we don’t lose what we won.”

He nods again, tongue tracing over the front of his teeth. “You’re one hell of a winning, baby.”

More words swing, spreading out, all unspoken, but they’re there in the air. In his eyes. In yours.

“And you make me happy too.”

Snorting, he rolls his eyes before he pulls you flush against him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, against your cheek, against your lips, until your bodies are flush, and his eyes stare into your soul.

“I’ve rang them—about the boats.”

I know, you think to yourself—because you’ve rang to tell them too.

His chin rests on your head, arms tightening around you. “I love that you’re here. That you chose this.”

“I know, sir. I know.”

“Less of the sir.”

But this time, compared to the others, you think he means it a little bit less. Especially with the way you’re sure you can feel him grinning.

Post Nowhere To Run One-Shots:

I wrote these during the series and I was meant to wait to post, but the darkness was dark and I needed the light. So, enjoy these as they were intended.

▸ coming home

▸ dancing in the kitchen 

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