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#Javier Peña x reader
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Haircut
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Summary: Javi thinks that he's way past due for a haircut. You like his hair long for reasons other than his good looks.
Word Count: 2.1K (I sprinted to write this after I saw this picture)
Pairing: Husband!Javi x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, reader's nickname is Osita)
Warnings: SMUT (18+) Oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, (lovingly?) possessive Javi, Javi's back at again with his filthy mouth, hair pulling, Javi is hungry and the man is gonna EAT, allsions to more smut, Jonas Brother's references ( bc Javi is our girl dad king and his daughters love them LMAO)
A/N: Y'ALL REALLY THOUGHT THIS PICTURE OF PEDRO WAS SURFACE RIGHT HERE ON TUMBLR DOT COM AND I WASN'T GONNA DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?!? WRONG. I legit have 3 WIPS I started in the past 24 hours based on this picture alone. Pedro really did this one for the Javier Peña girlies (gn) and I will forever be in debt to him for that. You cannot tell me that this is Dad!Javi when his kids are a little bit older bc HOLY SHIT?! This really may the nail in the coffin for @notjustjavierpena and I bc really fear this is the dilfiest Husband Javi has ever looked 😩😵‍💫 anyways, never getting over this!!!!
Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist
“God, I can’t even remember the last time my hair has been this long. Lucy keeps saying I look like a Jonas Brother. Am I supposed to know who they are? Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Javi sighed, playing with his dark brown curls in the bathroom mirror as you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, peeking out to watch your husband’s longer than usual locks twist between his fingers. 
“They’re the goofy looking boy band on Disney Channel that the girls are obsessed with. Like the Backstreet Boys, except cooler, apparently.” You laughed, planting a soft kiss into the fabric of Javi’s worn t-shirt covering his broad back before stepping next to him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter to admire your husband as he fiddled with his hair. 
“Jesus Christ, those guys? God, I really do need a haircut before I start looking like the poster what’s-his-face hanging on Lucy and Elliot’s walls.” Javi chuckled, running his hand through his hair once more before mirroring you, his hip resting against the counter, leaning his weight on his palm splayed flat along the granite surface. 
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think he’s supposed to be the best looking one.” You teased, giving Javi a playful shrug. “Besides, I like your hair long.” 
“Seriously?” Javi asked, raising an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest in protest. “It looks like a mop right now.” 
“A very sexy mop.” You smirked, nudging Javi before stepping closer into him, reaching up to run your hand through his curls, slowly twisting the ends with your fingers. “It reminds me of that trip we took to Jamaica a few years ago. Your hair was almost this long, remember? You looked so hot in those stupid floral button downs you insisted on buying, and hanging out shirtless by the pool all day while you played with the girls.” 
“Fuck, I forgot about that. I’m surprised we didn’t end up with a fourth kid after that trip.” Javi chuckled, slowly shifting the palm that had been holding him up towards your waist, letting his fingers gently toy with the waistband of your pajamas. “You really like my long hair that much?” 
“Mhmmmm.” You cooed, continuing to close the gap between your bodies, your free hand resting on Javi’s chest as the other continued to stroke his curls. You could feel a low groan rumbling in Javi’s throat as your fingers weaved back and forth through his hair, the other creeping up to cradle his jaw, thumb tracing back and forth across the stubble on his cheek. 
“Yeah? What else do you like about it?” Javi groaned, his hand slipping under the elastic waistband of your pants to grab a fistfull of your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hand. 
“I like…” You paused, bringing your lips to Javi’s, pressing a tender kiss on his lips, “I like that it gives me something extra to hold on to.” 
“Hold on to?” Javi asked, cocking his head in slight confusion. 
“Hold on to when you go down on me. I love being able to run my hands through your hair when you eat me out, especially when it’s long like this.” You smirked, watching Javi’s eyes go wide in delight, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he bit down on his lip. 
Before you could say anything else, Javi’s hands were gripping around your waist and hosting you up to sit on the counter, caging his body against yours, hands planted around the outside of your hips while his lips crashed into yours, your mouths becoming a tangled mess of tongue and teeth. 
“Fuck…” Javi whispered to himself, pulling away from your lips to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck, running his hands over your thighs. “I love it when you play with my hair, Hermosa. Love feeling you pull on it when you’re close. Makes me lose my fucking mind every time. Fuck, I’d stay burried between your legs forever if I fucking could.” 
Javi began to let his kisses trail down your body, past your chest and across your stomach before he was dropping to his knees in front of you, draping your legs across the width of his shoulders. Pulling at your waistband, you lifted your hips off the counter so your pajamas and underwear could fall to the floor, revealing the wetness that had been pooling between your thighs since you had walked into the bathroom a few minutes ago. 
“Jesus Christ…” Javi whispered, further parting your legs to see the arousal already dripping through your folds, staring up at you with a boyish grin on his face, “So fucking wet for me, Hermosa. Didn’t realize you liked my hair that much.” 
“Oh shut up you goof, you know I- o-oh fuck-” You whimpered, Javi cutting off the rest of your sentence as the flat of his tongue dragged across your cunt, the suddent sensation making you gasp in delight, already playing in to Javi’s plan as your hand shot down to his head, digging your fingers into his messy hair. 
“Better hold on tight, querida. There’s a lot more where that came from.” Javi smirked, pulling away just enough to see the smug smile between his cheeks, peppering a few wet kisses on the inside of your thighs before his head was back between your legs, placing a soft kiss on your clit, already aching and throbbing for more of what you had just been promised. 
“Do your worst, Peña.” 
That one sent a low growl of approval humming through his chest, laughing to himself as his hands gripped tighter around your thighs, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your skin before another slow, broad stroke of his tongue was traveling through your folds. 
While you were truly convinced there wasn’t another man who loved going down on their wife more than your husband did, you could always tell when Javi wanted nothing more than to stay buried between your thighs, making you cum over and over until you were begging him to stop, lapping up every last drop of you until there was nothing left to give, and right now, you already knew Javi meant what he said when you were about to have to hold on for dear life. 
The hand buried in the dark waves of Javi’s hair only began to tug tighter as his tongue began to work meticulously across your cunt, pressing just enough pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves to already have you a squirming, whimpering mess, but painstakingly slow enough to have you begging for more. 
“Javi… Oh, shit. Fuck, more baby, please. P-please.” You moaned, looking down at Javi with what you were already sure was a wrecked expression painted across your face. 
You could practically feel Javi’s smug smirk pressed against your cunt as he eased one, then two fingers into your aching core, curling them to bump against the spongy spot inside you that already had you fisting at the edge of the bathroom counter to try and keep your composure, and better yet, your voice down. 
“Oh my god, f-fuck. You feel so good, baby.” You moaned, feeling the strong arch of Javi’s nose bumping against your clit, placing a soft kiss there before the flat of his tongue licked another long, broad stroke across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to send the sweet tingling sensation to start building in your spine. 
“Fuck, I love this perfect pussy so much. I still can’t believe she’s all fucking mine. My perfect fucking wife. Tell me, Hermosa, whose pussy is this?” Javi asked, pulling away for you to see your slick covering his mustache and the lustful look pooling in the dark brown of his eyes, the quiet possessiveness of his tone making your cunt clench even tighter around his fingers as they continued to pulse in and out of you. 
“It’s y-yours, Javi, It’s all- fuck- It’s all yours.” You whined, your breath hitching in your throat as you spoke. 
“And who’s the only one who makes you feel like this, huh?” Javi tutted, sliding a third finger into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting making you let out a ragged whimper as you threw your head back in pleasure. 
“Y-you- Jesus- Y-you are, Javi.” 
“And who’s gonna be a good girl and soak my face when she cums for me?” 
“M-me.” 
“That’s fucking right, you are.” Javi growled before diving back between your legs, working his tongue relentlessly against your clit, circling and flicking in fast and firm motions as his fingers curled deeper into your core, eating you up like a man starved, desperate to make you fall apart. 
You could already feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten from the way Javi was working so relentlessly to make you come undone, drinking every ounce of you up as his lips latched around your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch and mind go blank while that all too familiar tingle began to creep through your core, cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around him. 
At this point, your fingers were tugging so tightly around the soft, brown curls of his locks to try and hold yourself together, that you were convinced that you were close to pulling his hair out of his skull, but with the way you were on the brink of collapse from the way Javi’s mouth was working against your cunt, you almost didn’t have a choice. 
“Fuck, Javi. Oh shit- Baby, I’m so close. Don’t stop.” 
“I won’t stop, mi amor. Won’t stop until this pretty pussy fucking soaks me.” Javi mewled, peeking his head out from under you just enough so that his sweet, brown eyes were locked with yours, the hot words of his breath dancing against your pussy as his fingers continued to rock in and out of you. “I’ve got you, Osita. Promento. Damelo, bebita. (I promise. Give it to me, baby).” 
Before you could respond, your jaw dropped open and face scrunched in pleasure as Javi dove back in, burying his face in your cunt as each press of his tongue became more firm and precise than the last, feeling your pussy begin to flutter as you clutched tighter around the edge of the counter, trying to keep from screaming out in pleasure and raise any suspicion. But as your legs began to tremble and your heart race, teetering on the brink of collapse, it was taking every ounce of willpower you had left to make that happen.
“Fuck, Javi. Fuck, I- fuck- I’m gonna, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm crash through you, pleasure radiating in your veins as you fell apart, losing all inhibitions to keep yourself quiet as you threw your head back in all consuming bliss. With his fingers still buried in your cunt, gently working you through your high, Javi shot back up, his mouth engulfing yours in an electric kiss to try and capture your ragged moans that had been coating the walls of the bathroom, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips. 
Your heartbeat finally began to slow, your chest heaving in long, heavy breaths as you slumped into Javi, your head resting on his shoulder as your hands stayed buried deep in his hair, grasping onto his now sweat-dampened ends to try and pull yourself back down to reality.
After a few moments of letting you come to, Javi gently pulled out his fingers, all three drenched and glistening with your slick, pulling them out and bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk of satisfaction on his face. 
“God, you taste so fucking sweet. You really weren’t kidding about the hair, huh Hermosa?” Javi chuckled, cupping your jaw to cradle your cheek with his broad palm, forcing your gaze up at him. 
“I told you.” You giggled softly, still trying to catch your breath as you smiled at him, pulling him in for another long, tender kiss. “Hottest looking Jonas Brother I’ve ever seen.” 
The two of you burst out into laughter, practically snorting at your comment, taking a second to compose yourselves as Javi crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at you. 
“If that’s the fucking case, I’m getting out the clippers tonight.” 
“Not until you take me to bed and do this all again, you aren’t.” 
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creedslove · 20 hours
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LONGING ✨
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Javier Peña x f!reader
Summary: His longing for you is going to be the death of him, especially if he thinks he isn't good enough
Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of paid sex
A/N: it's been a long time since I managed to write something more than a headcanon, but you know, it feels I'm back, modestly and Pedro Pascal and his smooth clean shaven plus mustache face is to blame for my return, it has awakened something in me
1.5k words
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Javier was embarrassed, ashamed and mortified. He didn't want to do that, to ask you that, but at the same time he really did. More than that, he was desperate, he needed to ask and to know your answer. When he stepped inside your apartment earlier, all he could think of was standing by your side and taking care of you, while you went through another one of your dreadful migraine episodes. At first he was really torn between showing up or not, worried that would make him look like a sick lovey puppy, but at the same time, it was exactly what he was and even if he couldn't be with you in that way, he still wanted to be a part of it and enjoy some time with you, allowing himself to pretend there was something more than just the bond you two shared over a total unexpected friendship that grew between you both. He liked spending time with you overall, more so when you were alright, excited and willing to have a drink, go out, dance or just act as the only ray of sunshine that truly mattered in his life; but there was something about just standing silently next to you, making you a cup of tea and playing with your strands of hair very gently it made him come running to you every single time he sensed you weren't doing that well.
No matter if the lights were dimmed, if the TV was low and you were lying on the couch, your head on his lap as his fingers ran through your hair and he could just enjoy how cozy everything around him was. He still had a question, a doubt hammering his chest and it made him uneasy, needing to let it go and just get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.
“Cariño…” Javi's voice was soft as you opened your eyes at his calling, it always made you flutter to be addressed like that by him “...can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, Javi…”
“I-I like this woman… I don't know how to approach her, and what should I do?”
There he said it. It was out in the open, his pathetic question aimed at you with a slightly shaken voice, he felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he felt himself back in the seventh grade. He needed to know, he needed to open up and tell you you were that woman, he needed to see if he had any chance with you, but then, he couldn't bring himself into doing it, it was paralyzing, because it wasn't just lust, or a silly crush, it was more than that, it was craving, passion, love.
You, on the other hand, couldn't help but laugh softly, not sure where that joke was coming from. Why was Javier talking like an inexperienced schoolboy was a mystery to you, so raising your head from his lap and sitting straight up on the couch, staring at him with a confused frown, you could see there was no laughter, not even a smirk, he was completely serious about his question and you felt unsure what to say.
“Oh.. you mean that?! I'm sorry..” you chuckled a little embarrassed and licked your lips thinking of what to say next, being honest was always the best and the go to option between the two of you “well, Javi that's surprising, I mean, you are Javier Peña, women like you, not the other way around you know what I mean? You can get any girl you want, so this one just made you lost?”
Javi took a deep breath and ran his hand through his jaw, looking at you and nodding, making it so obvious his discomfort.
“Yeah…” his hand traveled through his hair still shyly “I just like her, for real… thought it wouldn't happen to me, the idea of, you know, being in love seemed so distant. I don't know what to do”
“Is this like Lorraine?”
Javi chuckled at that; the only love reference you ever got from him was a woman he left at the altar when he wasn't much more than a teenager. He was a mess, not being able to develop a single meaningful relationship in his life and suddenly aiming for it with you, while you weren't even aware of that. Shaking his head, he looked into your eyes
“No, Lorraine was different… I liked her, but I didn't love her. I was also younger, immature and a real dick, but that was long ago and she forgave me and found a decent man to build a family with. This is different now, I don't know what to do, what to say, I feel I'm not enough…”
“Well Javi…”
“All I'm saying is that I feel I'm not worthy, you know? What could I do so she would see I'm real..”
“You can always stop the whoring, Javi”
You shrugged and smiled, sort of joking at the same time he tilted his head and watched you attentively, he wasn't expecting that answer but now he got it, he was intrigued.
“What I mean is that if you want to show this girl you like her, you gotta stop going after any women, no prostitutes, that kind of stuff. You see, if it were me for example, it would be a deal breaker, I wouldn't want to be with a man who does that. No offense Javi, you are a great guy, but in a romantic sense I guess no woman would be okay with knowing their boyfriend is well-known all over the whorehouses in Bogota… it would be embarrassing, humiliating even, to know whenever you get into a place with your boyfriend everyone knows he's been sleeping around”
Javier went silent. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he stared into your eyes. That's what you thought of him; he knew you didn't mean to offend him, you knew you didn't judge him for his ways of life, as long as you remained in the friendship area. It was as clear as the sky you would never be involved with him. He couldn't even blame you for it, only himself for ever thinking he could have a shot with you. He didn't know what to say, he wasn't necessarily offended, he was simply disappointed in himself and his unrealistic expectations, he was heartbroken because he had ruined everything before he could even start it.
“Y-you think she wouldn't be with me because of that?”
You noticed how upset Javi seemed and you immediately regretted the words you'd said. You were so used to being honest and straightforward towards him, it didn't even occur to you your words could hurt him. Words never seemed to hurt Javier Peña in the first place, so why was that so different? It didn't make any sense to you, sighing you looked into his beautiful sad eyes once more.
“I don't know her, Javi… maybe this isn't a big deal for her, all I'm saying is that if it were me, I wouldn't be okay with it, I guess, but you're a wonderful man, no matter what and if she's worthy of you, she'll love and accept you no matter what”
“You think I'm disgusting?”
His words broke your heart, you could never think that of him, he was your Javi, and even if you didn't agree with his way of living, you cared about him. Placing your hands on his cheek and caressing them gently.
“Of course not, Javi… I am just jealous I guess, I wouldn't want that many women around my man, and I think you deserve so much better than that. You are handsome, sweet, intelligent, you shouldn't have to pay for that, you should be able to have a family…”
You said sweetly and Javi gave you a sweet, sad smile, you didn't know if he agreed or not, but he held your hand in his and stroked it with his thumb. He'd always been so gentle with you, he was often much better than you deserved it. Whoever that girl was, she was damn lucky.
“Do you mean that, cariño?”
“Yes, amor…”
Javi's heart raced as you called him that. Amor. Love. Could it possibly be it? Perhaps he did have a chance?
“You know Javi, the embassy ball is coming, maybe you should invite your girl to come with you” you suggested and he chuckled, it was his turn to place his hands on your cheeks, always dwarfing them with how big he was compared to you. Javi still wondered if you were playing hard to get or if you really hadn't realized you were his girl.
“You're right cariño, but I could invite anyone in the world, and none of them would be as beautiful as you are”
He loved you, his heart ached from the longing he felt, he didn't know if he had a chance with you, sometimes he thought so, and sometimes he was sure you were way out of his league, but one thing he knew for sure: he'd love you for the rest of his life no matter what.
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"Not all men..."
Yeah your right José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal would never treat me like this
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flightlessangelwings · 5 months
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Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.
Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.
Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!
And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!
And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!
We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.
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oscarisaacsspit · 1 year
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i’ll be like “need him so bad it makes me stupid” and it’s this guy:
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swiftispunk · 1 year
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let me | javier peña x f!reader
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part two
pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader
summary: reader is inexperienced, javi helps you out. you know, like a gentleman. 
rating: 18+ (no minors please)
warnings etc: filthy smut, unprotected p in v sex, masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving), loss of “virginity,” soft!javi, also rough!javi, smoking, alcohol, choking if you squint, mentions of torture (oops), also mentions of drugs. probably bad spanish (please correct me). NO USE OF Y/N.
A/N: guys. idk guys. idk what this is. in my mind, javi is just a very experienced and attentive lover and that’s why this exists. honestly they should have never let me watch narcos (it’s me, i’m they).
word count: 4.9k
The after-work drinks had led where they so often do: you and Peña, alone at a bar not far from the embassy, locked in a war of words after the rest of your colleagues had called it a night.
“It’s really not any of your business, Peña.”
“Javi, baby.”
“Sorry, Javi. And I’m not saying anything else.”
“That’s fine, you don’t have to. I mean, it’s obvious. Can’t believe I didn’t see it before, honestly.”
“How is it obvious?”
Tonight, somehow, the conversation has landed on your sex life, a topic you’d rather not get into, seeing as you’re not exactly what you - or anyone else for that matter - would call “experienced.”
You’d made the fatal flaw, after your third beer, of letting that fact slip. Now Peña, ever the opportunist, is pressing you for details. 
“I’ve fucked a lot of whores, baby, so believe me. I know a virgin when I see one.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mhmm,” he hums, swigging back a mouthful of his beer. 
“What makes you so sure?” you challenge him, fighting for your life to maintain the upper hand in an argument you are almost definitely losing. 
“Princesa, it’s written all over you.”
“I don’t see how.” 
You’re being coy, but of course he’s right. You hate to admit it because it feels embarrassing, even more so knowing Peña’s...colourful history. You’ve heard all about his escapades through the other women at the embassy, and he isn’t exactly quiet about it himself. Half his intel came from the women he’d slept with, and he had no shame admitting that. 
It’s not like you’re against the idea of sex or anything, you’ve fooled around here and there. You just...never got around to crossing that one particular threshold. 
But you’ve definitely thought about crossing it with the sensuous man sitting across from you now.  
Javi leans back in his chair, the fabric of his tight shirt stretching deliciously over his tan chest. It takes all your strength to keep your eyes on the beer bottle in your hands and not on his neck, where the thinnest sheen of sweat is glistening in the Colombian heat. 
“The way you are with me, for one thing,” he drawls, lighting a cigarette and taking a languid pull. 
Fuck.
“What - I don’t -”
“You can deny it, querida, but I’ve got eyes,” he says matter-of-factly, like he’s assessing the evidence of a crime scene. “All jumpy and nervous around me like a teenager or some shit. It’s alright, es linda.”
God-fucking-damnit. He’s right again, much to your chagrin. You know you haven’t been subtle with the way you’ve been pining after him, but still. Of course he’s noticed you blushing and bumbling violently every time he so much as greets you with an “hola, querida” or places a hand on your lower back when he passes you in the office. 
Not that he hasn’t been taking complete advantage of your obvious crushing, openly flirting at work or insisting you stay for “one more drink, hermosa,” at work functions like this. 
That’s why you can’t bear to tell him the truth. 
He smirks while you fumble for your words, and yeah, you’re definitely not winning this argument. 
“Look, Peña, I -”
“Javi.”
“Sorry, Javi -”
“And there’s that,” he interjects, leaning forward and pointing at you accusingly with the cigarette trapped between his fingers. 
“What?”
“You give in so easy, querida,” he practically purrs, leaning even closer to you across the little table, your body responding to the proximity, blush flooding your cheeks and heart beating out an unsteady rhythm. “No fight in you at all. You know what that says?”
You shake your head no.
“It says you’re dying to get fucked.”
His bluntness catches you off guard, and your breath leaves you in a quick exhale as you back away from him, far enough to get some air. 
Then the truth is pouring from your lips before you can stop it. 
“Well it hasn’t been for a lack of offers, okay?” you say, flustered and frustrated. Over Javier Peña. What else is new?
“Oh, I’m sure,” he reassures you, but you can see the triumphant glint in his eyes that he’s got the admission from you. Javi stays right where he is on the edge of his chair, so close your knees brush. He takes another long drag off his cigarette, the smoke filling the hot air around you as he exhales. 
“Or for lack of wanting to, actually,” you admit. 
“What’s stopping you?” he asks, with what sounds like genuine curiousity. 
“I don’t know, Javi, work...life...things got in the way.” It’s not untrue; cushy government jobs like yours didn’t come easy, especially not the ones that see you working with the team in charge of taking down the biggest cocaine empire in history. Distractions in your personal life had never been an option. “You might find it hard to believe but there are more important things in this world than fucking.”
“Sure,” he says agreeably, with another drag of his smoke. “But if you had offers - and it’s obvious why you’d have offers, hermosa - why didn’t you?”
He sounds so earnest, like he’s really trying to understand. It’s that sincerity that keeps the truth coming before you can stop it.
“They just weren’t the right people,” you shrug. It really was that simple. You had just...never wanted to settle. 
“So let me ask you this,” he says, putting out his cigarette and silencing you with a hand on your knee under the table. 
Fuck fuck fuck. 
“What’s stopping you right now?” he croons. “If I’m offering.”
You can hardly breathe as his gentle touch inches up your leg, his long fingers finding their way just under the hem of your pencil skirt. Your skin tingles at his touch, his palm still somewhat cold from the beer he’d been holding a moment ago. 
You can’t speak or even move as his hand moves further up under your skirt, sliding between your legs, pinky finger just caressing the edge of your underwear, dangerously close to the spot you know has started to become wet with arousal. 
He’s never been this overt with you before. 
“W-what like -,” Your voice comes out weak, betraying you as you try to keep it together “- you seriously think you’re the right person, Peña?”
“Has anyone ever even made you come, cariño?” he implores, ignoring your question.
You swallow harshly as you battle with yourself to keep your composure, answering his question with another question. 
“Um - you mean - besides myself?” 
Javi grins like the devil himself, dark brown eyes glinting with menace as his fingers twitch knowingly closer to the edge of your panties. 
He’s enjoying this.
“Sure, besides yourself. But put a pin in that, querida.”
Had his hand felt cold a moment ago? Now it feels hot as a branding iron on your thigh, snaking completely between your legs and forcing you to uncross them. 
“I - I don’t want to say,” you lie.
His gaze locked tightly with yours, Javi squeezes your inner thigh then, feather light but with enough force that you gasp loudly and your entire body tenses.
He isn’t smiling anymore.
“Dime,” he commands you. 
You suddenly imagine yourself as some sicario he’s interrogating for information, his grip on your thigh its own form of cruel torture, eliciting confessions from you like a criminal under the knife. 
“N-no,” you stammer dumbly. “No one but me has ever...”
“Ever...?”
Fuck. He wants you to say it. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin between your legs, coaxing the words out of you with ease.
“No one but me has ever made me come,” you say in a rushed breath. 
He spreads your legs a little wider, and you don’t fight it. 
“Are you turned on right now, hermosa?” 
You nod wordlessly. What’s the point in lying now? You’re so wet anyway, you’re surprised the entire bar can’t sense your arousal. 
He chuckles darkly, finally sitting back and taking his hand away with him. You take a breath for what feels like the first time in minutes, body aching from the need to have his touch back. 
“Como dije, too easy,” he says, dropping the dark edge in his voice and lighting another cigarette coolly. 
“Javi -”
“Finish your drink, querida.”
-
For the second time that evening, you find yourself alone with Javi.
Only this time it’s on his couch, and instead of beer, you’re clutching for dear life to a crystal glass of bourbon as Javi brushes your hair off your shoulder to delicately kiss your neck.
Somewhere between the teasing in the bar and the teasing in his car, you’d agreed to let Javi “fix your little problem” (his words, not yours). Not that it had been a particularly hard sell. But now it’s actually happening and you need to at least attempt to set some ground rules. 
“Javi, wait.”
“Mmmm?” He doesn’t move away from you, his breath sending shivers down your spine as you struggle to remember what it was you’d been trying to say.
“I’m...not one of your whores,” you say breathlessly.
“Lo sé, hermosa.”
“And I waited a long time for this,” you manage.
He continues kissing along your jaw, simultaneously snatching the drink from your hands and placing it on the table in front of you. 
“Say what’s on your mind, baby.” You hear the implication behind his words: it’s now or never. 
With every ounce of willpower you have, you push him off you with a hand on his chest, partially exposed under his beige shirt, to look him in his smoldering brown eyes. The sight of him nearly takes you out, his lips parted and brows furrowed, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of hungry.
“I just want to make sure you know what this is,” you say firmly, feigning enough bravado to take on Escobar himself. “This is for me.”
Javi smirks, seemingly endeared by your efforts to take control of the situation.
“Corazón,” he hums, brushing both his hands over your cheekbones softly. “How little do you think of me? Hm? I’m not gonna use you. I want to help you.”
You can barely choke out a breathy, “Good,” before his lips are on yours, silencing you for what feels like the hundredth time that night. He kisses you deeply, slowly but assuredly, his tongue finding its way into your mouth with no resistance from you. 
His breath is warm and all-encompassing, the taste of beer and bourbon mixed with cigarette smoke lacing his lips as they move competently against yours. He’s gentle, to your surprise, his hands still resting on either side of your face, holding you steady as you lose yourself in him.
He kisses you like that for what feels like hours, taking his time, letting his hands tangle in your hair as yours feel their way along his muscled arms.
With your head spinning from just his kiss, you can’t contain your moan when he trails one hand over your clavicle and under your collared shirt, fingers ghosting just over your breast. You gasp for air when he breaks the kiss, moving to graze his lips over your chest and up your neck, across your jaw and finally behind your ear, where he stops.
“You said you’ve made yourself come, right?” he whispers hotly in your ear, his hand over your breast finally squeezing with the faintest pressure.
You nod. 
“Words, hermosa,” he presses you, gently tugging at the thick hair at the nape of your neck with his other hand, tangling his fingers in there. 
“I’ve made myself come,” you say shakily, daring yourself to look at him.
He licks his lips and removes his hand from under your shirt, letting it run over the front of your body, where he uses it to hike your skirt higher up on your thighs, revealing your panties underneath. 
“Show me,” he commands. “Show me how you play with your pussy. Show me how you like it.” 
His words send sparks flying to your core, but you don’t have time to absorb them, because then he’s ducking back to crush his mouth to yours again, guiding one of your hands between your legs with his own. 
You whimper as you feel how soaked you are through your underwear, which causes Javi to smirk as he kisses you. His hand hovers over yours as you circle your clit through the fabric till you’re floating with the sensation of it, giving in to the feeling of Javi against your mouth and your own hand against your clothed folds.
He pulls back after a moment, helping you wiggle free from your underwear and spreading your legs wider so you’re fully on display for him.
“Bonita,” he whispers, taking in the sight of you, skirt hiked up to nearly your belly now, wet cunt glistening in the low light of his apartment. “Fuck,” he growls, voice dripping with awe and arousal. “Keep going, pretty girl.”
His encouragement keeps you from feeling embarrassed, even as you dip two fingers inside yourself, how you would if you were alone.
“Yeah, baby,” Javi groans. You chance a glance at him to find he’s palming himself through his tight jeans, watching you like a warrior lusting for battle. “You like that? Want someone to fill that pussy up, don’t you?”
You can only respond with a soft moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the feeling and the sound of his voice. You’re distantly aware of him leaning over you, unbuttoning your shirt and palming your tits through your bra, sending a new wave of pleasure through you while you fuck yourself with your fingers.
You’re so far gone that you aren’t prepared for the moment he shoves your hand away, pinning it on the couch beside you, suddenly replacing your fingers with his mouth. 
“Fuck, Javi!” you cry as his tongue darts into your cunt before licking up towards your clit, where he mimics the small circles you’d demonstrated with your fingers just moments before. 
He moans against you, igniting another new sensation, sending electric shocks through you, a tightness starting to build deep inside your core.
But then he’s slipping two fingers inside you, two fingers that are much thicker and longer than your own. His tongue keeps working circles around your clit, distracting you from the slight pain of his fingers spreading you open. But the pain is quickly replaced with pleasure when he hooks them inside you just so, reaching a new spot that has you flying, squirming under him as your orgasm threatens to overcome you.
“You taste so good, hermosa,” he groans, pulling his mouth away to kiss at your inner thighs, nipping the skin there ravenously. “Has anyone ever eaten your pussy like this, baby?”
“No one like you, Javi,” you promise him, gazing down at him fully clothed between your legs, your wetness caught in his mustache, his fingers still hooked inside you like an anchor. 
“I want you come on my mouth, can you do that for me, cariño?”
You nod furiously in response and Javi grins up at you before diving down to circle languidly over your clit with his tongue again, fingers fucking in and out of you, unrelentingly, till there’s only him, him, him, inside you and around you, making your head spin and your toes curl. When you come, you arch up off the couch, crying out a string of expletives mingled with his name. It’s miles beyond anything you’ve ever made yourself feel with just your own meager fingers.  
Javi doesn’t pull away or slow his motions as you finish, lapping you up greedily, only backing off when he feels your hands in his hair, a silent plea as the sensation starts to feel like too much.
“Oh…my god,” is all you can say when the wave finishes passing over you.
“Good?” he asks then, gazing up at you as you try to catch your breath.
“Yes, Javi, fuck, so fucking good,” you keen, waves of pleasure still sending shockwaves through you as Javi moves up your body to reunite your lips with his. You taste yourself on his tongue when he licks inside your mouth, and fuck, that’s new. 
“You’ve kind of got a mouth on you, don’t you?” Javi observes after a moment. You had been cursing a little more than you usually did, but what did he expect after he’d made you come like that? He really must have just seen you as some fucking prude at work.
“What can I say, Javi?” you lilt, indulging him. “You made a chica mala out of me.” You hope Javi will appreciate the seductive edge you’ve adopted in your post-ograsm haze. 
“Listen to you, baby,” Javi whispers with a smile, cupping your face with his hand, letting his thumb glide over your lips and coax your mouth open. “Sweet girl.” He leans in to kiss you again, like he can’t help himself.
He kisses you like that for a long while, and then you can’t wait. You start to fumble with the belt on his jeans, signaling how ready you are for what you know is coming next. 
“M’not gonna take your virginity on the goddamn couch, querida,” he says against your mouth. 
“Then take me to bed,” you all but beg.
He growls and the butterflies in your stomach dance at the desperate sound. It occurs to you then that maybe he wants this as much as you do, the hard line of his cock in his jeans alone a clear indication of that. You eye it with a mixture of fear and exhilaration, which he catches, grinning at the need written all over your face.
He helps you off the couch and guides you to the bedroom by the hand, a move that feels chaste, all things considered.
In the bedroom, Javi’s mouth finds yours again, intoxicating you with his kiss so you hardly notice him removing your shirt, sliding your skirt down your legs and unhooking your bra behind you. But then he pulls away to assess your naked body and your diffidence flares in your exposed state. 
But Javi wastes no time putting you at ease.
“You’re fucking perfect, cariño,” he breathes, his hands moving up your sides to grab your tits with wonder, his eyes glazing over and cock twitching at just the sight of you. You’re blushing like a teenager again at his reverence, as if he hadn’t just eaten you out in the living room.
“Javi -,” you gasp, when he ducks down to kiss one of your nipples hungrily. “Why are you still wearing all those clothes?”
“You want them off, mi amor?” he teases, punctuating the question with a squeeze of your ass. “Get on the bed.”
You don’t argue. You lie back on the bed so he’s standing over you and you watch with nervous fascination as he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving you. 
“Touch yourself,” he instructs you gruffly. Again, you don’t argue. You’re not sure you’d deny him anything now.
You run your fingers over your throbbing cunt, still so sensitive, while Javi unbuttons his shirt. He tosses it aside before sliding his jeans and boxers down, his rock hard cock springing free, confirming a rumour you’d heard but never known for sure:
Javi is big.
Well, fuck.
Your eyes widen as he strokes himself a few times at the sight of you still playing with yourself, while you try to contain the sudden flood of anxiety threatening to take hold of you. You have no doubt Javi is the right person to do this for you, but the sight of his size has your nerves flaring all over again. What if you couldn’t do it?
Perhaps sensing your unease, Javi climbs up the bed so you’re face to face, stroking your cheek lightly with his fingers and planting a tender kiss to your lips.
“You still want this, baby?” he breathes.
You nod, head swimming with a confusing mixture of need for Javi and fear of failing.
He tuts, brushing your hair off your face with the softest of touches. “Need to hear you say it, mi amor.”
You take a deep, steadying breath, willing yourself to be calm. Javi’s done nothing but take perfect care of you so far, and you’ve waited too long to back out now. 
“I want you, Javi,” you say with as much conviction as you can muster, and it’s true, even if the slight quiver in your voice reveals your true consternation. 
He nods once before moving in to kiss your mouth, and you think you’ll never get tired of the feeling of his lips on yours. He kisses you until the nerves are melting away, peeling back layers of unease with each brush of his hands on your tits, every gentle pinch of your nipples, every indent of his fingernails on your hips. 
He takes his time, getting you soaking wet as he works over your body, finally sliding his hand down between your legs to insert a finger inside you. 
“I’m gonna get you ready for me, okay, sweet girl?” His voice is like honey in your ear, sickly sweet and sultry as he adds a second finger. “Relájate.”
Relax, you tell yourself. 
And it’s surprisingly easy to do, as his fingers spread and move inside you, coaxing you open in preparation for him. You moan at the feeling, and Javi moans with you, like he can feel it too. Your nerves start to feel like anticipation, your desire to have his cock inside you taking over. You can feel him, hard, pressed against your side, and your want very quickly turns to need. 
“Javi,” you groan. “I’m ready, please, fuck me.”
You can see the need in his own eyes looking back at you, his response nothing more than a soft grunt as he moves on the bed to position himself between your legs. He runs the tip of his cock through your wet folds, the feeling of him grazing your clit drawing out a loud moan from you. The lingering pleasure distracts you momentarily from the very real sting of him slipping the tip of his cock inside you. Your breath hitches then, and so does Javi’s.
“Fuck me,” Javi snarls followed by a litany of curse words in Spanish you don’t recognize. “You’re so fucking tight.”
He has to work hard to focus on you, staying completely still while you adjust to his size. 
“Open your eyes, hermosa,” he implores you, voice strained. You hadn’t even realized you’d closed them. You force your lids open to look up at him, his strong arms on either side of you, his expression a combination of pleasure and concern for you. “Are you good?”
You’re not so sure. It hurts, there’s no getting around that. You can feel his cock stretching you open, splitting you apart at the seams and it’s too much, too overwhelming, too unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
But it’s not...bad. In spite of the pain, your body is begging out an incessant plea to your mind: more. 
“I’m good - I just - need you to move.” 
You think it’s true. Already the pain is dissipating back into pleasure, and you want to feel more of him. You want to be full of him.
Javi dips to kiss you as he slowly, devastatingly, pushes his hips forward, his length gradually filling you inch by inch, till he’s almost all the way inside. Never taking his eyes off yours, he pulls out nearly completely, thrusting back in at the same pernicious pace. You throw your head back when he bottoms out, finally feeling all of him inside you, a fullness unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.
Fuck the pain, you decide then.
“More,” you beg out loud, letting Javi hear your inner pleas. 
Javi groans and begins to thrust in and out of you in earnest then, maintaining a slow but steady pace, till your head is spinning and the ache subsides. Then it’s just good, the feeling of him inside you, the constrained look of ecstasy on his face, his body over yours like a safe haven.
“Is it everything you hoped for?” he teases as he fucks you, the huskiness in his voice driving you wild, causing heat to rise in your core again.
“Shut up and don’t stop,” you try to tease back, but you sound so breathless as the pleasure in you mounts, giving you away.
“Mouthy,” he chides you, biting down gently on your earlobe. “Think you can come again, mi chica mala?”
“I think - I - yeah, just -,” he shifts his hips slightly so he’s hitting that spot in you again, thrusting into you over and over at an devastatingly unhurried tempo - “right there - fuck!”
You don’t stand a chance when he starts rubbing his thumb over your clit, the rhythm of his hips picking up speed as you cry out, your second orgasm edging closer. Javi’s movements are so certain, so meticulous, so competent, and you think it must have been worth the wait if it meant your first time got to be this. 
“Javi, fuck, I’m gonna -,”
“Come for me, hermosa, come on my dick,” he instructs you as the warmth builds in your core and reaches a fever pitch, your entire body jerking as you come again, soaking and squeezing his cock as you do. “Good girl,” Javi praises you while you come, his movements never ceasing as he fucks you through it, losing himself in the feeling. “That’s so good, baby.”
You feel tears sprout at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming euphoria of it all. Unconsciously, your hands trace Javi’s chest, his arms, his back, anywhere you can reach to feel more of him. His movements, still so methodically slow, become less precise and more hasty as his own climax approaches.
“M’close, hermosa, where do you want me?” he whispers, voice wavering.
“What do you want, Javi?”
He chuckles once minaciously. 
“You don’t want what I want, sweet girl.”
“Try me, Peña,” you say, hoping the use of his last name will bring out the reaction you’re looking for. 
It works, or at least, he seems to clue in to what you’re trying to do. His eyes go dark and you see something shift in him.
“You call me Javi when I’m fucking you, sweetheart,” he says in a voice you haven’t heard him use with you yet. He’s been so careful, so restrained with you so far. But you want to see the real Javi, the one who’s “fucked so many whores that he knows a virgin when he sees one,” the Javi who’s been teasing you for months, the one who’s got his cock in you so deep right now that you’ll let him take you how ever he wants.
“Turn over,” he orders you, and without hesitation you’re flipping onto all fours, Javi wasting no time in slipping his cock back inside you. 
“Fuck, Javi,” you moan as he fucks you with new intensity, his thrusts coming hard and fast, his hips pounding against your ass with enough force to knock the air out of you. 
“This what you want, baby, huh?” he grunts as he holds you steady with his big hands on your sides, reaching under you to palm your tits before pulling you upright so your back is flush against his broad chest. He holds you there while he fucks you punishingly, skin slapping on skin obscenely, his heavy breath tickling your ear as his hands trail over your chest and very lightly over your throat. 
You can’t find the words to answer him, and for once, he doesn’t make you. He just keeps fucking you at that same tenacious pace, his breath growing more ragged and his moans more disjointed.
He doesn’t warn you when he’s about to come, just suddenly pushes you off him so your face is flush against the mattress, his strong hand on the back of your neck forcing you to stay put there. He pulls out and you hear him stroke himself ferociously until his hot come is coating your ass and back and he’s moaning out another string of curse words you can’t make out. 
It sounds like a fucking symphony to your pleasure-drunk mind.
“Goddamn, hermosa,” you hear him sigh when he finishes, releasing his hand from the vice grip it has on the back of your neck, pulling you up by your arms so you’re sitting back on your knees. 
“You good, baby?” he breathes in your ear and you hum a quiet “yes” in response.
You really, really are.
With a firm hand on your chin, he tilts your face back to kiss you again, a kiss that feels so familiar now that it’s like coming home. He wraps his arms around you from behind, ignoring the sticky come between your bodies, his embrace a stabling ballast as you both catch your breath.
“Thank you, Javi,” you whisper after a long moment, letting your head fall back lazily against his shoulder. You don’t know what compels you to say it, but it’s true. Also, you haven’t exactly made it this far before; was it customary to express gratitude after getting your brains fucked out by your co-worker?
Javi just snickers lightly and presses a gentle kiss to your neck.
“Anytime, hermosa,” he says. “But next time, we’re finding something to do with that mouth of yours.”
Your tummy flutters at the thought of “next time” and you smirk up at him.
“Well lucky for you, I do have some experience in that department,” you assure him.
END.
7K notes · View notes
promisingyounglady · 16 days
Text
accident. | JP x Reader
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PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader
SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.
WC: 3.6k
WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.
AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst
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A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.
He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.
Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.
Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.
He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.
Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.
Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.
“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”
“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.
“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”
Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.
Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.
“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.
She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.
“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.
“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.
“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.
Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.
Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.
“Fucking hell.”
_
You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.
Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.
Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.
“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.
Javier was supposed to pick you up too.
But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself
You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.
Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.
What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.
You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.
You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.
You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.
Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.
When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.
Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.
The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.
Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”
Thwack.
An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.
“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.
Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.
“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.
Thwack. Thwack.
The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.
“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”
You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.
Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.
He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”
The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.
You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.
“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.
“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”
“Mi-”
“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.
Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.
You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.
“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.
“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.
You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”
Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.
You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”
The words pierce through Javier’s heart.
Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.
“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."
Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.
A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.
“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.
“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.
A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.
Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.
“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.
“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.
You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.
You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.
But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.
Now it was your turn to fuck things up.
Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.
Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.
You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.
You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.
“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.
Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.
“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.
That wasn’t what scared you.
What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.
“Javi, I’ll go get the-“
“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.
You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.
“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.
Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.
You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.
”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.
Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.
“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.
You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.
He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.
“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.
“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.
“Answer me, mama”
A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.
”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.
Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.
“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.
Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.
“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.
You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.
”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.
”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”
You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.
“Yes, Javier” you repeated.
He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.
It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.
You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.
“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.
“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.
You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.
“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.
“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.
“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.
“I know.” He says back gruffly.
Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.
“Merida”
You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.
”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.
Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.
“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.
You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.
Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.
“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.
Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.
You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.
It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.
“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.
Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.
“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.
“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.
He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.
He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.
“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.
You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.
Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.
You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.
“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.
You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”
You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”
You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.
You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.
Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.
1K notes · View notes
joelsgreys · 11 months
Text
Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)
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Part 2
Summary: You’re planning to have sex for the first time and you’re nervous—Javi offers to show you a thing or two, but just as friends of course.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader
Warnings/Tags 🏷 18+ only, minors dni. reader is in late 20’s; reader is an agent for the DEA; established friendship, idiots in love lust, overprotective/slightly jealous Javi; Javi is his canon manwhore self, reader is a virgin, talks of virginity loss and her desire for no strings attached sex, a bit of pining and yearning, lots of pet names, a couple insults, friendship fluff; touching, groping, dry humping, reader gets off, Javi does not. I know, I know. I will make it up to him in part dos. this does not follow the timeline of the show accurately, Messina is in the picture, Connie is still around. reader is bilingual, no descriptions of her race or ethnicity mentioned though. *translations at the end.
Word Count: 7.9k
A/N: This took me forever to edit and post because I’m scared lmao.
thank you to @cutesyscreenname for encouraging me to write this idea. I owe you cherry gansitos!
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You observed your own reflection in the full length mirror in front of you and let out a curious little hum as you lifted the short, scarlet red minidress, holding it right up against the length of your body. You then held up the second dress that you had clutched in your opposite hand, a stunning, satin black midi number whose length was a lot longer than the first option, the hem of it falling down to your calves.
It appeared rather innocent, modest enough while it was still on the plastic hanger, but it fit you beautifully, just like a fucking glove. The bodice of the garment cinched at your waist and it was tightly fitted, hugging the curves of your upper body so closely that it looked and even felt like something of a second skin whenever you wore it. The billowy skirt of the dress flowed out around you, darling and sweet at first glance, however it came with a borderline dangerous slit in the side of it that stopped about two or three inches above the middle of your thigh near the hinge of your hip. It exposed the entire length of your leg whenever you walked, danced, or moved around in it—Murphy had once referred to it as the infamous femme fatale dress, telling you that it was a far, far more dangerous weapon than your gun could ever be. 
You were fairly certain his remarks had something to do with the fact that you’d worn the dress on a number of different occasions while you were out on the job, going undercover in Bogotá for the US Drug Enforcement Administration. 
As the only female agent on her team in Colombia and a younger, very beautiful female agent at that, Messina found herself using you to her advantage quite often these days. She would send you out all over Bogotá in that very same black dress with the hope that it would aid you in luring in members of the Medellín drug cartel in efforts to capture their leader, Pablo Escobar.
Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.
You were doing something much more frightening than mingling among some of Colombia’s most dangerous men. 
Far, far more daunting than that.
You were going out on a date. 
“I like the red dress the best,” Javier’s deep voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He had mentioned to you earlier that day that he was going to some lounge with Murphy for a smoke and some drinks after work hours since it had been a long, draining week for him at the office; Messina had stuck him with an endless amount of tedious paperwork to do and it had just about driven him insane, but nothing a pack of cigarettes and some bourbon couldn’t fix. With the soft, Latin cumbias playing from the old stereo perched on top of the white oak dresser beside you, you had completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing when he’d gotten home.
You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Javier’s dark brown eyes were fixed intently on you, a small, devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he casually leaned up against the door frame of your bedroom. Well, technically, it was actually the guest bedroom of his apartment unit that he’d let you take over several months ago. The housing department of the agency had placed you into a unit in the building across the street from his, right next door to Murphy and his wife, Connie. It had been a special arrangement requested by your diligent supervisor in an effort to make sure that no one found themselves in a compromising situation—she trusted you enough not to get any dumb ideas, but she didn’t trust Peña as far as she could throw him. It wasn’t very far.
While it had certainly been quite nice, and even kind of comforting at times to have Steve and Connie as your neighbors, you’d expressed to Javier one night over dinner at his place that you weren’t all too fond of having to live alone. Without an ounce of hesitation on his part, Javi offered to have you move into his spare bedroom that very same evening after you were both done eating, but only on the condition that Messina didn’t find out about the new living arrangement. She would wring Javier’s neck with her bare hands if knew that you two had been sharing his apartment this entire time. 
Hell, she would wring yours too. And you were the favorite child of sorts. Less annoying than Murphy and certainly a lot less problematic than Peña. 
She only liked you because she never had to worry about you. On or off the job.
But even though you were Messina’s number one, her star player, that would do absolutely nothing to spare you from her wrath if she ever came to find out that you were living with Javier Peña. She wasn’t a fan of just how close the two of you had become over the last several months; she’d told you herself that she much preferred it if you kept your distance from him while you were off duty. One wrong move on your part or Javi’s and it was game fucking over. Messina wouldn’t hesitate to send one of your asses packing, back home to be assigned somewhere else, somewhere far away from the other.
Pursing your lips together lightly, you turned your attention back over to the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, you lifted the red minidress up against your body once more to get another good look at it, as if you hadn’t just been staring at it for the last five minutes before he’d appeared. “I don’t know, Javi. I don’t like this one all that much to be honest. I’m not even sure why the hell I let Connie talk me into buying it in the first place. She said it was cute,” You remarked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You wrinkled your nose at the diamond cut out design in the sides of it. Whoever designed it must have not had enough money to spring for more a teensy bit more fabric. “But it’s kind of tacky. And it makes me look like a whore.”
“Mm yes, but a very beautiful whore,” Javi stated, his smirk widening as he drank in the gorgeous sight of you before him. He licked his lips, openly admiring the way you were clad in nothing but one of his shirts, his pink button up with short sleeves that you had once told him you loved so much because it was your favorite color; you’d sneakily stolen it out of his closet on laundry day a couple weeks back while all of your clothes had been in the washing machine and had never given it back to him. Not that Javier even really wanted it back at this point—his shirt looked a million times better on you than ever it did on him. Seeing you in it did inexplicable things to him and he fucking loved it when you padded around your now shared apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and his pink shirt. He took another glimpse at you, nearly foaming at the mouth at how it fit your frame, how the hem of it fell to the tops of your smooth thighs, the material hardly doing anything to cover up the tantalizing curves of your hips and your perfect ass. “Hermosura. The most beautiful whore in all of Colombia.”
You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror, wishing you had a free hand you could flip him off with. “Gee, thanks for the compliment, Peña. You are always such a fucking charmer, aren’t you?”
“Oh, come on. Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. I’m just messing around with you. You know I don’t think you actually look like a whore—and trust me, I know what a whore looks like,” he responded with a deep and hearty laugh. He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall down to his sides as he pushed himself away from the door frame. He sauntered his way further into your bedroom, uninvited. “I’m being serious about the dress, though. Go with the red one. El vestido rojo. It’s perfect. Besides, that color would look gorgeous on you, cariño. I bet it would look almost as good on you as pink does.” He laughed again as he added, “Nice shirt, by the way.”
Your annoyed expression immediately softened into one of guilt. “I’ve been meaning to give you your shirt back,” You told him, sheepishly. “Te lo juro, Javi.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Javier snorted, waving off the little white lie. He finally forced himself to tear his attention away from you and glanced around, observing the current state of your room instead. It looked like a tornado had hit the inside of your closet; dresses, jackets, and high heeled shoes were strewn all over the place. He wasn’t all too surprised by the mess. He knew you like he knew the back of his own hand by now, and this was typical of you when you were searching for the perfect outfit to wear on a free night out in the city. “I don’t remember you telling me you had any plans tonight, bonita. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with the chismosas of the office? Or are you going out for a girl’s night with Connie?”
You momentarily hesitated.
“Actually, I have a date.”
Through the mirror, you saw the smile fade from Javier’s face almost instantly.
Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.
“You have a date? With who?” he demanded. 
Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. “You know Valeria, don’t you?”
The color drained from his face.
“That’s the translator who works up on the third floor, right?” He touched his hand to the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around a couple of times.”
You almost laughed at the manner in which Javier tried playing dumb. 
Of course he knew Valeria. 
He had fucked her three weeks ago.
Javi had tried to keep it on the down low, but loud mouthed Valeria would brag to anyone who would listen all about how Agent Peña had fucked her in her office one evening while they’d been working late together and everyone else had gone home. Not that Javier even needed her services as a translator, he’d just needed an excuse to find himself in her office after hours so he could get his dick wet.
For some strange reason, you felt oddly fucking generous and decided to let Javier have this one, playing along with him and his sheer stupidity. “Yeah, her. She has an older brother who’s visiting the city for a few days. His name is Diego. He’s an immigration attorney who is here on business in Bogotá. She offered to set me up with him,” You explained, keeping everything as brief as possible. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight.”
Javier frowned. “Have you met him in person?”
“Well no, but Valeria showed me his picture and she told me all about him. It’s not like he’s just some random ass guy I met on the street, Javi. He’s her brother, she advocated for him,” You tried to reason with him, knowing all too well where this conversation was heading. Sure, it was nice to know that Javier cared about you enough to be concerned about you meeting up with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself. You’d spent many evenings sitting right in the laps of the violent criminals who worked for Escobar—a blind date with a coworker’s brother was nothing for him to make a fuss over. “I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about with him.”
He rigidly shook his head. “Look, no offense to Valeria, but I don’t like the idea of you running around this city at night with some fucking prick that you’ve never even met before. And before you throw all that undercover bullshit at me, just know that it’s not the same thing. You aren’t going out on the job tonight. You’re not going out with your team on standby to watch your back, you’re not going out with me and Murphy armed and ready to jump into action if things head south. What if something happens to you?”
You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his drama king antics. “Oh, give me a fucking break, Peña. Diego’s not a member of the fucking cartel, he’s a lawyer. And besides that, you’re acting like I can’t take care of myself.”
“Listen, I know damn good and well that you can take care of yourself just fine, muñeca. But still, that doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole arrangement.” Javier’s hands went to his waist and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once again. “I’m going to need to meet this guy before you go out with him. I don’t care whose fucking brother he is—whichever way you try to spin it, the bottom line is that he’s a still a fucking stranger and I want to check him out for myself before I let you go out with him.” He saw the mischievous twinkle in your eyes and peered at you suspiciously. “Please tell me he’s coming to pick you up here at the apartment.”
You laughed. “Of course not, Javi. I’m not stupid. I already knew you would behave like this. I knew you would go straight into overprotective mode, just like you always do. I didn’t want you scaring him off, so I’m taking a taxi cab and we’re meeting up at the bar instead.” You easily clocked the all too familiar glint in his eye and smiled sweetly at him. “And don’t even think about trying to guess which one it is so that you can show up and keep tabs on me the whole night. There are thousands of bars in this damn city and I can promise you that you’re not smart enough to figure out which one we’re going to, Agent Peña.”
Annoyed by the smugness in your tone and the way it was starting to get under his skin, Javier’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched you walk over to your closet, subtly swaying your hips to the music as you pulled out yet another dress to add to your rapidly growing list of options.
He could feel the envy prickling at each and every last single nerve ending in his entire body, his frustrations stewing at the mere thought of you going out with another man. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to shove the feeling down knowing damn well that he didn’t have the right to be jealous. Not when you two weren’t anything more than just friends.
If you’d just been a coworker, it would be different. 
Javier would gladly, happily, risk mixing business with pleasure as he had so often done in the past with several secretaries—and a translator or two—in his time. But no matter how hard he’d tried over and over again to place you into that box, into that category, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.
You weren’t just his coworker, you were his friend.
His best friend.
For as much shit as he gave you, you mattered to him. You were important to him, way too important to ever risk fucking up your friendship by fucking you. 
Still. Javier would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. He thought about it all the damn time. When he discovered that fucking himself into the palm of his hand and moaning your name quietly over and over again under his breath didn’t quite do the job for him anymore, he would find himself standing outside of your bedroom prepared to say fuck it all and make his move on you. But then it happened every single fucking time without fail—as soon as he lifted his curled fist to knock on your door, he started to remember things. 
He’d remember the way you could so easily make him laugh with your clever and quick witted sense of humor. He remembered all those late nights you two would spend together lounging on his brown leather couch in your pajamas watching old, poorly made slasher films while indulging in the greasiest, unhealthiest takeout Bogotá had to offer. He remembered how you could read him just like a fucking magazine, how you always knew when something was wrong—and how you would always somehow know exactly what to say and do to comfort him whenever he needed it the most.
He would remember how you’d come to feel like his home away from home. 
And then he would drop his hand right back down to his side, whirl around on his heel, and march straight back into his bedroom where he had little choice but to go back to fantasizing about what could never be between you and him.
Snapping himself out of his own train of thought, Javier carefully stepped over the mountains of clothing and shoes on the floor and made his way over to another pile of dresses that were draped over the foot of your bed. He caught a glimpse of the lingerie set on top of them, brand new with the price tag still attached to the fabric; the set was black, made of delicate, see through lace that would leave very little to the imagination when you put it on. He picked up the thong, hooking the thin elastic of it around his index finger. “Something tells me that you’re not planning on coming back home tonight.”
“What are you talking about?” Confused, you turned around and gasped, dropping the dresses in your hands. “Javier!”
“Are these even going to cover anything up?” he teased you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement as they darted between the thong and the lower half of your body. “Falta mucha tela, cariño.”
You rushed up to him and made a dive for the underwear. “Give me those!”
“How come you don’t ever wear anything like this around the apartment, hermosa?” Javi dangled them above your head and out of your reach. “All I ever get to see you in are those cotton panties, the ones with polka dots on them.” He glanced down, getting an eyeful of you and the aforementioned polka dot panties. “Kind of like the ones you’re wearing now—”
“Javier, cut it out!” You placed a hand on his shoulder as the other continued grabbing for the lingerie. “Come on, stop being such a fucking asshole!”
Although he could have easily enjoyed taunting you for hours and hours on end, Javier knew you wouldn’t hesitate to have your knee meet his balls. Not wanting to risk ending up on your floor curled up in pain, he eased up and handed them over to you. 
“Idiota!” You hissed at him, furiously snatching the underwear out of his hand. You stomped over to your dresser and shoved them into the middle drawer, slamming it closed so hard the old stereo nearly went crashing to the floor. “You can be a real fucking douchebag, Peña.”
Javier wasn’t bothered by the insults; he’d grown used to those—however any trace of playfulness vanished as the reality began to set in for him. The reality of you sleeping with another a man tonight. “Wait a minute, are you really planning to fuck the guy?” He didn’t even make the attempt to mask the disappointment that laced his tone. “I mean, you haven’t even met him yet. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, querida.”
“You sound awful judgmental for someone who brings home a different escort every other fucking week,” You snapped at him, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, and speaking of escorts, I had the pleasure of meeting Alessandra in the bathroom this morning. She asked if I had a tank top that she could borrow since apparently you got too eager and ripped her shirt off last night.” You tilted your head, squinting at him as he started shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If you happen to go back to her for a second round, tell her that I want it back. Washed.”
Javier grimaced, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I thought she would be gone by the time you woke up,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Lo siento, bonita. I’m sorry.”
You blinked. “Sorry for what?”
He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.
Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.
He didn’t have anything to apologize for, not really.
He was a single man who could do as, and who, he pleased.
Yet he still felt like a pile of dog shit knowing you’d encountered Alessandra while he had still been asleep.
You would never admit it, but Javier knew that to some extent, it hurt you to run into the women he would bring home. As if having to hear him railing them on the other side of your bedroom wall for hours wasn’t bad enough, having to meet them the following morning and seeing them half naked with their smeared makeup and disheveled hair from the previous night’s activities only made it so much fucking worse. 
Having read his mind, you sighed and offered him some reassurance. “It’s fine, Javi. We both know that you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You said, prompting him to look back up at you. You pointed a finger at him. “I do want my shirt back, though. And then maybe I’ll be nice and give you back yours.” 
You expected Javi to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs in shame. It was what he usually did—he’d avoid you for about a few hours until the dust settled, and then everything would go back to normal. Instead of running off, he stood there and spoke again. 
“Are you really going to have sex with this guy?”
You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.
“I don’t know,” You confessed, quietly. “I want to have sex with him, but I don’t know if I’ll actually have the fucking balls to go through with it.”
“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”
Though Javier hadn’t been poking fun at you, you couldn’t help but feel irritated with him for asking you if you were nervous; because you actually were nervous, and him asking you only made you even more fucking nervous. “And so what if I am a little nervous?” You challenged him, lightly. “Sorry that we’re not all just confidently fucking our way through this city like you are, Peña.”
“When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?”
“None of your fucking business, that’s when,” You quipped.
“That’s not fair.” Javi pouted at you. “You know when the last time I had sex was.”
“Not by choice,” You retorted. “You’re right on the other side of my paper thin wall and I left my Walkman in the office.”
Javi waited expectantly for an answer. He wasn’t going to drop the subject, and you knew that.
“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” You muttered. Feeling a burning heat flood to your face, you decided to give him just about the most generic answer there was in order to get him off your back. “It was a long, long time ago.”
“Okay, but how long ago?” He pressed, curiously. “Are we talking weeks? Months?”
Your stomach began to churn violently, the hidden secret you’d kept to yourself for your entire adult life now at risk of being exposed. 
“I-I really don’t remember,” You stammered out in response, averting your gaze away from his. “Can we not talk about my sex life, please? Besides, it’s getting late and I still need to take a shower and get ready for my date tonight. So if you would just kindly fuck all the way off, that would be great.”
Javier took a step back and there was a very brief moment where you had been certain you’d just narrowly avoided what could have been a painful, humiliating conversation. However, just as he was about to turn to leave, Javi’s eyes widened as it slowly clicked into place for him. 
“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”
You groaned. “Javier, please don’t. For the sake of what’s left of my sanity, please don’t,” You nearly pleaded him, wishing that a large, Twilight Zone style swirling vortex would open up in the middle of your floor and swallow you whole. 
“You’ve never had sex before,” he realized. “Have you?”
Your face felt like it had caught on fire.
Not knowing what to say or even do, you clasped your hands together and wrung them anxiously in front of you. 
Of all the people to find out your secret, it just had to be Peña.
“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”
Surprised, you looked up at him. 
Javi wasn’t teasing you or being a dick about it.
He seemed genuinely perplexed by the fact that you’d never had sex before. Not that it made it any less mortifying.
“Yes,” You admitted, exhaling the breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. “I’m a virgin, alright? There, are you satisfied?”
“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”
Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but you don’t always have to fuck your informants to get what you need out of them, Peña. It’s not a requirement. I use my brains, not my body.” 
“You’re shaming me for using my body?” he joked lightly, hoping it would further ease the awkward nature of the conversation—for your sake, not his.
“Just a little bit.” You offered him a small, crooked smile and felt your tense shoulders finally begin to relax. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid or maybe even crazy, but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to wait and give it to the right man. Maybe even to a man that I’m in love with. But with the way my romantic life has been going, it just seems like that’s never going to happen for me.” You shrugged. “I just want to lose it already, Javi. I’m almost in my fucking thirties—either I lose it now, or I may as well throw in the damn towel and join a convent.”
“You would look kind of cute in a nun’s habit,” Javi mused, thoughtfully.
You shot him a glare, but felt the corners of your mouth threatening to turn up into another smile. 
After a long minute, Javier broke the silence that had fallen over the both of you. “So then, Valeria’s older brother is the man you’re going to lose your virginity to? Tonight?”
“That’s the plan. He’s only here until the end of the week. It’d be no strings attached, so it works out perfectly.” You anxiously chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But only if I can find the courage to actually go through with it.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Not knowing what to do.”
Javier quirked an eyebrow.  “It’s not exactly rocket science, querida.”
You resisted the sudden urge to go up to him and backhand the stupid smirk right off of his face.
“Could you please just take me seriously for one second, Peña?” You huffed out in frustration. “I’m just really fucking nervous about it, alright? What if I can’t—what if I’m not good at it?”
Javi’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth and he stifled his laughter. “Preciosa, you’re being kind of…” He trailed off, trying to choose his next word carefully.
You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”
“Ridiculous. And before you come over here and start pummeling me to death with those little fists of yours...” He stopped and held up his hands in defense. He took a second or two to let eyes glaze over you from head to toe. “I’m only saying that because you’re fucking gorgeous, muñequita. Any man would be lucky to have a night with you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
“It’s not about how I look, Javier. It’s about how I perform.” You felt your face grow hot for what had to be the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Never did you think this would be a conversation you’d be having with him of all fucking people. “I listen to the way those women you bring home—I hear what they do to you. And I hear how much you like it.”
His lips parted slightly. “And you want to do that to him?”
“I want to make him feel good.”
Javier’s jealously simmered in his veins. But what could he do?
Nothing, that’s what. Just like him, you could do as, and who, you pleased. But if he could just get his hands on you first, at least to some extent, it would help ease the blow. He saw nothing wrong with blurring the lines, so long as he didn’t cross them.
Javi hummed. “If you really want to know how to make a man feel good, I can help you.”
“You can help me?” You repeated. “How?”
“By showing you a thing or two.”
You let out something mixed between a scoff and a laugh.
“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”
He tossed you an innocent look. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all.” He crossed the bedroom and walked over to you, reaching for your hands. He took them in his own and then started pulling you towards your bed. “If you’re really that worried about not knowing what to do, I can give you a few pointers. And calmada, querida. Our clothes stay on,” he reassured you before you could open your mouth to protest. “Just think of it as a friend helping out a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”
You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Javi.”
Javier’s thumbs softly smoothed across the back of your hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Right now, I’m not so sure that I do.” You paused long enough for him to throw you an exasperated, almost offended look. You rolled your eyes at him and nodded your head. “Yes, of course I trust you, Peña. I trust you with my fucking life. Literally, I put my life in your hands at least once or twice a week.”
“Then let me help you, hermosa.”
You inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled it softly. “Fine. But remember, our clothes stay on—” You were cut off, all the air leaving your lungs as Javi yanked you forward, slamming you against his chest. You looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of your mind for knocking the wind out of you, but as his eyes met yours, words failed you and all you could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 
This could not possibly end well.
And yet here you were, going along with it.
He snaked an arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his. Feeling how tense you had become, stiff as a fucking board, Javi gave you a light shake in an effort to get you to loosen up a bit. “First thing is first, you need to relax. There’s no need to overthink this, cariño. Especially not with me.” He reached up with his opposite hand, letting his index finger feather along your jawline. He then slipped it underneath your chin, lifting it ever so slightly and forcing you to look right into his rich pools of espresso. “I mean it. It really wouldn’t take much for a beautiful girl like you to drive me—I mean, drive him wild.”
You tried your hardest to keep your voice from trembling, but between his touch and being in such close proximity, you were finding it a hell of a lot more difficult than you’d imagined. “Show me, Peña. What drives you—I mean, what’s going to drive him wild?”
“Well, it always starts with the right kiss.”
You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”
“Kiss me.”
Had he lost his fucking mind?
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You echoed your thoughts
“Just a friend helping out a friend,” Javi reminded you in a murmur. “Remember?”
You should have said no. You should have decked him for even suggesting such a thing.
Instead, you gave him a small nod. You rested your hands delicately on his hard, lean chest and tilted your head upwards, lightly pressing your lips to his for a split second before quickly pulling away.
“There.”
“That was fucking pathetic,” Javier laughed softly, his warm breath fanning over the tip of your nose. “You’re not kissing your abuela, you know.”
You smacked his chest. “Javi! Leave my grandma out of this.”
“You have to kiss a man like you actually want him, querida. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”
Your throat went dry as his grip around your waist tightened. He moved his other hand away from your chin and it went to the back of your neck, gingerly tilting your head up towards his. Your heart hammered almost painfully against your ribcage, beating way too hard and way too fast for him not to feel it against his own chest. You had to silently remind yourself to breathe as Javi inched his face closer to yours, slowly. You knew that he was doing it on purpose, moving an agonizingly glacial pace to allow your anticipation to build; all the while his dark eyes were staring deeply into the depths of your very fucking soul, causing a fire to set ablaze deep in your lower belly.
Your thighs clenched together involuntarily as the tip of his nose skimmed a spot near the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing the underside of your jawline.
God, he was fucking good. 
“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.
You needed to stop this. Javier was your friend—friends didn’t do shit like this.
Javi sensed your reluctance. “It’s alright, mi vida,” he whispered, uttering an affectionate pet name that he’d never used before. He gave you a small grin as he moved in to finally close the small gap of space between your faces. His lips met yours and every ridiculous cliché of sparks flying and fireworks exploding occurred the moment they did. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, gently coaxing its way into your mouth to begin a slow, sensual dance with yours. Cupping the back of your neck, he tilted your head up a bit further, granting himself better access to your mouth so that he could fully explore it inch by inch. 
There was kissing other men.
And then there was kissing Javier. 
Whimpering, your body melted against his as he swelled your lips with a kiss that was slow and sensual, yet somehow still hungry and possessive at the same time. Javier’s hands travelled down to your hips, his fingers skimming the hem of his shirt that you wore. He took the opportunity to sneak them underneath the garment, allowing them to meet the warmth of your skin. 
Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him. 
“Javier!” You squeaked out his name breathlessly, furiously swatting his hands away from your sides. You glared at him. “I thought we agreed, our clothes fucking stay on!”
“Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was taking any of your clothes off.” Javier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He then took a step backwards and gestured towards your bed. “Lay down.”
Your mouth fell open at his request.
“W-what?” You sputtered out, your eyes wide. 
“You heard me. Get on the bed and lay down.”
Javi reached down, sweeping your pile of dresses off of the bed and onto the floor. 
“Why? What are you going to do?” You questioned him, shuffling anxiously from one bare foot to the other.
Javier rolled his eyes and let out a small, impatient sigh. “Just do it, hermosa. You can trust me.”
Swallowing harshly, you obeyed him and walked around to the side of your bed, taking a seat. You inhaled another deep breath before bringing your legs up and laying back, your head resting against your decorative pillows. You nervously tugged and pulled at the hem of his stolen pink shirt, trying to cover yourself up as best as you could as you laid there, sprawled out before him; however Javier had other plans. He climbed onto the bed after you, positioning his body so it hovered over yours. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself right in between your thighs. He grabbed one of your legs and hiked it up around his waist, putting the two of you in a very, very dangerous position. His fingers remained wrapped around your thigh, his touch burning right into your soft flesh as he held your leg in place around him. 
“Don’t be shy, muñequita.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed his hand further up your thigh.
He grinned, feeling satisfied with himself when he felt the goosebumps erupt across your skin.
“Shut up, I’m not shy,” You fibbed, prompting him to chuckle.
“Mentirosa.” Javi’s hand abandoned your leg and he brought his hand up to the side of your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip. 
“Kiss me,” he commanded, gently. “And this time, kiss me like you mean it.”
You reached up for him with trembling hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his pewter blue, button up shirt. You pulled him down towards you and lifted yourself up slightly off your pillows, crashing your mouth against his. You allowed yourself to finally release any fears that you might have had before and kissed him greedily and with fervor, as if it would be the very last time you’d ever get to kiss Javier Peña—because it very well could be the last time you would ever get to kiss Javier Peña.
You kissed him deeply, going on until your lungs began to burn—you only broke away from him once they started screaming, demanding oxygen. 
Tearing yourself apart from him, you released his shirt and dropped back down onto your pillows, breathlessly asking, “Better?”
“Oh, so much better. Good girl, mi muñequita linda,” he praised, grinning again as he caressed the silkiness of your cheek. He lowered his head and lips ghosted over yours for a moment before he moved them down your neck, feathering kisses to any exposed skin peeking out from underneath his shirt. His hand found your breast and he groaned realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath it. He kneaded the perfect, soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. He bucked his hips into yours, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips the second you felt his hardened cock through his tight, light blue jeans. He caught sight of the way you blushed at the sound that he’d elicited from you and his grin widened. “Noises like that? The louder the better. So don’t hold back, preciosa.”
“What else can I do to make you—to make him feel good?”
Javier dipped his face right into the hollow of your neck, thinking it over for a moment. “A woman who takes control can be very sexy. I like it—I bet he’ll like it if you get on top.”
“I think I can do that.” Biting your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, sliding yourself out from underneath him. You guided him to lay back onto your pillows and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. 
Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.
Maybe he’d been in over his head with this idea.
He knew at some point he’d have to stop it from going too far—but would he be able to?
“How do you like it?” You asked him, shyly. This time, you hadn’t bothered to correct yourself. 
You didn’t want to know how to please another man.
You wanted to know how to please Javi.
Even if you’d never get the chance to do it.
“Depends on the mood,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders in the most nonchalant manner that he could muster under the circumstances—as if his cock wasn’t rock hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans and begging to be inside you.
“Te gusta despacito?” You start to rock your hips back and forth against his, slowly. “Do you like it slow?”
Javier’s breath hitched in the back his throat. At this point, there was no doubt about it—you could feel him underneath you, throbbing. “Sometimes,” he managed to choke out in reply. “Like I said. Just depends on the mood.”
“Or what about like this?” You grinned down at him, gaining a sense of confidence as you started to move faster on top of him, finding your perfect rhythm. You could see and clearly feel what you were doing to him. Knowing that you were having this kind of effect on Peña was nothing short of a fucking dream come true. 
His hands went to your hips, holding on as you picked up the pace, grinding your clothed core down against his bulge. 
You could feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking your panties; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d leave behind a wet spot on his jeans. “How am I doing?”
“Fucking amazing, muñeca,” he answered, earnestly. His long, thick fingers dug into your sides as he suggested, “It helps if you put on a little show while you’re up there, too.” He then pictured you in that sexy black lingerie set you’d bought; he imagined what it would be like to slip that tiny little thong to the side so you could freely ride his cock. The mere thought had him seeing stars.
“A show, huh?” You smirked and popped the top two buttons of your shirt—his shirt—exposing the smooth valley between your breasts to him. “I think I can do that too,” You giggled, pulling the fabric to the side, just enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of the soft curves of your chest but not enough to expose yourself completely. 
“Hermosa,” he couldn’t help but groan out. It took every ounce of strength he had inside him not to reach up and tear his shirt right off of you so he could see all of you. 
You grabbed his hands from your hips and slowly began guiding them all around your body. You started by placing them on your breasts, giving him permission to cop another feel before moving them slowly down the lengths of your sides and placing them on your bare thighs. From there, you picked up Javi’s hands once more and placed them behind you, allowing him to take two generous handfuls of your ass. Your hands then abandoned his and you placed them on his chest, supporting yourself as you continued to roll your hips against his, riding him through his jeans. You tossed your head back and closed your eyes; the friction of your clit against his pelvis even through all the clothes felt like absolute heaven, and you let out a lustful moan that bounced off of your bedroom walls as you continued to drive your hips harder against his own.
Realizing that this was no longer a lesson and you were actually pleasuring yourself, Javier groaned again. He moved his hands back to your hips and found himself bucking his own hips upwards to meet you halfway—he abandoned any and all worries about taking it too far. He wanted you to come. 
He needed to see you come.
“Javi,” You gasped his name, moaning again.
“That’s it, muñeca,” he rasped out. “Just like that, baby. Keep going. What a good girl, what a good fucking girl.”
Any and all common sense had been washed away by pleasure and by your need to reach that sweet, sweet release. 
It was so close. You felt him right there, right between your clothed folds, and all you could do was imagine what it would be like to have his cock fill you up and stretch you completely. 
His name began to slip from your lips, rolling off of your tongue over and over again with such ease.
Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.
You went down, he went up.
You pulled, he pushed.
No doubt about it, Javier was trying to get you off.
Somehow, you find a voice that speaks in between all your pitiful little pants. 
 “J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”
Javier quickly sat up and wrapped one of his arms around your waist. He slammed your mouths together, silencing you mid sentence. He thrusted upwards, and you whined into his kiss, rubbing your clit against his bulge even harder. 
The beginning of your orgasm coiled up tightly in your belly, and you knew it would spring forward any second now.
“Javi, I’m so close—” 
“It’s okay, hermosa. Come for me,” he mumbled into your mouth.  “I’ve got you.”
Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you buried your face into his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, your loud cries came out muffled against his collarbone as you unraveled, coming undone with one last cry of his name.
You slumped forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought to catch your breath, the pleasure still pulsing between your thighs.
Javier’s other arm curled around you and he said nothing as he held you. 
Once you’d finally started coming down from your high, your eyes flew open and a chill went up the length of your spine.
What had you two just done?
Still straddling his lap, you pulled back. “Javi—”
Without warning, Javier flipped you over so you were on your back underneath him once again. He hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he dipped his head and captured your lips with his one final, deep and sensual kiss. 
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight,” he murmured once he had pulled away. “You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”
He touched the tip of his nose to yours before climbing off of you.
“I fucking hope this guy realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is,” Javier said quietly before turning on the heel of his boot and walking out of your bedroom, leaving you laying there with your mouth parted open in complete shock.
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Translations
Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. - It’s just a little joke, doll. No need to get offended.
El vestido rojo. - The red dress.
Te lo juro, Javi. - I swear to you, Javi.
Chismosas - Gossipers
Falta mucha tela, cariño. - There is a lot of fabric missing, darling.
Mentirosa. - Liar.
Te gusta despacito? - Do you like it a little slow? 
6K notes · View notes
ezrasbirdie · 2 months
Text
elucidate [javier peña x f!reader]
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summary: Javier Peña, your regular office hook up, is a little tense lately, and you know the perfect way to help him blow off some steam. ratings/warnings: E [CNC, soft!Javi, mean!Javi, like 90% smut, feelings, fluff, degradation (javi uses whore, slut, etc toward reader), roleplay, forced orgasms, overstimulation, mirror sex, spanking, reader is referred to as "soft and round" but no specifications of where or what, size kink if you squint, male masturbation, the tiniest bit of assplay, Javi will not shut the fuck up, i think that's it, lemme know if I missed something egregious] wc: ~4.7k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! smooches to @haylzcyon for her guidance on the ending, and to @mothandpidgeon for betaing the final product, and to both for making me feel better about actually posting it. i haven't written javi p in YEARS so ya know. also i'm still a little sick, so i'm just yeeting this and hoping y'all like it.
masterlist | javier peña masterlist
~
You wouldn’t offer this to just anyone.
Javier Peña, though—he isn’t just anyone. And this isn’t just any fantasy. This is the type of thing that takes trust and understanding between both of you. Most of the men you’ve been with are hardly trustworthy or understanding.
But Javi’s proved himself and you want to reward him. And, you think, he might even benefit from it. Relish in it, even. He always comes to you for things he can’t get from anyone else, even when it takes a little coaxing. 
“Have you ever thought of taking what you wanted?” You ask him late one night. He balances an ashtray on his belly, skin still shiny with exertion as he inhales his customary after-sex cigarette. You don’t smoke, but you keep them around for him. 
He frowns at you, exhaling slowly. 
“What do you mean?”
“From me,” you nudge. You’re not sure if he’s playing dumb or really can’t fathom the idea of it, but it takes a few moments for him to respond. 
“Why would I wanna do that?” He asks. 
You shrug, not wanting to put words into his mouth. 
You’re not an informant, not even a girl he met in a bar, just a lucky administrative assistant he took a liking to. This, you think, holds him back. The fact that he sees you every day keeps him in check. He was exceptionally gentle with you in the beginning, and while you appreciated the tenderness you’d had your own little celebration the day he finally fucked you so hard you felt him the next day.
Now you drool at the thought of him letting go completely; of pounding into you relentlessly, tirelessly, angrily. Let him take out all that frustration, all that endless disappointment, all that rage; let him take it out on something warm and wet whether you want it or not.
But God, do you want it. 
The conversation ends there with a kiss on your forehead after he shimmies himself back into his sinfully tight jeans. 
“Stay safe,” he says, and then he’s gone. 
**
Javi knows what you meant. 
He’s just ashamed at how interesting he found it; how quickly the blood rushed to his cock at the thought of you squirming underneath him, pinned down by his strength. He could do it easily—you’re soft and round but not very strong. He thought immediately of his hand on your neck, taunts dripping from his tongue as you struggle to free yourself. 
It makes him fucking sick. 
Javi avoids you for a while, steers clear of your side of the office, stays away from the cafeteria and the after-work bars he knows you’ll be in. You try to corner him once, but he runs, feigning a meeting with the ambassador and glancing back just once to see your puzzled face. 
He knows he has to talk to you sooner or later. You wouldn’t be the first woman he’s walked away from after the pressure got to be a little too much, but you’re not any woman. You’re you. 
Fuck. 
And you asked him. 
It bothers him. Do you really think he’d be capable of that? 
He shifts in bed, kicking the blanket off of him and letting the humid air hit his body, completely bare save for a pair of boxers that are quickly becoming too tight. 
Not again.
He groans, disgusted with himself as he closes his eyes and imagines you, for the millionth time, on your knees, hands tied behind your back and his cock fucking your throat as you just fucking take it. Forced to all fours so he can fuck you from behind with the brutal pace, ignoring any protests and taking what’s his.
If he did it, you’d be his. He’d own your pussy.
Javier stays out of relationships for plenty of reasons, and one is that he’s learned over the years he has no intention of letting go of what’s his. This life he’s chosen has no room for that kind of devotion.
You weren’t supposed to happen. 
His hand drifts down his chest casually enough that he can tell himself he brushed his cock by coincidence and just couldn’t help it. He hasn’t seen you in weeks, hadn’t had need to see any informants, just him and his hand and the vision of your tits bouncing in that big mirror in your bedroom as he pounds into you and calls you names he’d never dream of outside of this. 
Slut. 
Whore.
Cocksleeve.
Mine.
Javier comes with embarrassing speed. He won’t be pounding a goddamn thing if he doesn’t get that shit under control. 
Cleaning himself up, he glances at his phone and sighs. First he needs to make sure you still want anything to do with him, but he wants to talk about it, too. He wants to know why you want it, if you’ll really enjoy it, if he can make it good for you. 
You pick up after the second ring, and he breathes out at your soft greeting.
**
You frantically clean your apartment as best you can in the fifteen minutes it takes Javi to get there and hope he doesn’t mind your pajamas.
Hiding your nerves is not an easy task. You have no idea what to expect—is he here to break it off completely? Is he angry? Does he hate you?
But no, those big brown eyes don’t betray anything but remorse and curiosity when you open the door for him. He wets his lips and looks you up and down. “Can we talk?”
And of course you can; that’s all you’ve wanted for weeks, for him to even acknowledge your existence. You grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, but he waves it off as he pulls his leather jacket off. 
He’s never refused a drink before.  
You take a seat at your breakfast table and wait. He runs his hands through his hair, jaw ticking as he paces around the kitchen. It takes him too long to speak; long enough that you open your mouth to break him out of this reverie, but he interrupts. 
“You asked me if I wanted something the last time we were together,” he says, lighting up a cigarette. “I wanna make sure you want that.”
You cock your head at him, lips quirked into a smile. “Wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t.”
“I wanna…I want to. And I don’t know if I’m supposed to want that,” he says, running his finger over his mustache. “Wouldn't that hurt you if I did those things?”
You giggle. Big bad Javier Peña, worried about fucking you too hard. “That’s part of the fun,” you say. “I always want it a little rougher. And I know you wouldn't go too far.”
“How do you know, though?” He asks, his bottom lip pushed out and eyes wide—it’s his serious face, his listen-to-me face, but right now he just looks scared. 
“Because you don’t have that in you, Javi,” you tell him. Something loosens in him and that wrinkle between his eyebrows smoothes out. “I don’t just offer this to everyone.”
Javi nods and inhales, lapsing into silence. Now it’s your turn to ask a question. 
“Why didn’t you ask me before? You ignored me for two weeks,” you say, trying to keep your voice level and the desperation far away. 
“Got scared,” he says, chewing his thumbnail.
“Don’t do that again,” you murmur. “Please.”
“I won’t,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
**
He brings it up himself a few weeks later. Things are rough at work—you can see it in his eyes. He’s quieter than usual, quick to irritate and just as quick to apologize with his tongue or his cock, but one day he just can’t take it anymore. 
“I need to forget, sweetheart,” he purrs in your ear, and you don’t need to ask him what that means. After picking a safe word and informing him of a couple of “absolutely nots,” you tell him to wait ten minutes and come into your bedroom. 
The scene is simple—you’re an uncooperative informant, and he’s a man running out of time. It’s your request, but Javi’d pressed you up against the wall and ground his hips into yours when you asked for it. 
“Bad girl,” he’d murmured. Not only is it something you’d been dreaming about with him since the day you met, it’s easy for him to role play. Javi is a lot of things, but overly imaginative is not one of them. 
You’re already damp thinking about what he’ll do. 
The only light is a stark, bare bulb on your bedside table, the lampshade removed for a more interrogation room-like atmosphere. You sit in a chair dragged in from your breakfast table and adjust your already low-cut neckline. There’s a knock at your bedroom door, but he opens it and strides in before you can even answer. 
He’s holding himself differently. 
You’ve only seen him in Agent Peña mode a few times, usually on the way to dragging sicarios into the basement for questioning. Once you ended up in an elevator with him and Murphy and a baby-faced twenty-something who leered at your office skirt and pantyhose. Javi’d placed himself between the two of you. 
“Don’t look at her,” he’d growled, and that was before you’d even kissed. He’d puffed himself up big, shoulders back and wide as he’d stared that kid down until he’d turned away from you completely.
That’s the Javi that’s barged into your bedroom. 
“I hear we have a problem,” he says, sliding right into it. You’d expected some giggles, maybe some huffing on his end, but no. 
“What’s the problem?” You ask. “Why am I here?”
“You tell me. I pay you for information and they tell me you’re holding out. You know something,” he says softly. He keeps it vague, so you follow his lead. No need to bring anything real into it. 
“I don’t know shit. Told you everything,” you say, crossing your legs and folding your arms over your chest. He takes one menacing step closer. If you didn’t know him, he’d seem completely cool, but Javi has his tells. Shallow breath, mouth slightly parted as he approaches you with pupils so dilated his dark brown eyes turn black—he’s already holding himself back.
“I think,” he starts, wetting his lips with that soft, pink tongue, “you’re hiding something. I think you need to be searched just in case.” Arousal floods through you as he pulls you up by your arm and turns the chair around. “Take your clothes off.”
“No,” you argue. “You can’t make me.”
He pulls you flush against him, ignoring your attempts to get away. His cock is bulging in his jeans already, hard and warm against your core. 
“You take them off or I will. Your choice,” he growls in your ear as he pushes you back and folds his arms. “Move it.”
You scowl at him, pulling your shirt over your head.
“Bra, too.”
“Pervert,” you snarl, and he smirks. His cock grows thicker and longer in those obscenely tight pants as you pull off your skirt and panties, but he stops you before you peel off your lacy thigh highs. 
“Leave ‘em,” he grunts. 
Javi explores you as though it’s the first time he’s seen your body, kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. His eyes flick up at the sound, and for a moment your Javi’s there, checking in. You say nothing, and he moves on. 
“Got a nice body,” he murmurs. “So fucking pretty. You letting those assholes touch you like this?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“No what?” He snaps.
“No, sir.”
“But you’re letting me touch you, hm? Not putting up any fight at all,” he says, sliding his hand down your belly until he reaches your pussy and groaning. “Fuck, you’re all wet, bonita.”
You nod, biting your lip. 
“If you just tell me what I need to know, I can make this good for you. If you don’t…” He trails off, his middle finger finding your clit and tracing light circles before he gives it a soft pinch. 
“I told you, I don’t know shit, sir,” you spit. He pulls his hand back and shoves his fingers in your mouth without warning. You taste yourself mixed with nicotine and the salt of his skin, and you try not to moan. 
“Bend over the fucking chair,” he snaps, pulling his fingers out of you. “Spread your legs. See what you're hiding in that little cunt.”
The word is a pleasant surprise—he’s never called it that before. It makes you tingle all over, pussy throbbing at his crudeness. Javi talks dirty, but it’s always soft, always sweet praise delivered in that rough, gravelly voice. 
This is different, but it’s good. 
You do as he says. 
Your reflection stares back at you; he’d somehow slyly repositioned you and the chair in front of your full-length mirror. You can see the way his eyes darken and his jaw tightens at the sight of your open, waiting pussy. “Fuck me. Look at that,” he says. A hand connects with your ass, the loud crack and your squeal filling the bedroom. 
“You little slut,” he murmurs. “You like this? You want more?”
“No!” You whine, and a smack lands on your other cheek. 
“I think,” he says, slapping you again, “you’re a naughty little girl who needs to get her little pussy fucked. I think that’s why you’re being such a brat.” He leans down to your ear, meeting your eyes in the mirror and adds in a whisper, “I think you heard from all the other girls how good Agent Peña’s cock is and you got jealous. Wanted to see for yourself. All you had to do was ask nicely, sweetheart. Now you’ll take what I give you, hm?”
You shake your head, eyes glued to the mirror where he's unzipping his tight jeans and finally freeing his cock. As your mouth waters for it, you cry out “No, no! I don’t know anything—”
He spanks you again, and this time you can almost feel the outline of a handprint. 
“Shut up,” he grunts as he moves in front of you and shoves his cock in your face. “Open up. Now.”
You should struggle a little more—you always like that part—but Javi’s cock in your mouth is one of your favorite things in the world. He doesn’t give you a minute to adjust, doesn’t even try to get you to suck him off properly, he’s just moving his hips, fucking your mouth like you’re a toy. 
“Fuck that’s a hot mouth,” he groans, chuckling at your garbled whimpers. “Taking it so good.”
You preen at this praise, swallowing his cock even as tears start to sting your eyes. Javi slows when he opens his eyes and sees the tracks on the side of your face. He wipes them away, his softness for you forcing its way through despite it all. Javi pulls out of your mouth and brings you up to eye level, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.
“Okay?” He murmurs. 
“Fine, baby.”
There’s the smallest relief inside of you, a sort of tension you hadn’t even noticed releasing as he makes it clear he won’t get too lost in this. 
It only makes you want it more. 
“This what you do to all your informants?” You ask, goading him. “Go on a power trip? Force girls to fuck you?”
He grins.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, slipping back into character as he lines himself up behind you. “I think you know we both want this. You can deny it all you want, but that messy little pussy says otherwise.” He swipes his thick finger through your soaked lips, a long ribbon of slick trailing from you as he brings it to his mouth and groans.
“Hear that?” He asks, sliding his spit-soaked finger inside of you. Your cunt sucks him in, squelching as a second finger joins a moment later. “She just keeps getting wetter. Coulda made this good for you, bebita. Should have just asked. Now you watch while I fuck you, just like you wanted.”
He pushes himself inside of you, the entirety of his thick length sheathed all at once, just on the right side of uncomfortable, and he sets a brutal pace.
Thank God you’re wetter than you’ve ever been. All you can do is hold on as he jackhammers into you, using your pussy for his pleasure while you stare heavy-lidded at his face in the mirror. He’s magnificent, corded neck muscles flexing as he moves, lean biceps flexing with each snap of his hips. 
Every so often he opens his eyes and meets yours in the mirror, hungry desire etched into his gaze. He squeezes your hips, kneading the soft parts of you with alternating gentle caresses and bruising grips, completely lost in pleasure.
What exactly would he let you get away with?
You sneak your fingers to your pussy, finding your aching, neglected clit and rubbing, a soft whine falling from your lips after a few slow circles. He’s still somewhere else until that noise breaks through his concentration. 
“You—little—whore—” he snarls, and it makes you gush.
He pulls out and tosses you on the bed like you weigh nothing, crawling over you with his teeth bared. He’s so scary and beautiful and you want more more more. “Think you deserve to come? After being a little brat? Doing all that just to get my attention and my cock isn’t enough, you need to come, too?”
“No, I—”
He pulls your arms over your head, trapping both wrists in his big hand and holding you down with his body weight. “Fine, you greedy little slut, you can come, but you don’t get to stop until I say so.”
The first is fast—Javi is skilled and patient, but you’re so worked up it hardly takes anything. The second is the same; still sensitive, still needy, your body reaches bliss with just a few easy strokes. The third takes longer, but he pulls it from you, taunting you as the tears roll down your cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he orders, his free hand spanking you hard on your hip. “You can take it. You want this, remember?” He teases, an edge of cruelty in his tone that makes your back arch and toes curl into the sheets.
By the fifth orgasm, though, your body is begging for mercy. You’re soaked in sweat, whining as he moves between your legs to lick up all the come and force another out of you. Your hips cant up against your will at the press of his tongue and he holds you down.
“Nonononono,” you whine. “Javi, I can’t—” 
“You can take it,” he says again, dismissing your soft whimpers.
 Your safe word dances on the tip of your tongue, but now you want to see. You want to know if he’s right; if you can take another afterall, even if your thighs ache from being spread so wide for so long. The only noise you make is a soft whine as he presses his fingers into you again and he laps at your sensitive clit. 
“One more,” he murmurs into you. “One more.” 
His voice is gentle now, even if his lip is curled into a sneer. He replaces his tongue with his thumb and starts to talk.
“I know you want this. Probably won’t even be enough to satisfy you, will it? Whores don’t get satisfied that easy, do they? I bet this little hole’ll be begging for more even after all this. Poor thing. Unless you want me to fill up both of them. Maybe that’ll help, if you get your little asshole fucked, too.”
Your eyes fly open at the feeling of a finger brushing gently against your asshole, not enough to push inside but enough to light your nerve endings on fire. “Oh, fuck, Javi—”
He chuckles as you tighten around him again, your whole body shaking with this one. “Good,” he laughs. “Good girl.”
You’re spent, wrung out as he licks his fingers clean. His angry, weeping cock bobs in front of him as he pulls you up and manhandles you onto all fours. The mirror reveals what a mess you are—smeared lipstick, runny mascara, smudged eyeliner. 
“Fuck you’re pretty,” he murmurs. He dips his head between your legs and spreads your ass cheeks, groaning at the sight like he didn’t just have his face down there two minutes ago. “Oh, baby, you’re a fucking mess. You ready for my cock? Hm?”
“No!” You say, half-heartedly struggling underneath him. “I can’t, Javi.”
His eyes darken and you, despite coming six times, feel a tingle in your lower belly as he drapes himself over you. You squirm hard enough to make him hold you down, somehow gushing even more at his body weight settling over you. 
“You’re gonna be a good little cockhungry slut for me, and you’re gonna take this—” He shoves himself inside of you again, groaning hard and loud. You’re so much more relaxed now, looser from everything, but it still stretches deliciously. “And you’re gonna watch me fuck you until I come all over that pretty ass, yeah?”
You don’t answer, just blink dazedly at him until he spanks you. “Yeah?” He asks, leaning forward to grab your chin and force you to look at him. 
“Yeah,” you breathe. 
“Yeah what?” He snarls.
“Yes, sir.”
That sets him on that brutal pace, every thrust moving you closer to the edge of the bed as he mutters filth behind you, talking more to himself than you at this point. You watch him in the mirror again, not quite sure where he’s gone. He’s all sharp teeth and shimmering skin, nothing but the snap of his hips and the sound of your soaking cunt filling the room as you gaze at him. 
Javi slips out of you just before he comes, his spend splashing hot all over the cleft of your ass as he pulls you up to his chest and presses his fingers into your mouth, writhing against you. 
He gives one last throaty moan, and with his last thrust he whimpers your name and takes his fingers out of your mouth. It’s a soft noise, like whoever he’d expelled whatever his body with his release. You clutch his hand and smile at the sound—that was, of course, exactly what you’d set out to do.
“Mine,” he murmurs into your neck. It makes all the little hairs on your body stand on end and your heart feels like a flower in bloom. “All mine.”
Javi shakes his head as he regains all his senses, but you’re completely blissed out as he rolls you over and his eyes soften when you smile at him. 
“Hi,” you murmur, head still floating in the clouds. He sits up against the headboard and beckons you, and you crawl to him on shaky limbs. 
“Bebita,” he sighs, pulling you into his lap. You wrap your legs around him and lay your head on his shoulder with a contented hum. “You okay?”
“Mmhmm.”
He holds you there, rocking you back and forth and pressing kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, even the tip of your nose. “Did so good. My good, sweet girl. Made me feel so good. Let me clean you up, hm?”
Everything glows with a soft haze as he guides you into the bathroom and leans you up against the counter and pulls your thigh highs off, kissing you again and pressing his forehead to yours. “Stay here,” he murmurs. 
After he turns the bathtub on and finds the right temperature, he disappears for a moment, returning with a tall glass of water that you gulp down without taking a breath. 
“Good girl,” he says as he pulls you to the bath. 
You don’t take many baths in this tub—there’s never really enough time to enjoy them—but you might need to rectify that. It’s deep and wide, big enough that he could shimmy in behind you if he’d like. 
It’s like he’s read your mind, stepping out of the skin-tight jeans he’s still wearing—covered in your juices, you notice— and tapping you to scoot forward. 
“No underwear?” You tease, speaking for the first time. He seems almost bashful about it. All that, and he’s shy about going commando? 
“Not much room,” he admits. 
“How is that comfortable? Doesn’t the denim rub on your junk?”
“Now you’re just being a brat again,” he says as he settles around you, long legs hugging your sides. He plants his chin on your shoulder and huffs. “How’re you feeling?”
Javi’s full of all kinds of surprises tonight. He’s certainly never asked you that. Not that there’d been much occasion to, and you’re only a casual thing, but it’s nice that he cares. 
“Feel good. A little sore, but I like it.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“No more than I’d asked for,” you giggle, but he doesn’t laugh. You clear your throat. “No, Javi. You didn’t. You couldn’t.”
His body relaxes against you, melting into your sore muscles. He kneads at your shoulders and neck, cupping your breasts as he finds his way to your wrists. “Gimme your little puff thing,” he says. “And put that stuff that smells good on it.”
“It’s called a loofah,” you laugh as you drizzle the body wash over it. He grunts acknowledgment and scrubs you gently, murmuring comfort when he reaches your core and you hiss at how tender everything is. 
“I know, baby. So sensitive, I know,” he coos. 
Javi’s always sweet to you in the brusque way of his, but this is like he really cares for you. 
“Gonna stay over, if that’s okay,” he says, and you turn sharply. He’s never, ever stayed the night. 
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” he laughs. “Just wouldn’t feel right leaving you after that.”
“You’re sweet, Javier Peña.”
You slosh around in the water for a while, rubbing his legs and nuzzling against him for a while until he pulls you out and dries you off. In bed he curls his body around you and settles his chin on your shoulder, and as your eyes close, you realize you’re not the only vulnerable one here tonight.
**
“Did you see Agent Peña today?” Marla asks.
“Yes! He walked in smiling,” Valentina asks in a conspiratorial stage whisper. You say nothing, trying to keep your own smile internal. They’re much too loud, and there’s no way he can’t hear them even twenty feet away.
“Do you think he met someone?” Marla asks as she files her nails. “If I was ten years younger.” 
“You mean thirty,” Valentina teases, and Marla dismisses her with a wave of her hand. “I think I’d have a chance if he paid us any attention over here.”
Javier’s eyes flick up in their direction, smirking as he and Murphy discuss whatever it is they discuss over their morning coffee and bourbon. 
“Do you know anything about it, darling?” Marla asks, and you shake your head. 
“Nope,” you lie, as if he hadn’t fucked you within an inch of your life last night. “Not a thing. Maybe he’s just in a good mood.”
“He’s never in a good mood,” Valentina argues. “That’s what makes him all brooding and sexy.”
You can feel Javi’s eyes on you. “I don’t get the fuss,” you say, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “He’s handsome but he’s not that handsome.”
The two women look scandalized, but Javi stands with his hands on his hips across the room, eyes glued to you. An almost imperceptible jerk of his head toward the hallway sends blood rushing to your cheeks. 
You wait a respectable amount of time after he leaves before excusing yourself, finding Javier in the deserted hallway leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. “Don’t get the fuss, huh?” He grins. 
“Nope,” you say. “Not into the dark, brooding thing. I like it much better when you smile.”
Javi leans close and presses his lips to your forehead. “Me too, bonita. I like it better, too.”
~
comments and reblog are always so, so appreciated!!
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joelscurls · 4 months
Text
give in to temptation
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pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
words: 5.5k
summary: you're in a relationship now — a good, healthy relationship — that doesn't stop you from texting your ex Javi late at night.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, post Narcos s3, porn with plot, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit smut, sexting, infidelity (I do not condone cheating, but unfortunately it's hot when it's with Javi), reference to masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, use of pet names (cariño, querida, baby, etc.); lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: hi! enjoy 5kish words of dubious morals bc I couldn't get this idea out of my head :)
Humidity clings to the walls, bedsheets strewn across your legs damp with sweat. You kick at them aimlessly, and the cotton grips tighter to slick skin.
In the curve of your palm rests your phone, ringer switched off and brightness turned all the way down — the last thing you want is to wake your boyfriend, dozing next to you as you text another man.
Your fingers are clammy where they wrap around metal, sweat pooling in the divots between your knuckles. 
This is wrong; you know it’s wrong, just like every time preceding this one. But the guilt does nothing to slow the adrenaline racing through your veins. If anything, it makes your heart thump harder.
That, and the words pixelated on the tiny screen of your flip-phone.
Javi [2:03am]:  I’ve been thinking about you all day, cariño. Got me so hard.
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You’d met Javier Peña just over a year ago. 
A young woman alone at the bar, you’d drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had dark brooding eyes and a savior complex that’d been made more apparent with each story he’d shared about his time as a DEA attaché in Colombia, from which he’d recently returned.
Do you miss it? you’d asked, nursing a martini.
Like hell, he’d said. But I have nothing left to give.
I don’t know if I believe you, you’d countered with a wink.
Not an hour later, you’d found yourself in his living room, dress hiked up to your waist as he devoured you. 
Sex with Javi was easy, mindless. For a while, his body served as a refuge for you after shitty days at work and arguments with your overbearing mother. A lone beacon in the fog, he was always more than willing to help you forget the stressors in your life. And your own name.
It was passionate, and filthy, and sticky — left your legs trembling and your head dizzy — each and every time. 
With him, you didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to think. It was just sex, with no strings and no labels. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was perpetuated by the transcendent pleasure you felt in the spaces between words, when your mouths were preoccupied.
But when your birthday came and went and you found yourself another year older, an aching feeling settled in your gut — a feeling that time had begun to pass more quickly than it used to. And on its heels came the desire for something more, something you knew Javi was not willing to provide: a relationship.
The decision to end things was mutual, amicable. It was the easiest “breakup” you’d ever gone through. Maybe because it wasn’t a “breakup” at all.
A few weeks later, you’d met Nathan, a law student with a polite disposition and an eagerness to settle down. He’d treated you well, the type to open doors for you and ask about your day. On all fronts, he was a good man — a little boring, but good.
After a month, you made it official. After two, he moved into your place.
And you stopped thinking about Javi, about the way his large hand had fit perfectly around your throat, the way he’d been able to coax you to orgasm in two different languages. No, you only thought about the man in front of you, the one with the steadily growing collection of argyle ties and the unstamped passport.
Sex with Nathan was admittedly different. He didn’t make you cum as quickly or as easily; your body didn’t crave his with the same amount of fervor it had Javier’s. But it was loving, sweet, what any woman would want…should want.
And it was normal that you thought about your ex sometimes when your current partner laid his weight on top of you, that you imagined a different mouth slotted against your neck or on your tits. Because certainly, everyone did that every once in a while. It was harmless.
As long as you never uttered his name out loud, he’d remain only in your head, lost to time to exist there forevermore.
But then came the day in the grocery store, on your date to the cereal aisle to restock Nathan’s favorite, bran flakes. He’d materialized like a ghost of good sex’s past.
You didn’t dare speak to him, didn’t trust yourself to. Under the bright fluorescent lights, you’d felt your palms begin to sweat, your throat constrict, eyes glued to the selection of boxes in front of you. But while Nathan debated between store brand and name brand, you’d snuck another cautious glance at him.
Javi’s expression was unreadable. He’d looked between you and Nathan as if he were trying to solve a rubix cube. One he was becoming increasingly frustrated by. He’d gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly, the skin on his knuckles appeared near translucent.
And then he’d disappeared, tiny wheels on the carriage screeching, noise barely audible over your pulse.
The first text came later that night.
Are you seeing someone? it’d read.
Yes, you’d replied. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk. 
You’d quickly established ground rules: messages would only be exchanged after midnight, never two nights in a row, no calls, and — most importantly — Nathan would never find out.
Okay, Javi had said. Just one more rule: don’t use his name with me.
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To your right, Nathan snores, the singular catch of an inhale in his throat, and the noise jolts you, face heating as if you’ve been caught.
Then he shifts, turns on his side, away from you. You feel a strange wash of relief. A semblance of privacy that you shouldn’t be after.
You respond to Javier with your tongue between your teeth.
You [2:04am]: thinking about me doing what?
Javi [2:06am]: Riding me. Your tits in my face. My hands on your ass.
 Your breath catches, attention abruptly pulled to the incessant throbbing between your legs.
You definitely shouldn’t sneak to the bathroom and touch yourself. Shouldn’t send Javi a grainy photo of your fingers in your panties. Shouldn’t make yourself cum with your ex-lover’s name on your lips.
Not for the third time this week.
But when your cunt inadvertently clenches around nothing, your judgment is suddenly clouded.
With one last glance at the sleeping form beside you, you clamber to your feet and tiptoe down the hallway, wetness dripping down your thighs as you go.
The bathroom door closes with a quiet click. You fumble for the lightswitch, eyes reflexively squeezing shut when the room brightens. 
You hover over the sink, steadying yourself against porcelain with one hand while you type furiously with the other.
You [2:10am]: yeah? you wanna suck on my tits?
The mirror parallel you reflects something out of a thriller, your pupils fully dilated and your forehead glistening with sweat. You almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at you in all her depravity.
You slump to the floor. Rest with your back to the side of the tub. 
Javi [2:11am]: Dying to. Always felt so fucking perfect in my mouth.
Desperate fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, into your panties. The phone balances precariously in your other hand, thumb stumbling over buttons on the keypad.
You [2:12am]: I miss your cock.
Javi [2:13am]: That’s right, querida. Best you ever had, huh?
You [2:13am]: Yes. Always made me feel so fucking good. 
Javi [2:15am]: Fuck. Are you touching yourself?
You swirl two digits at your entrance, amply coating them in your slick before dragging them up to your swollen clit. You can’t stifle the moan that slips past your lips.
You [2:16am]: yes
Javi [2:16am]: good girl
The phone distractedly tumbles from your grasp, clinking against tile as you begin to work yourself toward the brink.
And then — there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
The room spins, walls suddenly shrinking in on you as you wrench your hand out of your panties. Nathan’s voice on the other side is muffled, by the exhaust fan and by the ringing in your ears. But you can just decipher his words, his voice laden with sleep.
“Babe? Are you okay? I thought I heard-“
“Fine, I’m uh, I’m fine,” you say, scrambling to your feet, wiping wet fingers on your shorts.
The doorknob jostles, and it dawns on you then that you’d forgotten to fucking lock it.
 “No! Don’t come in,” you sputter. The door hitches, less than an inch cracked. “I just had a stomach ache, but I’m okay now. I’ll be back in bed in a minute.”
“Oh.” He yawns. Pulls it shut again. “Okay.”
You brace yourself against the sink, struggling to slow your racing heart. 
With a flush of the empty toilet, Nathan’s footsteps recede down the hall and out of earshot. You wash your hands, then, fingers shaking under the stream of lukewarm water.
You dry them hastily, not bothering to pick up the towel when it slides off the rail and onto the floor.
You [2:21am]: gotta go. sorry. 
Javi [2:22am]: ???
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Nathan is far too kind the following morning. He sets a plate of buttered toast and a mug of peppermint tea out for you on the kitchen table, and presses a nauseatingly gentle kiss to your forehead as you eat.
His amber eyes scan you like he’s searching for any indicators that you’re still hurting, fingers anxiously carding through his sandy hair.
You’re sure he’s clocked the dark circles marking your undereyes — not that he knows the real reason for them.
“I’m fine,” you promise when you feel him staring.
“Are you sure?” he probes. “The noise you made was…intense; you sounded really pained.”
Pained? Not exactly.
“I know.” You stuff the last bite of toast into your mouth. Tilt the empty plate toward him.
“But I’m okay; see? Even have an appetite this morning. It was just a weird bug or something.”
The lie burns on the way out, scalds your throat. But Nathan buys it. Doesn’t ask any further questions.
Still, he tells you to take it easy today on his way out the door.
You can’t look him in the eye when you insist that you will.
You call out of work, too sick with self-loathing to show your face in the office. Instead, you mope around all day, attempt to distract yourself with the overflowing hamper of laundry in the closet.
It’s futile though, your brain paralyzed by thoughts of Nathan finding out about the affair, and the clothes remain unwashed.
He returns that evening with a plastic bag in his clutch, the local pharmacy’s logo printed on the front.
“Here,” he says, pulling out a brand new heating pad. “I realized last night that we didn’t have one of these laying around.”
You know, at that moment, that you need to end things with Javi.
Nathan is good to you. He loves you with actions, not just words. Thinks of you before he thinks of himself, in every situation. And you — you’re cheating on him. Taking advantage of him. Not even trying to be what he deserves.
You’ll try harder. To love him, to think of him. No longer will you give in to brainless, animalistic needs. Surely, you can mimic the passion you have with someone else if you just try. 
Try, try, try. You can do it.
Sleep evades you that night, coming in brief stints and leaving you breathless when you wake. 
In those conscious moments, the analog clock in the corner of the room taunts you, glaring red neon making your head pound.
After three straight hours of tossing and turning, you decide it can’t wait any longer.
You fish your cellphone off the nightstand. Snap it open.
You [3:23am]: We need to end this before things get ugly.
You’re sure he won’t be awake this late; not without reason. But then — the screen blinks.
Javi [3:24am]: Nothing’s going to get ugly. Please, cariño. 
You [3:24am]: I almost got caught last night. I don’t want to hurt him.
Javi [3:25am]: Can we talk about this? Javi [3:25am]: In person?
Your heart palpitates. For a moment, you swear it stops altogether.
You [3:26am]: What the hell? No Javi, I can’t.
Javi [3:27am]: C’mon. Just talk. Don’t you think you owe me that?
Your eyes flit to Nathan. 
You watch him for a long moment: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slouch of his shoulders, the gape of his mouth.
He’s well and truly asleep. You’re sure you could sneak away without him waking. Slip out the door and get a cab to Javier’s, talk things through, and be back in bed before the sun rises — before Nathan even knows you’ve left. 
And then everything will be just as it was before you messed this up. You can leave Javi in the past, where he belongs. 
Of course, you’re not just going to talk. Deep in your bones, you know that. Know that when he’s there in front of you, you’ll be too weak to resist any of his advances.
Still, you play coy. Ignore the spring of excitement tightening in your abdomen. 
In a move of finality, one which you know you won’t be able to come back from, you stand. Make your way into your closet to pull some pants and a t-shirt on, your cell phone clutched in your hand. 
You [3:30am]: Fine.
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Javier sends you his address — as if you’d have forgotten it. As if the name of his apartment complex isn’t permanently etched behind your eyelids, along with the wide slope of his shoulders and the plush of his bottom lip.
When the cab pulls up to the curb, the driver is visibly concerned. His bushy, gray brows thread together and his narrowed eyes catch yours in the rearview more than once on the drive across town.
It’s only when you reach Javi’s building and hand over your fare that the man speaks.
“Are you alright, sweetheart? Quite late for you to be out on your own.” 
His voice crackles, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy on his breath, and it’s strangely comforting. 
“Yeah,” you promise as you push the door open and step out.
He rolls his window down, anxiously watching as you maneuver your way to the front door. And then he’s driving off, headlights vanishing into the thick night.
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Javier lets you up on the first buzz. He’s waiting for you in the entryway of his apartment, leaning with a large hand pressed to the doorframe.
Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him: shirtless, bronze skin cast in the dim yellow light of the corridor. 
His eyes rake over you the moment you’re in front of him, lingering when they catch on your collarbone, your breasts, your legs. He looks so imposing like this. You find yourself unable to move; frozen under his silent, lustful gaze.
“Are you — can I come in?” you ask meekly.
He nods then, a slow lift of his chin. Steps backward into darkness. You will yourself to take one step, and then another, following him over the threshold and past the point of no return.
It feels so odd to be here, in his space, with the intention of doing anything other than fucking. If you look close enough, you swear you can make out the shape of your body imprinted in the couch cushions, can hear lingering echoes of climaxes reached with your face shoved into one of his decorative pillows — can feel them, too.
Arousal pulls between your thighs. You ignore it.
You wonder how many other women have been here since you, have taken Javi in their hands or their mouths or their cunts. How many names that aren’t yours has he chanted in the throes of passion? 
And — moreover — why do you care?
You don’t. You definitely don’t.
Javi pours you a glass of wine, fills a crystal with whiskey for himself. He flicks a lamp on, casting the room in an orange glow, and settles into the couch You follow his lead, perching yourself on one of the arm rests apprehensively.
“So,” you start. “About what we’ve been…doing-“
He cuts you off with a quirk of his brow, a flinch of his jaw. 
“Javi,” you try again. “This has to — we can’t-”
“You’re sure you want to break it off, cariño?” His voice comes out low, dark.
And the thing is — you’re not sure. You wish you were, wish you had the strength to tell him definitively that it’s over, to go home to your boyfriend and block Javi’s number on the way out. 
But the flex of his bicep when he hooks his arm behind his head, the knowing smirk playing on his lips, his cock — which you can’t see, but know is long and thick under his jeans — it all makes your head feel heavy. 
You let the weight of it drop between your shoulders, hang there as you silently search for just a particle of sanity left in your being. You come up empty. 
“Fuck,” you hiss, claw your fingers into your scalp. “This is — fuck.”
Leather groans under Javi’s weight. He stands. Steps in front of you.
You don’t dare look at him, not until he pinches your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to meet his. His eyes are charcoal-black, something devious swimming behind blown pupils.
“Baby,” he croons. “Why did you really come here?” 
You play dumb. “What do you mean? To — to talk.”
His thumb skates along the underside of your jaw, soft and placating.
“We’re not really gonna talk — are we?”
Your head spins, mind clouded by Javier’s words, his touch. You sense yourself losing resolve just as he pulls you upright by both hands. 
You’re so close like this; can taste the whiskey on his breath, can feel the warmth of his exhale against your skin.
His mouth moves to the shell of your ear, voice a mere whisper when he speaks again.
“Wanna know what I think, querida?” he asks, palm flattening at your lower back, pushing you flush against him. “I think you came here because texting wasn’t enough anymore, huh? Think you missed me.”
And the truth is, you have missed him — painfully so. You’ve missed the timbre of his voice, the caress of his hands, the stretch of his cock. All just in reach, tangible for the first time in so long.
Your need for him borders on carnal. The feeling snakes its way up from your stomach into the cavern of your ribcage, splays its weight across your delicate, pounding heart. 
And then the rational part of your brain whirs weakly to life.
What are you doing?
“I have a boyfriend,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re reminding. 
“Mhm,” Javi mutters, deft fingers peeling the fabric of your t-shirt up, up, up your body. You don’t stop him.
“And does your boyfriend —“ he kneels down, presses a kiss where exposed skin meets denim — “make you feel as good as I do, cariño?”
You can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be right. Because any of this is.
“Javi — I,” you try, cut off abruptly by dull teeth in the flesh of your waist. You yelp, the sweet sting quickly dissipating as he pauses. Pulls back. 
“You can say it,” he goads with a wicked smirk. “I won’t tell him.”
“He — no,” the words leave you before you even feel them in your mouth, and then you’re cursing yourself. You can’t take it back — it’s too late. Javi knows, you know. The only one still in the dark is Nathan. 
Javier says your name. His tone is different, soberingly serious. 
“Tell me to stop.” 
Fuck. 
“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, “and I’ll stop.”
“I can’t,” you whisper, so quiet you barely hear yourself. 
“Cariño-”
“I can’t,” you stammer, louder. “I — fuck, Javi. Please.”
“Please?”
He knows what you’re asking for; he just needs to hear you say it.
“Please fuck me.”
In an instant, he’s standing back up, grasping at your sides and impatiently guiding you onto the couch. He brackets you against the cushions, one hand splayed next to your head on the backrest, the other popping the button of your jeans open. 
You lift your ass as he tugs them down your legs, pulls them past your ankles and leaves them in a heap on the floor. And then he’s moving down your body, kneeling at your altar and prying you open for him.
You surrender to him willingly, desperation growing when he pulls your panties aside and gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.
“This gorgeous pussy,” he hums, leaning down to taste you.
“Yeah?” you breathe. “You miss it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he groans. Dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, refamiliarizing himself with your nectar before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.
You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He knows your sounds, knows their tells, soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt. 
His lips wrap around your clit, then, envelope it completely as he starts to suckle, and the sudden sensation makes you buck your hips.
“Javi — fuck, oh — holy-” 
He retreats, mouth shiny with your arousal. “What is it, baby? Your boyfriend doesn’t eat your pussy like this?”
“He doesn’t,” you admit breathlessly. Javi clicks his tongue. Faux-pouts at you. 
His lips reattach to your clit and you curse.
“Fuck, Javi, he — he’s never-“
The half-admission stops him in his tracks. He stares back up at you with narrowed eyes.
“Cariño, don’t tell me he doesn’t go down on you?”
Your face heats. “He — he says he doesn’t like to do it.”
Suddenly, Javi looks livid.
His fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.
He’s unaffected by much these days — but Javi clearly doesn’t take kindly to a man not pleasuring his woman. Especially when you are the woman in question.
“Pendejo,” he murmurs. 
“Javi,” you whine. “Please.”
Your pleading voice seems to snap him out of it. Or at least remind him of the task at hand.
He returns his attention to your dripping pussy with one final huff. “Gonna take care of you baby, don’t worry.”
You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Javier begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.
“Fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders. 
He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.
You hope, fleetingly, that his neighbors are heavy sleepers. Better yet, that they’re out of town.
Maybe he’s putting in extra effort because he knows now that your boyfriend isn’t doing this for you at home. Or maybe he’s just better at it than you remember. Regardless, you find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Javi’s tongue in a matter of minutes.
As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.
You sing Javi’s name like a hymn. It rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.
He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound. 
When your breathing evens, he lifts off of his haunches, motions for you to lay flat on the couch with your neck supported by the armrest. And then he shucks his pants off, his cock immediately springing up to his stomach, a trail of precum dripping down his navel.
You’d forgotten how gorgeous it was — the heady, pink tip shiny with arousal, veins running along the underside of the thick base prominent. It twitches in interest as Javier leans down to kiss you, prods against your slick inner thigh when his tongue presses into yours.
You hook your legs around his back, desperately attempting to pull him closer, attempting to drag him into your achingly empty cunt.
He grins against your lips, hand moving between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance.
“Impaciente,” he mumbles.
You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please Javi, need it.”
“Yeah?” He pauses with his cockhead right at your seam. “How bad?”
“Fuck — so bad, need it so bad.” Your nails burrow deeper into flesh. He hisses.
“God damn, querida; that much, huh?”
“Yes, Javi,” you groan. “Please just-”
He bottoms out in one deep thrust, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. You moan in unison, his head falling against your shoulder as he slowly begins to move. 
Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clenching around him over and over again. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of his cock nudging your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You wonder how you went so long without this. Fear you won’t be able to again.
He pulls all the way out and snaps into you before setting a new, brutal pace, one that leaves you babbling underneath him. 
The room grows palpably warmer, white heat licking at your neck, your chest, your back — where it sticks to leather. You find yourself lost in the way your bodies move together; a dance you’ve done so many times before; one you’d perfected all those months ago. 
“Shit,” Javi slurs. “Take me so well, cariño. Like you’re — ahh — made for me.”
I am, you want to say. 
“Fuck,” you moan instead, “so good, baby. Feels so fucking good.”
And it does. You’re going to snap soon, going to cum for a second time, soak his cock.
You tighten around him, a silent warning. He slips out and you whine at the loss. But then he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, spreading you wider for him and delving back in at a new angle that makes you scream.
You can feel it building now, like a snowball in your abdomen. You can’t fight it, can barely warn Javi, his name spilling brokenly from your throat as your orgasm crests.
He talks you through it with praises whispered in your ear. So beautiful, princesa — that’s it. So pretty when you fall apart on my cock. There you go; let it all out, baby.
Fucked-out and boneless, you beg for Javi to please cum inside.
He growls, low and primal, gripping tightly to the flesh of your waist as his thrusts begin to falter. “That what you want, querida? Want to — shit — want to go back to your boyfriend with me dripping out of you?”
“Yes,” you chant thoughtlessly, yes, yes, yes. 
“Dirty. Fucking. Girl.” he grits, each word punctuated by a jerk of his hips. 
He spills inside you with his teeth in the crook of your neck. There’s so much of it, filling your cunt, leaking out around his cock and onto leather. It sates you in a way you didn’t know possible, as if your womb needs to be claimed by him and only him. Nobody else will do.
You almost resent the feeling of your eyesight returning and your breaths steadying. You don’t want to come down — not if it means you need to go home.
But the sky outside is turning purple, bruising with the threat of a new day on the horizon, and you know your time together is nearly up.
“Javi,” you mutter, his chest still heaving against yours, cock softening inside you.
“Up.”
He shifts, pulls out in a devastating loss, and retreats to the opposite side of the couch.
You begin to knead the muscles in your aching calves, Javi fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the side table next to him. He takes one out and lights it, the end glowing faintly.
“What do we do?” you ask. He rubs at the crease in his forehead, definitely set there by years of chasing after drug cartels. Maybe also by running away from meaningful conversation with you.
“You can’t go back to him,” he mumbles.
You scoff. “I can’t? I have to Javi, Nathan is my-“
“Don’t say his name,” he snaps, abruptly ashing his cigarette and turning to face you. He looks wrecked, his eyes wide and his lips downturned. 
“What do you want from me, Javi?” you bite, pulling your panties back into place and reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor. “You want me to be at your beck and call forever? Cheat on him until one of us dies?”
“I —“ Javi sighs. “No.”
“Then what?” You pull your pants on: one leg, then the other. Pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts. 
“I — want you.”
You nearly choke on your own saliva.
“What?”
“All of you,” he clarifies. “When I saw you with him for the first time in that grocery store — my heart sank. I didn’t — didn't realize how serious my feelings were for you. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you end things that day.”
He stands. Braces pleading hands on your shoulders. 
“I know I’m an asshole,” he continues. “I thought I could never be someone’s partner. That I wouldn’t…wouldn’t be good. How could I be when I’ve done so much bad in my life?”
You sink into his touch. His words.
“Javi-“
“No, cariño — I need you to hear this. I want to be good for you, know I can be. I’ll do anything. I just — I can’t let you get away again.”
You feel as if you’ve just been struck by an arrow. Or, more accurately, a train. Your bones hurt and your insides twist.
You’re silent for a long moment, watching as his eyes desperately search yours. You know you need to say something eventually, put him out of his misery, but you’re too afraid to find out what happens next.
The undeniable fact that you want to be with him too is almost too much to bear. You’ll have to break it off with Nathan, split his heart in half. He doesn’t deserve it, you think, over and over.
But then, maybe you don’t deserve to remain unhappy. Unfulfilled.
Maybe you need to hurt him once in order to stop repeatedly hurting yourself.
“You’re good, Javier,” you say then. “You’re a good man. You deserve good.”
“Yeah?” his voice cracks. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He retracts them with a deep breath in.
You grab the sides of his face. “Yes. And I — I want you too.”
Javier kisses you, so deep you think your lips might bruise. There’s finality in it — you’re his and he’s yours — and no longer will you pretend that’s not the case.
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He drives you back to your place, unwilling to let his girl get in another cab alone before daylight.
Laredo looks beautiful at dawn, all dozing buildings and empty roads. You pass by your workplace and groan at the realization that you’ll have to be back there in a few hours; you can’t call out again. A stack of unfiled reports will surely be waiting for you atop your desk.
That dread doesn’t last long, though, not when you look to the man in the driver’s seat, the one who makes your mouth water and your heart skip.
When he catches your gaze, corner of his mouth turning up at you mischievously, you know for certain that everything will work out just fine.
Javi turns onto your street slowly, moreso than he needs to, a possessive hand gripping your thigh.
“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asks when the car pulls up to the curb.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say it won’t go well, but-“
“I know. But if he gives you any more trouble than he needs to, you call me.”
Your eyes flit up to your bedroom window, blinds drawn up and curtains pulled aside. The room is still dark, Nathan no doubt still asleep.
You’ll go up in a second.  After you kiss Javier one more time.
He seems taken aback when your lips catch his, maybe because it’s crazy to do this here, now. But you can’t help it. Can’t keep your hands — or your mouth — off of him now that you have him.
He relaxes into it after just a second, licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand moving from your thigh to the back of your head to hold you against him.
And then — he abruptly pulls away.
“Shit,” he curses, staring wide-eyed at the window.
You follow his eyeline, freezing when you see what he sees: Nathan, tall and shadowy, looking straight at you.
“Well,” Javi laughs nervously, “I think he knows.”
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end notes: ty so much for reading! pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed :)
tag list: @janaispunk @kajashe @amanitacowboy @planet-marz1 @littlegrungegirlaf @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @wethairjoel @catchallfangirl @pamasaur
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devilmademewriteit · 1 year
Text
Salvatore
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pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader
summary: a secretary with an attitude problem, a DEA agent with an insolence problem. years ago, you'd stopped hoping for his character to improve, but he's still gunning to set you straight. it’s the worst day of your life, and javier peña aims to take advantage of that.
warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content, fem afab reader, mentions of reader having long hair, bratty!reader, brat-tamer!javi, alcohol consumption, smoking, pet names, (so much smoking, I’m sorry but it’s narcos), dubcon (slight intoxication, coercion if you really, really squint)
beta reader: @millllenniawrites that’s BABIE
word count: 10.3k (imsosorry)
no use of y/n in this fic
hey y’all ! i said i had a longer javi fic in store and i was not kidding lmfao !!! slight warning, the reader is a bit of an asshole so teaaaaa. anyhow, don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty, and feedback & comments are always welcome mwah mwah -em<3
PS: to my non-canadian readers, a dart is a cigarette lmao
Read Part 2: Playing Dangerous
Nothing ever went to plan with Peña around.
It was a curse. A nightmare. You were so careful with your agenda, making sure meetings with the ambassador happened on time, every time, and uninterrupted. When that didn’t happen? It was your ass on the line. And when that didn’t happen? It was always because of agent Peña.
“I can’t let you in, right now,” you hiss, tired of repeating yourself. “She specifically told me not to let people in. Not to let you in,” you add, pointing a finger at his chest.
“Aw, c’mon,” Peña’s murmured supplication rolls off his tongue, “It’s real important.”
You huff indignantly. Keeping your voice low, you retort, “Every time it’s life or death, Peña—”
“Why don’t you ever call me Javier, sweetheart?” A playful twinkle dances in his twilit eyes. “You’ve known me longer than any of the other girls I’m on a first name basis with, here.”
It was true. You’d been working at the embassy for ages, now, babysitting big-headed politicians or power-drunk DEA agents and soldiers. Peña was the worst of them all, solely in virtue of the fact that he knew he could get away with everything. Men loved him because he was tough, charismatic, and capable; women loved him because he was tough, charismatic, capable, and looked like a vintage pornstar. It only took you a month at the job to grow violently sick of hearing his name cherished on the lips of your female coworkers, forced to listen to the gorey details of nearly every. single. office. conquest.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
The worst might’ve been when his ‘informants’ called, their mewling voices asking to leave a message for ‘Javi.’ Or, it might’ve been the culminating effect of his reaping the rewards, time after time, for his insolence, gaining respect, praise, pussy—and all because he never fucking listened.
Years came and went, and somewhere down the line you’d accepted that Javier Peña was simply destined to be a lifelong affliction.
Now, standing before you in his ruffled, tan button-up, his loosely unkempt hair cascading into his eyes, he reminds you of a lost, stray cat.
He was anything but.
Receptionists, assistants, secretaries… you had long been the secret-keepers of the world. It wasn’t that you were ignorant of the part you played in the DEA’s more indelicate proceedings; but, still, you maintained that there was a clear difference between transferring phone calls or scheduling meetings and torturing men to death for information.
Gazing into Peña’s umber eyes only flooded your head with scenes of casual violence—no doubt, they were a sight, which always made you wonder how many times they’d been someone’s last.
You’d heard stories.
Sucking in a lengthy inhalation, your glare meets his roguish expression.
“I will call you 'Javier',” you counter, soaking his name in scorn, “When you stop calling me 'sweetheart'.” He smirks at that, leaning his palms on your desk, forearms flexing as they face you. “And 'angel',” you persist. “And 'darling' and 'doll' and 'hey you' and whatever else you’ve called me over the years.”
A smile. “Never realized you were keeping a list.” You roll your eyes. “If only you’d told me, angel, I’d’ve been more creative.”
You sigh, increasingly irritated by his imposition. Leaning back to cross your arms and legs, you torture him with silence.
“You’re seriously not gonna let me in?”
The slight, entitled whine underpinning his tone brings you immense satisfaction. You shake your head, ‘nope', and watch his mustache twitch impatiently in response.
Peña takes a second to gather his thoughts before rapping his knuckles against the hardwood, loosing a huff of irritation.
“Know what your problem is, sweetheart?” He muses, his stare shadowed under thick eyebrows.
“No, I don't, Peña,” you reply sardonically, curling your hands under your chin, beaming at him in mock engrossment. “Please, do indulge me.”
He smirks. “You’re wound up wayyy too tight.” He eats you alive with a mere look. “And someday? Someone’s gonna have to break you in.”
“If you gave me the honour,” the agent continues, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low purr as he stoops to lean over you, shirt creasing around the broad muscles of his shoulders.
“I’d have you screamin’ my name like a prayer.”
Words fail you. Gaping up at his sinful expression, you’re wide-eyed, lips parting softly in surprise—he drinks in his effect, watching you squirm below him like a mouse caught in a trap.
Despite your rocky history, you can’t help your intrigue at the invitation burning right there in his eyes, tempting… and… promising—
The ambassador’s doors whoosh open, causing you to jump in your seat. Jolting up, you clumsily rearrange your stationary, suddenly very preoccupied with adjusting your skirt, your collar, your hair. Peña straightens casually, tightening his tie and clearing his throat as a flighty officer emerges from the office, quickly disappearing down the hall.
Ambassador Noonan appears in the doorway. She fixes her exasperated gaze on your most unwelcome guest.
“Ambassador,” Peña greets, his flirtatious baritone blanketing you like a wave of thick, late-August air. “Your assistant was just about to send me in.”
Rage joins the confusing cocktail of emotions swirling in your middle as your cheeks grow red-hot.
“Give her a break, Peña,” Noonan scoffs, strolling back into her office. “Or I’ll have you on desk duty til’ next year.”
“It’s urgent, ambassador,” Peña calls after her, suddenly serious. There’s a loaded silence before a grumbled ‘two minutes’ echoes from inside the room.
You hate when he wins.
He saunters in without a glance, without a word, sealing the big doors shut behind him.
Dropping your forehead to your desk, the cool hardwood relieves the stubborn hotness under your skin. Your thoughts race faster than you can endeavour to keep up with.
What was that?
It wasn’t unusual for your feelings to run wild whenever the two of you went head to head, but never before had Peña gotten you… excited.
Tempted.
Were you going insane?
Or, maybe—just maybe… was the fucker right? It had been some time since you’d allowed yourself an unhealthy indulgence.
Still, the thought of Peña being right about anything was fundamentally incompatible with your psychological makeup.
So, you try to snap out of it.
You hated Peña. You hated his car, his clothes, and his watch. You hated his stupid mustache and the crinkles that formed by his eyes when he laughed in big, hearty heaves. You hated his velvet-smooth voice and his fluffy hair and his massive, toned shoulders and his full, pouty, teasing lips and—
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
You hated nothing more than yourself, in that moment, unable to purge your mind of the agent, his corrupted expression etched on the back of your eyelids as if Michelangelo had carved him there himself.
Rolled cigarettes aside, your most reproachful habit was taking (conderably lengthy) lunch breaks in your shit-box Chevrolet. On one hand, the solitude allowed an escape from the frantic embassy environment; on the other hand, your isolation left you vulnerable, at the mercy of whoever decided to accost you, processing the always headache-inducing events of the morning in the driver’s seat of your car. It happened all-too-frequently: a disgruntled diplomat tapping at the glass post-meeting to snap at you for your boss’s rigidity.
Get me a meeting with someone else, girl.
(How about you get a real job, dick?)
Feet up on the dash, you’re tuned in to the low hums crackling off the old radio speakers, seat down, eyes closed for the ultimate unwinding experience. It's not perfect: the passenger side window had recently developed the unfortunate habit of sliding open (no matter how hard you forced it closed, writing an internal manifesto to GMC motors), so your mid-day meditations were punctuated by road-rage-induced swear words and honks.
Over and over a single sentence floats to the forefront of your mind, surfacing above all else: let this interminable day be over.
You nearly jump out of your skin when a brisk knock rattles the glass by your head.
White guy. Blonde hair. Scraggly mustache.
Murphy.
You take your time putting your seat back to an upright position, carefully lowering your feet to rest atop the floor pedals. Then, you crank the window down, kicking yourself for not choosing a more secluded location.
He smirks, no doubt amused by your spa-like, lunchtime activities. His strange (but not necessarily unpleasant) appearance always reminded you of a children’s cartoon character.
“Should’ve opted for a desk-job,” he teases.
You roll your eyes, and, instead of even giving him the gift of your full attention, you watch intently as a grey Ford pickup struggles to parallel park, half a block up the street.
“If you had to deal with cops like you and Peña for a living, you’d do the same, believe me.”
And you were beyond serious. Peña’s little stunt this morning had caused every damn meeting in Noonan’s already packed schedule to shift by not two, not ten, but twenty minutes. You’d been sworn at six times by ten-thirty.
Murphy nods in reluctant acknowledgement. “I’m guessing that means you’re not in the mood to do me any favours?”
An exasperated sigh. “Depends on what it is, I guess.”
Grimness settles over his features, a stark reminder of the nature of his job. He’s apprehensive in his delivery, already anticipating your wrath. “I need access to records.”
Of course he does. Immediately, you’re scowling.
“And why would I have that kind of clearance?” Your brazenness doesn’t shock him, but he flinches nonetheless. “Christ,” you seethe, “Sometimes I feel like the whole fucking world thinks I’m, like… Ali Baba, or some shit.”
That strange comparison entices a slow smile from him. It’s hard for you not to laugh at yourself, either, but you do your best to swallow it down, to hold to your contempt.
“I was just wondering if you could get me the right documents so that I could get clearance, Ali Baba.”
The corners of your lips lift, betraying your lingering ire. Murphy gives you a sympathetic kind of look, the kind that reminds you of a golden retriever, begging for scraps from the dinner table.
Oh, fuck it.
Murphy was always more pleasant than his counterpart, anyways. It felt alright to reward him for his good behaviour.
“Fine.”
He grins in celebration.
Damn it, you’re too nice.
Gotta stand your ground, somehow. “Tomorrow,” you add.
Murphy cringes. “Kinda need it today.”
“Well I can’t do it today, so it’s going to be tomorrow, alr—”
“What can’t we do today?”
Peña’s interjection through the half-open, defective passenger side window makes you jump for the second time in five minutes—this time, you kick yourself for choosing to put off that repair job. Before you can process, or even protest his arrival, he’s unlocked the door from the inside and climbed into the passenger seat. Leaning casually against the inside of the door, he looks arrogant as ever with his arms crossed, big biceps swelling under the fabric of his tan button-up.
And he’s leering at your addled state, feigned innocence dancing in those big, brown eyes.
Murphy stifles a snort.
“Get out of my car, Peña,” you grind out.
“Shouldn’t be driving this,” he muses, running his fingers along the hot, hard plastic of the dash. “Bad engines—what’s your address? We could carpool—I’d pick you up—y’know, get coffee…”
Murphy can’t help himself; he chuckles aloud at Peña’s goading. You round on him, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“That laugh just cost you your precious form, asshole.”
And you crank the window up, tuning out his stammered “naw, c’mon, j's wait—” until it becomes nothing more than white noise, something you could easily fall asleep to.
“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Peña placates, “I’m just playing around.”
Murphy wanders off, no doubt scheming up his next attempt at persuading you into giving him what he so badly wanted, leaving you completely alone with his loathsome partner.
Right now and forever, it’s the last place you want to be.
“That’s all you do though, isn’t it?” You snap. “You and your little American—‘play around.’ Is the world just a big amusement park for guys like you? I mean, is anything ever real to you?”
He raises a testy eyebrow at that.
“You think that’s what we do?”
“I don’t really care what you do, Peña.” Reclining your seat, you close your eyes and cross your arms over your chest: a clear indication that you’d reached the end of your conversation.
“Yeah, you sure love saying that.”
It’s a struggle to keep your eyes closed at the rustling of his clothing. Your more hopeful side convinces itself that the agent might actually be on his way out of the Chevy; but, there’s a metallic clink, and your heart sinks as the smell of tobacco creeps up your nose.
So, he was planning to stay.
“Look, angel,” he drawls, “All we need’s a simple form. S’it.” There’s a pause as he takes a drag. When he continues, his voice is strained, constricting around the smoke. “No need for all this… prude shit.”
Tasting acid, seeing red, you spring up, addressing him head-on with a violent twist to the side. And he’s enjoying this, the bastard—relaxed as ever in the face of a wildfire, aiming to set him alight.
“You are the single most—”
At first you think it’s fireworks.
Your lungs empty out, burning as the force of a large hand, slammed against your chest, drains you of every last drop of oxygen. It flattens you against the worn-out fabric of the driver’s seat. You intend to shout as anger, fear, and surprise overwhelm you, but a palm claps over your mouth, muffling any possibility of sound. Pena’s half-smoked cigarette falls to the floor of the vehicle, tumbling clumsily past your cheek.
He hovers over you, deep-brown eyes enriched by an unfamiliar seriousness—a warning.
“Stay down and shut up,” he growls under his breath.
Almost reflexively, you’re nodding. You’d never heard that tone from him before, no doubt the same one he used to give his men orders. Stilling under the weight of his upper body, you focus your energy on controlling the volume of your hoarse exhalations as his hand slides off of your lips.
Carefully, he reaches down and over to his waistband, bringing out his handheld transceiver.
“Murphy.” His breath fans over your collarbones, seeping right through your dampened skin and into your rattling bones. You’re almost certain he can hear the fast drum of your heartbeat.
There’s a quiet crackling, and then a soft click followed by a grumbled, “Stay down. We’re tryna get eyes on him.”
Peña continues to shield you from view. You try your best not to meet his look of concentration—but, oh, the furrow of his brow, that worried slant at the corner of his lips—it pulls you in, asking to be studied with fascination.
You’d never seen him so focussed.
You’d never seen him in the field, either.
It could’ve been hours, trapped under the agent’s forearm, sweat prickling at the skin of your overlaid bodies. He grows dewy from the exertion of planking over you and the stifling heat of the Colombian sun.
You’re not quite sure why you suddenly feel so hot.
Maybe it’s those other scenarios you’re unable to stop yourself from conjuring up, in which you might find yourself crushed under the weight of the agent. Your traitorous mind designs the fantasies, projecting the scenes like x-rated movies inside your head.
So, you avoid looking at his eyes. And the triangle of tan, wet skin peeking out from beneath his unbuttoned collar. And the hard muscles pressing into your trembling form. Those, too.
When that doesn’t work, you think about bugs.
Your harmonized breathing is eventually interrupted by the crackle of static.
“We lost him–must’ve got picked up.” The frustration in his voice is evident. “But, anyways, you’re clear.”
Peña’s broad thumb presses into the device as he grunts, “You sure?”
After a beat, he gets his response.
“I’d risk your life, Peña, not the secretary’s.”
He smirks ever-so-subtly before shoving the transceiver back down his pocket. You find your voice, clearing your coarse throat as you try to tame the frantic butterflies in your stomach. “How nice of him.”
Your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed. Peña traps you in his gaze—your stomach does a flip, catching the details of his rugged features as his nose hovers mere inches away from your own.
“Not even a ‘thank you, Javi’?”
Sickly sweetness battles alarm for control over your reply. “How about a ‘get the hell off me, ‘Javi’?”
After a smug smirk, he twists back to rest against the passenger seat. Still, he doesn’t take his eyes from you.
Plucking up his still-smoking cigarette, nearly at the filter, off the floor of the car, you remind yourself to breathe. There’s a heavy silence as you locate your lighter—as flame meets parted lips.
“Was it a gunshot, or do you make a habit of manhandling girls for fun?” You ask, dart dangling shakily from your lips as you huff a short pull. The jab does nothing to calm your nerves.
He lifts a hand to give his temples a brief rub. “You really want me to answer that?”
You nod, giving him a look with a bolded and italicized ‘obviously’ written all over it.
“Alright,” he extends a hand towards yours—you absentmindedly pass him the butt. He finishes it off before chucking it out the faulty window. “Some guy ten yards up had a piece pointed straight at your windshield. Didn’t feel like cleaning blood off of your dash, today, so forgive me for not being… gentle.”
The confirmation steals every rational thought from your reeling mind, every last modicum of oxygen from your lungs; you’re left quaking at the foot of your mounting fear.
So, understandably, your voice is an unsteady whisper when you choke out a, “My blood? Or yours?”
His face contorts, dark features growing strangely sympathetic. “Probably mine…” he takes a beat to piece together his thoughts. “But you do work at the embassy. Sicarios aren’t... specific with their targets.”
Despite the heat, a chill travels down your spine. Raising a trembling hand to your lips, you marvel at the feeling of being intact–-how precious that felt, all of a sudden.
“Probably mine, sweetheart,” he repeats, softly.
You nod, acknowledging his half-comfort. Peña pulls out the walkie-talkie once more.
“Can you get someone to walk her back inside?”
There’s a pause. A familiar song plays faintly over the radio: something you could easily hum along to but couldn’t quite name. And then, “Yeah—you wanna go after this guy?”
“Anyone who’s got the balls to pull this shit a block away from the embassy’s gotta be worth looking into,” Peña responds. Both he and Murphy sound so calm, as if this was nothing more than a routine check-in, as if this was just a regular day at the office.
Well, you remark, for them, it was.
The transceiver clicks off. A minute or two pass in tense, almost awkward silence. Finally, Peña clears his throat.
“About that form…”
Immediately, your terror is replaced by a more comfortable, more familiar ire as he continues on.
“Think you’d be willing to cooperate, now that I, y’know, saved your life?”
Incredible.
You gape at him in bewilderment. The adrenaline pumping all the way down to the tips of your fingers transforms into a different sort of beast—that bygone impulse to hide behind your hands becomes an overwhelming desire to wrap them around your company’s neck.
“Being in proximity with you almost cost me my life, Peña.” He opens his mouth to argue, but two officers appear, lining the driver’s side of the car. You pull the door handle towards you, harrumphing as you straighten up outside the Chevrolet.
When the both of you are free and standing, you whir on him, matching his look of disdain with your own.
“I owe you even less than I did before,” you spit across the roof of the car.
Saving yourself the trouble of his reaction, you cross the street without another word, heading back to the safety of the embassy with a dutiful soldier flanking you on either side.
But even once you’re in the air-conditioned hallways, between those thick, steel-supported walls, you’re angry and scared and confused—nothing seems to return to you your previous (and probably naive) sense of safety.
And somehow, that was Javier Peña’s fault.
Taking a long drag off your (twelfth) cigarette of the day, you savour the taste and the burn of the tobacco at the back of your tongue as you swallow down the smoke.
What a shitty fuckin’ shift.
Assassination attempts aside, you were to spend yet another late night at work because of some PR crisis you weren’t even totally sure you understood. Naturally, as the assistant, you were never relegated to the fun tasks—always on coffee duty, managing the phones, or playing the office shrink.
It was dull, useless work. Smoking alone in the darkness of the filing room was more interesting.
Maybe in another life, you were out on the streets, cleaning them up with your own two hands, handling things your way. In another life, you were in charge, calling the shots and firing them, too. Your mid-day fiasco had left you feeling completely inept and out of control—maybe a gun and some damn authority could change that.
It seemed to work for Murphy and Peña.
The former had already paid you a brief visit. ‘Couldn’t find him. We’ll be on it once all *this* shit blows over. Sure you don’t remember anything else?’
A corridor of light cascades down the other side of the room as the door creaks open, indicating that someone else had found your safe-haven.
Indicating that it was time to go.
Smudging the butt out on the crowded desk supporting you, you prepare for your re-emergence into the chaos. You scoot your way down the table, yanking down your pencil skirt once your feet hit the concrete floor. Without the dim light of your cigarette, you're engulfed in pitch-blackness with the door, now, shut. Fingertips extended before you, you feel your way around near-blindly, inching step-by-step towards (your rough estimation of the location of) the door.
You come into contact with something firm, tall, and very much alive.
“Wha-ow!” you yelp, losing balance and teetering back on your heels. A strong arm snakes behind your back, steadying your stumbling body. There’s a zip followed by a click as the stranger tugs on a wayward, dangling pull switch you hadn’t noticed on your own, and then a dusty, bare light bulb reveals the identity of your obstacle.
“You again?” You hiss.
“Are you smoking in here?” Peña returns, marvelling incredulously down at you.
You try to push yourself off of him, but his hold around your middle anchors you in place. He smells like men’s cologne and a dash of dark liquor. Neither of those scents had struck you earlier on in the day, even as his lips had hovered a mere inch above yours, nor when his body was pressed to your own like a damn weighted blanket. The drink was understandable, given him being… well, him, and the whole catastrophe—but, had he reapplied the perfume?
And why was that a relevant thought?
“Um, yeah?” You eventually respond, put-out by his bewilderment. Only a debaucher like Peña would have you penned as a square—likely, you were one, compared to his usual company and his own proclivity for debasement. “Am I under arrest? Last time I checked, my smoke breaks didn’t fall under your jurisdiction.”
He scoffs, but releases his hold. “You know, you have such a fuckin’ mouth on you.”
Despite the harshness of his words, a gentle hand secures you on your feet. The contrast is nothing if not jarring.
Straightening, crossing your arms, you put on your most brazen expression, doing your best to not appear flustered. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t flinch at the arrogance in your tone. “You know it’s crazy out there, right?”
“You think I came in here to admire the interior design?”
He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with strain. You expect-–no, you almost want him to come back with a rude retort; instead, his exhaustion pushes him towards sincerity. “Look, shit’s just…” a low sigh, “It’s really gone south and I… needed a second.”
It takes a hot minute for it to dawn on you that Peña’s being civil, actually honest with you. A better person might’ve conceded, begrudgingly taken the white flag, maybe even gone in for a handshake to commemorate the temporary truce—
But you were not a better person.
And you just can’t help the sneer from creeping on. “The great Javier Peña needs a second—isn’t that cute. Guess it’s not all guns and shoot-outs and whores and—”
In a flash, the agent has your back flattened against a filing cabinet, two large hands splayed out on either side of your head. He ignores your soft gasp, shadowed eyes dancing with scorn and something even darker as he pins you to the metal.
Trapped underneath him for the second time in one, singular day.
Should’ve called in sick this morning, for fuck’s sake.
“Y’know,” he rumbles, and the depth of his baritone makes your knees wobble, “I’m getting the feeling you’re starting to be jealous of those ‘whores,’ the amount of times I’ve heard you bitch about them.”
A cold handle digs into your back, but you ignore the pinch, refusing to show any signs of weakness.
He wanted to play? Fine. You could play. What you lacked in size, you could always make up for in words. It was a lesson all women carried, a talisman of sorts.
You jut your chin up, adding punch to every consonant, every vowel. “You’re fucking delusional.”
“Yeah,” he snaps, “And you’re a fucking brat.”
There’s a pause as you stare into each other’s eyes, flame to fire, sword to dagger. Excitement builds under your skin—not the kind that you usually felt after receiving an insult, but the kind that had your core warming, your eyelids growing heavy.
It’s unwelcome and off-putting, horrifically out-of-character. You desperately try to push the sensation away.
“Peña—”
He cuts you off. “Brats make a good fuck, y’know. Always take it rough.”
You still, absorbing his crude words. That delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs responds to his invitation against your better judgment, betraying you with every involuntary flutter.
The agent drinks in the way he has you squirming, unable to form an immediate response.
But you manage to reel yourself in, reminding yourself that losing to Peña far outweighed getting off. Self-control was a virtue, after all, and if you were going to win, at least one person in this dingy, old room had to have it.
It sure as hell wasn’t going to be the dark god leering down at you.
“This is a workplace, Peña,” you purr, tilting your chin up to sneer at him. “Not a brothel.”
An inconspicuous twitch at the corner of his mustache as fond nostalgia clouds his eyes. “S’never stopped me before.”
“Yeah,” you drawl, “I know.”
His low chuckle clears some of the tension suspended in the air between you. He eventually steps back, broad hands reaching out to re-adjust your blouse. You allow him the honour—if he was looking for a reaction, you weren’t going to satisfy his craving.
It feels abrupt when he drops his arms, humming an “enjoy your break, sweetheart,” and turning to leave.
Dear Holy Spirit, thank you for sparing me on this day.
Your short-lived relief is cut brief when his heavy footsteps come to a sudden halt. Broad, muscled back to you, Pena’s rugged profile slowly turns into view, its harsh outline illuminated by the glow of the bulb’s dusty, yellow light.
“If location’s the problem—” you can just make out the corner of his mouth lifting in a cocky smirk, “Could always come over, y’know. Got a big bed, nice shower… backseat, too, f’you get too excited on the way…”
You snort, but your breath betrays you, involuntarily hitching halfway up your throat.
Oh god.
“I’d sooner sleep with Escobar, himself.”
His side-eye catches your gaze for a spell, and you really can’t tell whether he wants to fuck or eat you.
“We’ll see.”
And then he’s out the door.
Alone in the dim room, you try to steady your breath, quickly aware of the tremor in your fingers. It’s an agitation that feels dangerous, unpredictable—as if you were a grenade with your safety pin tucked into the folds of Javier Pena's pocket.
His hands on your waist. His breath on your skin. “Always like it rough.” The tingling between your thighs and the air that just won’t fill your lungs—
The ghost of his gaze lingers on the bridge of your nose, and you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you’re being haunted. No matter what you do, his presence follows you. Not even a cold splash of water does the trick, crouched over the bathroom sink, still trembling hands rubbing vigorous lengths over your face as you desperately try to cleanse yourself of him.
“Fucking piece of shit!”
Your palms collide with the steering wheel. Once more, you yank and twist your keys in the ignition, abandoning all hope as the car coughs and sputters like a dying relative. You never intended to visit the hospice ward, this evening—all you wanted was to go home.
Closing the door with a punishing slam, you stalk to the front of the Chevy, wrenching open the hood to inspect the steaming guts of the car.
You might as well have been looking at hieroglyphs. Or, you might’ve been a roman oracle, divining meaning from a pile of sheep intestines.
Fuck.
It’s almost midnight. The fluorescents glowing through the embassy’s windows provide a sad excuse for lighting as you lean over the exposed hood of the car, trying to differentiate your engine from your battery, your catalytic converter from your air filter, this unidentifiable part from that one, over there.
Of course, this had to be the day that your American muscle gave out on you. Tears sting the corners of your eyes and you ache for the feeling of a warm tub, a glass of wine, a long, restful, deserved sleep.
Someone had to have cursed you.
That becomes all the more plausible when a deep voice booms from behind you, smug and amused and coated in a thick layer of arrogance.
“Car troubles?”
Not. Fucking. Him.
This had to be some form of karmic punishment. It had to be retribution for an act you’d committed in a past life, so evil that it haunted you, all the way into the next one, in the form of an insufferable cop.
His presence almost brings about a cry of rage.
You whirl on him. Leaning against the headlight of his Jeep, casually ashing his cigarette with a quick flick of his thumb, you find a shred of comfort in Peña’s evident exhaustion, weighing down his shoulders and rendering the sharp edges of his features unusually dull.
Ha. The day had punished him, too.
“What’d I say earlier?” He taunts, and of course, despite his weariness, he still looks amused, endlessly capable of deriving a kind of perverted entertainment in your torment. “Something ‘bout bad engines?”
You scowl at him, fingernails digging into your palms. “Unless you know how to fix this,” you gesture wildly towards your defective vehicle, “Do me a favour and fuck right off, Peña.”
He only smiles, taking a final pull off his dart and crushing it between the pavement and the underside of his dress shoe. “Leave it here for the night,” he says. “No use fighting with it right now. ‘Specially not while you’re alone out here.”
A light scoff. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”
He tilts his head to the side, fixing you with a look of exasperation that screams, ‘be serious.’ “Let me give you a ride, sweetheart.”
“No, thanks. I’m pretty sure I know where that would get me.”
His expression grows earnest. “I’m not gonna try anything. Got enough guilt already, just don’t wanna add the secretary’s gruesome death to my list.”
You huff a strained exhalation, addled mind racing as you try to think of anything else that could get you home Peña-free. Cabs were a no-go, alone at this hour. The embassy was empty (except for a few stragglers that you trusted even less than your current company) and on a Friday night, no one you knew would be home to pick up your call, let alone be sober enough to drive.
You could sleep in your car.
You wholeheartedly consider it.
But one look at the agent confirms that option as a dead one: he’d drag you kicking and screaming into his backseat if it really came down to it.
“Swear.”
Peña raises his eyebrows at your command. You hear his unspoken ‘really?’ ringing in your ears.
So, you cross your arms, waiting insistently.
He sighs. “I swear,” and it’s sincere enough.
“Swear what?” You cock a hip out a little to compliment the attitude in your voice. If you were to suffer through his torture, he would suffer through yours, too. How’d that old saying go?
Eye for an eye.
Peña shakes his head and stalks over, passing you by to slam the hood of your Chevrolet shut.
Standing in front of you, exasperation guides him as he addresses you straight on. “You’ll be home in ten minutes, unharmed and unfucked. Now, get in the damn car.”
He heads to the passenger side of the Jeep, rough while unlocking the door, gentle while holding it open. The surrounding darkness doesn’t allow for a full view of his face, and you’re somewhat grateful for undoubtedly being spared the look of vindication that would soon be etched on those features.
This is a bad idea.
Every natural instinct tells you to stay put. Like a broken record, the word danger-danger-danger bounces and ricochets inside your head. When Pena beckons you forward, eyebrows raised in impatience, it feels as though you’re being pulled to him by a thread so delicate it might’ve been spider silk—still, the faint tug makes you all the more worried for your sake.
Nevertheless, you give your shoulders a quick shake and take the first step, walking the length of that invisible string.
“Yeah—the building right in front of the school. Grey, looked like a seventy-eight or seventy-nine. Drove off before I could get the plate number, but I’m sure it’s the same one.”
You were not home in ten minutes.
Instead, you’re perched gingerly on the edge of Peña’s couch, cupping a cold glass of water between your hands as he relays the events of the past twenty minutes to his partner.
After spending the ride in simmering silence (aside from the latin music playing softly over the Cherokee’s speakers), Peña had barely turned onto your street before he was veering into an alleyway, the momentum slamming your side against the car’s interior. Frenzied protests flew from your lips as he sped off in the opposite direction of the home you so badly longed for.
“Takin’ you to mine—just shut up for a second—remember that car, this afternoon, when I was with you? The one parked up the street? Yeah, well, it’s outside your building, sweetheart.”
Now, you’re in his living room, massaging your bruised arm and trying to keep your cool. The agent’s voice washes over you, both very far and very near at once. Distracting yourself seems essential, given the circumstances, so instead of dwelling on the idea that someone might actually be trying to kill you, and, what’s worse, you have no idea why, you study the apartment.
To anyone else, it’d just be one man’s living situation, tending toward the nicer side of that domain.
To you, it’s seeing inside the mind of an alien creature.
Everything looks warm: the browns and the yellows of his furniture feel surprisingly cozy. The dark-wood coffee table, the curated magazines, that smokey, deep-forest smell… it’s not what you’d expected. Although, you’re not quite sure what it is that you’d expected.
An unmade bed and few scattered Penthouses with the centerfold pages stuck together, at the very least.
“Yeah, she’s fine here, for now—alright—tell Connie I say ‘hi'.” The phone lands on the receiver with a muted clunk.
Eventually, he comes around to join you. You’re not interested in hearing the details, sick of explanations, tired of all the action (maybe the fast life wasn’t for you, after all), and so you have no complaints when Peña settles next to you on the couch with a grunt, placing two crystal glasses on the coffee table and pouring a sizeable amount of whiskey into each cup.
He slides one over to you with a soft, “I’ll take the couch.”
You set down your water, opting for the drink. The glass is ice-cold, but the scotch burns your throat on its way down to warming your stomach.
Peña smirks at your gagging. He, of course, downs it like a champ, setting the glass back down on the table with a thunk.
“I don’t usually drink this kind of stuff,” you admit.
He leans his back against the arm of the couch. The top two buttons of his dress shirt hang open—tan skin glistening like ore.
You quickly find something else to look at.
“It’s strong,” he groans, folding his hands behind his head. And, Jesus, the sight of his bicep stretching out in full view of your periphery. Does he even own shirts that fit him? “Only take it out for special occasions.”
Eyes on the drink, girl. “Oh, yeah? What occasion is this, then?”
“The usual one.” It’s impossible not to look at him when his voice plummets into those depths of his register; this, he knows, and he flashes you a wolfish grin. You prepare for the worst—some horribly offensive comment or worse, a sexual invitation.
How many of his conquests had drunk this very same liquor?
But, instead, you’re given: “failed assassination attempts.”
You snort, gaze shifting over to the bottle.
Nearly empty.
That would explain his lack of alarm at the evening’s previous events—the same ones that had you shaking head-to-toe.
“And here I was, thinking you were just trying to get me drunk,” you respond, but your playfulness is overshadowed by the quiver in your voice.
Against your better judgment, you use the drink as a soothing agent. It calms the storms that rage whenever you recall the echo of that gunshot or else meet Peña’s eyes.
“Things can serve two purposes, sweetheart.” A dangerous kind of flirtatiousness underpins his reply. “You should know by now that I’m not exactly a gentleman.”
Your stomach does a flip. Swirling the liquid in your cup, you watch as it spins and turns, climbing up one side before sloping down, washing up the other—you’re frozen, concentrating your energy on anything but that mounting tug, pulling you toward the man at your side.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” and despite yourself, the words come out so soft, so tentatively curious.
Peña leans forward. When his index finger meets your chin, tilting it up so that you have no choice but to tumble into those onyx-black eyes, heat explodes at the point of contact, blooming furiously across your cheeks.
“I mean,” he drawls, placing his free hand right above your knee, stroking the delicate skin of your thigh, “I’m not above asking for payment, y’know, for giving you a place to stay.”
He’s smiling at you—toying with you again. You want to resist him.
God, you really do.
“Get over yourself, Peña,” you aim for a casual jab, but your voice betrays you, breathy and involuntarily gliding up an octave. “You’re not winning this one.”
“I’m not looking to win, sweetheart.”
He grows serious, pulling your near-empty cup from between your hands and setting it down. He moves oh-so-slow, never once dropping your gaze as his calloused hand inches up your thigh. “I want to help you, querida,” his breath grazes your cheekbone, thick fingers sliding underneath your skirt—
It had to be the Spanish. That had to be the reason behind your complete loss of willpower, your total absorption in everything that was Javier.
It was either that, or your exhaustion had finally driven you completely insane.
“Let me take your mind off it, yeah? I know what works, baby, trust me,” and, God, you want to, especially when that damn hand gives your upper thigh a soft squeeze. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” you breathe–-but you lack the conviction to convince yourself, let alone him. All you can do is watch his eyes darken as his fingertips reach the delicate fabric of your underwear.
“Prove it to me, hermosa.”
His fingers slip down the front of your underwear. He drinks in the sight of your brows furrowing, your fingernails anchoring onto anything in reach as his index finds the tender bundle of nerves tucked between your thighs.
And you’re soaked.
A winning smile.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he looses a low laugh. “Act like you hate me all you want, sweetheart—this pussy’s loved me from the start.”
You whimper softly as he rubs slow circles against your clit.
Jesus.
He’s like a professional—no other man’s fingers, cock, or selection of toys had ever made you feel like this. And he works you with just the pad of his thumb.
“Peña—” you attempt a final protest, a last shot at redemption before your inevitable fall into the abyss of lust calling out for you.
“Javi, baby,” he corrects.
And you don’t stand a chance.
He pulls you onto his lap; it takes everything not to melt at the feel of his hard chest pressed to your back. The man can’t move fast enough for you—bunching your skirt up around your waist, reaching his hand back under the lining of your underwear.
There’s a low groan when he runs a couple fingers between your damp folds. The feeling and the sound of him has your head collapsing against the curve of his shoulder.
“Don’t think anyone’s ever gotten this wet for me, before,” he practically growls his approval into your ear.
“M’not your usual type,” you manage between moans. “Still got feeling down there.”
His free hand snaps up to grasp your jaw, tilting your chin up to meet that twinkling look of warning.
“S’true,” his low baritone muses—then he watches your face contort with ecstasy as he sinks not one, but two fingers inside your cunt. “They don’t usually talk this fuckin’ much.”
He holds your chin steady, observing your gasps of abandon, studying every visible indication of your pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out and in and out of you, curling them to push against aaall the right places.
Down to the knuckles.
“What do you do to them?” and he takes great pleasure in hearing the strain in your voice. You take great pleasure in the feel of his cock growing hard, twitching with impatience under your ass.
He ducks his head down to nip at the softest part of your neck. “Want me to show you?”
It’s hard to answer between moans—but, yes.
You do.
If there was ever a stupidity you could rationalize, it was this one. How many times had he promised you ecstasy? How many women had you hung up on, desperation sapping at their static-laden voices as they pleaded—no, downright begged—for just another taste of him? At this point, it would be self-denial, self-hatred not to see what all the fuss was about.
And, what’s more, was it so wrong that, after a day like today, you simply wanted to be at the mercy of an almost-stranger, for just one night? To give over control (not to mention, total creative license), not having to worry about what to do, how to fix this, where to send this—that sounded more than good, it sounded like exactly what you needed.
“Y-yes,” you finally concede, sealing your fate in a stuttered exhalation.
His chest rumbles behind you, a low laugh.
Then, he squeezes another finger inside your cunt.
You nearly cry out at the sting, the pleasure, the stretch.
“You know what I wanna hear, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging the tip of his hooked nose, his full lips up the side of your neck.
You need him. It’s all you can do not to shout it out, to claim the space of his home with the echoes of that sheer, incontestable fact.
You’ll give him whatever he wants. Submit to the enemy, beg for the tantalizing touch of your nemesis… who cares, anymore? Who cares when the enemy’s digits can do that, when his words have you feeling like this?
“Please, Javi.”
He smiles against your skin. “Here or in the bedroom?” His hands move, cooperating to undo the buttons of your blouse. A void swells inside your core, mourning the loss of his index, middle, and ring fingers.
“Be serious,” without the pleasure of them both on and inside your cunt, you manage to reclaim some of your old fight. “I’m not letting you fuck me on a couch.”
He pulls your shirt off your shoulders, and then he’s sneaking a hand under your knees, cradling you in his arms. “Watch that fuckin' tone when you speak to me, hermosa.” His face looms over yours, hungry eyes raking over your exposed form. “Should be thanking me for even givin’ you a choice.”
You give him a smug, mocking “thank you,” hooking your arms around his neck, and Javier scoffs, carrying you—effortlessly—to the bedroom. Despite the cleanliness marking the rest of his place, his bed is unmade, as expected. You barely have thirty seconds to take in the dark pillows, the vintage-looking lamps, the willowy curtains before you’re underneath him, laid atop his tangled, pale sheets. “Fuck, I’m glad you chose the bed, sweetheart,” strong arms grasp you tightly, pushing you up the mattress; his knees land on either side of your thighs as your head falls to the pillows.
“Makes it so much easier to do all the things I wanna do to you.”
He hovers over you, cupping your face in a look of such reverent depth, it borders on concern. Those round doe-eyes, those thick eyebrows—they excite even the most remote places of your body.
“Do you kiss the others?” You tease, softly.
He studies you, focussing especially on your lips as his fingers travel the length of your arm, your jaw, the side of your thigh. “Yeah, usually—but I’m tryna decide if that’s a good idea with you.”
Your bra straps are pulled down your arms in forceful tugs. A line of wetness trails down your bicep where his still-damp fingers graze your skin.
You pout. “Worried I’ll be disappointed?”
His hands sneak under your back, undoing the clasp of your bra in a skilled movement that only increases your anticipation for what’s to come. “I’m worried you’ll get too excited, cariño,” he tosses your bra to the side, “Whinin’ like that from just a few fingers… sounded like a damn virgin.”
His taunt barely registers. You’re distracted, longing for his kisses as if you already knew what they tasted like. Meeting his eyes, you fill your own with unabashed supplication, watching as he takes in the view of your body.
And he groans at the sight of your bare breasts.
“God, fuck it.”
And then his lips claim yours in a starving sort of kiss, the kind that takes everything from your lungs, leaving you aching and empty. His mustache grazes the skin of your upper lip, his tongue tastes of necessity.
Moaning against him as his fingertips trace your breasts, gasping into his mouth when he manhandles and squeezes them roughly. He peppers kisses down your jaw, freeing your lips as his own travel down, down, down to suck and nip at a peaked nipple.
Back arching in ecstasy, a pleading “Javi” tumbles from your parted lips.
He grunts in approval. “Yeah, that’s my girl.” His head ducks over to tease your other side. “S’the only fuckin’ word you need to know from now on.” Your cunt throbs at the feel of his teeth against your sensitive skin, his tongue mapping out every part of your body that calls out for the salvation of his touch.
Then, he’s wrenching your skirt down your legs—your underwear clings to it, sliding down your hips, landing mid-way up your thighs.
He lifts himself off of you, leaving you breathless, exposed, and trembling, to undo the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging the tan cotton off his shoulders and wrenching it off his arms. You marvel up at him, memorizing the way his bare chest swells with every ragged breath. Your heavy-lidded eyes eventually trail down to the impressive bulge below his silver buckle.
“Just how you always pictured?”
Cocky as ever—you’re reluctant to admit that it only adds to his allure.
“Oh, Peña,” you purr, “I hope your dick is as big as your ego.”
An amused smile, and then he’s undoing his belt. You unabashedly stare at his working forearms, how capable they look, now, and how they might look holding a gun—or else, wrapped around your neck.
“Why don’t you take it out and see for yourself?”
You bite your lip, sitting up slowly until your chin runs parallel to his navel. Unsteady hands meet the button, then the fly of his pants. Excitement floods your senses; you burn with crackling electricity.
Dipping into his briefs, you spring his length free: hard, thick, the dark tip glistening with precum. Javi runs his fingers through your hair, and you look up to meet his gaze—you’re a picture of innocence, stroking his cock between two devoted hands.
“Almost,” you coo.
Leaning forward, you wrap your lips around the tip of his length, savouring the taste of his salt on your tongue.
“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back, tangling your hair in his fist, “Any other time, baby…” He pulls you off of him, holding your cheeks between his hands. “Right now, I just really wanna make you come.”
You smile, pulling down his denim, honoured by the pure need in his voice. His cock twitches in response to the graze of your fingertips on the inside of his thighs.
“Who’s begging, now?” The sultriness of your taunt takes even you by surprise.
He strokes himself once, twice, three times, features hardening at the sight of your near-naked form below him.
“On your knees, sweetheart, before I show you what that fuckin’ mouth was really made for.”
Always the gentleman, he helps you, flipping you around until your palms press indents into the mattress. Your underwear is wrestled over your knees and down your calves, and then there’s a pair of large hands dragging your hips back. He pulls you right up against him—against two firm, broad thighs.
And that’s when the teasing starts.
“How bad do you want it, hermosa?” He asks, dragging his cock between your dripping folds, grazing your swollen clit with the tip of his length and his fingertips, too. “Bad enough to beg for me?”
“Please,” you whine, “Can’t w-wait any longer.”
He torments you, poking shallowly at your entrance. “Gonna have to give me more than that,” he tuts. "Show me that you've learned some fuckin' manners, baby."
You’re tired of being patient, sick of the throbbing ache weighing heavy inside your clit, your cunt, your core. If his goal was to make you crazy, he’d already achieved it—you feel your mind reeling, losing control of both itself and your body as Javier tempts you toward submission.
He lays a kiss to your neck, adding fuel to an already roaring, uncontrollable fire.
“Please, Javi, fuck me.”
“Again. Louder.”
“Please—please, Javi—please—”
Spreading you apart in his hands, he sinks deep inside you with a quiet groan, watching intently to assure that he’d given every last inch of himself to your grateful cunt.
“Gooood girl,” Javi praises, “Always knew I could fix that fuckin’ attitude.”
He thrusts inside you once again, setting an intense rhythm with every impossibly deep stroke—punishing and rewarding, giving and taking. Every cry drawn from between your parted, bruised lips only encourages the brutality of his throws.
“Shit, you’re needy,” he groans, anchoring his hands onto your waist, fingertips reaching all the way to the front of your abdomen. “Pussy’s pullin’ me in so deep, baby, needed this bad, huh?”
His hips snap against yours, soft skin rippling beneath his hands with every harsh movement. You give him all the cries and moans and pleas he asks for, especially when his tip grazes against that spot.
It feels good, losing control over each and every part of yourself for Javi to claim them for himself.
And you want more. You want him to fuck the thoughts, the fear, the lingering irritation out—to remake you, to bring it all crashing down. Begging him to cleanse you, you attempt speech. “J-Javi—mmm—”
“Yeah, s’it, talk to me, hermosa, you got it,” but he doesn’t make it easy, pushing his cock up so, so deep inside you.
“H-Harder, Javi,” you half-sob, “Want it so hard—s-so bad, please—”
A low laugh followed by a rough squeeze to your ass.
“Y’know, I wish I could make a fuckin’ movie of this, sweetheart,” he goads, leaning over until his breath warms your neck, lips dragging across your cheekbone. “I’m thinkin’: secretary brat—” his arms envelop your body: one hand slides down, skilled index rubbing torturous circles against that swollen bud (it takes everything in you not to cry out for God); the other moves to grasp your throat and jaw and—“begs cop to fuck her like a slut. Could show it to you when you’re actin’ up,” he grunts, shoving more of himself between your swollen walls.
“Could show it to the others, too—teach ‘em how you like to be put back in your fuckin’ place.”
Pressed flat against his chest, he lifts you upright, thrusting up into you with a newfound violence, laughing to himself when a cry tears from your coarse throat. You’re wrapped up so tight in his arms, and it’s all he can do not to crush you completely between them. Javi doesn’t stop working your clit or manhandling your breasts either, nor does he hold back from leaving traces of himself for tomorrow, sucking and nipping up and down the side of your neck.
“I can’t—ohmygod—s’too much, m’gonna—”
Your desperation at the hands of his torture brings a grin to his face. “Say ‘thank you,’ hermosa, m’giving you what you fuckin’ asked for.” Waves of pleasure begin to roll out from your core; you’re swaying on the edge of orgasm and all you can do is hold on for a few more seconds of ecstasy—a few more seconds of him.
His punishing hand constricts around your neck, forearm pressed to bruise between your breasts."You're not listening, baby." God, the brutality of his tone, the demand of his touch. "Need to thank me for ruinin' this pussy for you."
It takes everything you have. “Thankyouthankyouthankyoujavi—please—c-come with me, wanna—need you to fill me up when I-I—” and words become impossible.
The fluttering spreads down your thighs and up into your abdomen, cunt clenching uncontrollably around the wide girth of his cock. You soar off the edge, headed straight for your climax.
“Don’t stop,” Javi growls, nose pressed to the delicate skin behind your ear, “You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”
Your head dips back, settling into the groove of his shoulder—over and over and over again, you give him his name, the taste of it falling from your tongue almost as euphoric as the feel of your peak tearing through your body.
“So good for me, baby,” Javier grunts, breath ragged; his thrusts become less rhythmic, deeper—needier. “S-sofuckingood, querida—fu-uck,” and then his length swells inside you. He fills you up with a harsh squeeze to your breast, pushing his seed aaalll the way to your cervix with a few final, rough, irregular throws.
Damp with sweat, stars dancing before your eyes, you try, in vain, to catch your breath. Coming down from the high is nearly impossible: minutes come and go and still, you’re flying. All the while, Javier remains inside you—unmoving save for the odd twitch of his buried length.
Eventually, he’s laying you face-down on the mattress, leaving a line of soft kisses down your spine and pulling out with an unholy groan.
“J’so you know, sweetheart, I’d’ve paid for that,” and he rolls over to lie back against the bed frame.
You giggle weakly—the movement pushes some of his cum down onto your thigh. “Shut up ‘n get me a towel, asshole,” you slur, cheek pressed to his pillow.
“Just use the sheets,” he answers casually, leaning over your sprawled form to grab his pack of darts from the bedside table. “Give me something to remember that by.”
You cringe, partly in amused disgust, partly from the soreness you feel, flipping onto your back. “You’re so filthy, Peña.”
He shrugs, smiling as he pulls out a smoke. A comfortable silence settles the space.
“Did that help?” Javi soon inquires.
Your breathing’s evened out, and a fresh cigarette hangs casually from his lips. He lifts a hand to light it.
You hold two fingers out. “Help what?” He places a smoke between them, and reaches over, lighter in hand—dark, wide eyes watching the flame lap at the tip of the dart—the scene somehow feels as intimate as fucking him had.
“You know,” he shifts, ashing his cigarette onto a tray on his bedside table, “The stress.”
You sit with his question for a second, pulling a long puff of smoke into your sore lungs.
“Yes.”
He nods. “Does for me, too.”
Understanding flits between you.
It dawns on you that you might have overlooked some shared similarities. The peace feels… nice.
And, what’s more, you realize that his gorgeous, rugged looks don’t irritate you (as much) anymore. Taking him in, now, it’s like seeing the man for the first time, allowing yourself to appreciate his effortless beauty.
Then, of course, he opens his mouth.
“Gonna have to face me next time, though,” propping himself up on an elbow, he uses his free hand to roll one of your breasts in his palm. “Wanna see these pretty tits bounce for me.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Next time?”
A grin. “Give it five minutes, sweetheart. You got years of bad behaviour to make up for.”
And you don’t manage to stifle your giggle.
He doesn’t finish his smoke, prematurely ashing it out before twisting to face you. “Hermosa,” he cups your face between two passionate, steady hands. “I’m gonna get that fucker from today, alright?”
You tumble into his wide-eyed, serious gaze.
The colour of richness, the colour of life.
Then, you nod. “And I’ll get Murphy that form.”
A soft smile teases the corners of his lips.
An agreement. A promise.
He looks down at you with glowing approval and it’s the feeling of sunshine on bare skin. How different it is, looking at that face and feeling safe, seeing a warm smile and two crystal cups on a coffee table instead of blood, death, and scenes of gratuitous violence.
Javi kisses you.
Your eyes shut tight, eyebrows furrowing as his fingertips cradle your cheeks, mouth dragging across yours, hooked nose pressed to the side of your own.
It’s different from before. Not desperate, hard, and hot. Gentle—sweet.
Just his lips and yours, nothing more, nothing less. No expectations, no invitations.
After a perfect moment, you pull away, dazed. “What was that for?”
Javi’s voice is so low, so tender, it’s barely audible.
“Just wanted to.”
You’d feel that kiss for weeks after, absentmindedly lifting your index to your lips in an imitation of the ghostly traces haunting your skin.
But right now, all you had to do was lean in for another.
And another.
And another.
--
Read part 2: Playing Dangerous
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All the lights in Miami begin to gleam Ruby, blue and green, neon too Everything looks better from above my king Like aqua marine, ocean's blue
Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Cacciatore La da da da da La da da da da Limousines Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Ciao amore La da da da da La da da da da Soft ice cream
All the lights are sparkling for you it seems On the downtown scenes, shady blue Beatboxing and rapping in the summer rain Like a boss, he sang Jazz and Blues
Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Cacciatore La da da da da La da da da da Limousines Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Ciao amore La da da da da La da da da da Soft ice cream
The summer's hot And I've been waiting for you all this time I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me? Summer's hot but I've been cold without you I was so wrong not to tell, in Medellìn, tangerine dreams
Catch me if you can Working on my tan Salvatore Dying by the hand Of a foreign man Happily Calling out my name In the summer rain Ciao amore Salvatore can wait Now it's time to eat Soft ice cream
Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Cacciatore Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Limousines Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Ciao amore Ah ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah Soft ice cream
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Text
Whatever My Wife Wants
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Summary: On your honeymoon, Javi decides to break out a new accessory you've never seen him wear before. Little does he know, that seeing him wear a chain for the first time is about to drive you wild.
Word Count: 4.5K
Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also its your honeymoon so who am I to say), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, literally the biggest, fattest, ugliest breeding kink (I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not), marriage kink (?) creampie, cum play, kind of exhibitionism (like if you SQUINT), talks of starting a family, Javi LOVES his wife, Javi in a CHAIN, Javi on his honeymoon deserves its own warning, did I mention that Javi LOVES his wife?!
A/N: shoutout to my sweet @honeyedmiller for this request after reblogging this MASTERPIECE from @enstatia. It's supposed to be a painting of Din, but it gave me such big Javi vibes, and I really haven't been the same since picturing the one and only Javier Peña in a chain (bc If i can't unsee it, you shouldn't be allowed to either) 😵‍💫 Also shoutout to Lucien Flores for singlehandedly ruining my life today with that new clip from the Uninvited (but also you can't tell me that this outfit is so Javi on the beach coded PHEW)
Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!
Javi had never been one for jewelry- well, that was until a few days ago when a new golden wedding band had made a home on his hand. Since you had slipped it on his finger, Javi couldn’t get enough of watching it glisten in the warm, tropical sunlight on your honeymoon, a reminder that filled his heart to the brim to know that he was yours forever. 
Javi’s new wedding ring was the only jewelry that he had ever pictured himself wearing, until you had mentioned to him in passing while shopping for new clothes for your honeymoon how good he’d look with a chain to go with any of his outfits he had planned for the trip- considering there was no way Javi was going to have no less than 4 buttons undone on his shirt at any given time while basking in the tropical warmth of your honeymoon paradise. 
Later on that week, he had dug around in his dresser to find a thin, golden chain necklace he had back from his time in college, that hadn’t seen the light of day in too many years to count. But, given your enthusiasm for the idea of him wearing something like it, Javi had decided to pack it with him in his suitcase to surprise when the time felt right. 
Well, after being a few drinks deep at the pool bar from earlier, Javi’s slightly tipsy confidence had him feeling like now was the perfect time to try out his new accessory to see what you thought. Digging through his suitcase, he pulled out out the chain to go with the rest of his outfit for your dinner on the beach, clipping the necklace around his neck as he looked himself over in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, undoing one more button than probably necessary to show off his new look. 
And while he could admit that he didn’t look half bad with it on, and figured you’d like the new surprise addition to his wardrobe, there’d be no way in hell he could have ever prepared himself for the viscerally awestruck reaction you’d have to the thin, gold chain dangling around his neck.  
“I can practically feel you burning a hole through my chest, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you as he took another bite of his food, giving you a playful smirk at the way you had been ogling at him ever since you had noticed the thin gold chain resting across his tanned skin as you began your walk through the hotel to head to dinner. 
“Oh shut up, it’s not my fault you’re so hot. You’re making it very hard not to look, in my defense.” You sighed, trying to get yourself to focus on your food instead of staring at Javi for the rest of dinner, despite the fact that the only meal you had your eyes on was sitting across the table from you. “There’s already something about you being my husband that makes you somehow even hotter than you already were, and now with this?” You picked up your fork, gesturing to the chain dangling between the parted fabric of Javi’s shirt, “I think you may be trying to legitimately kill me.” 
“Figured you’d like it. Didn’t think you’d like it this much.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip before taking another bite of food, his cheeks growing flushed and warm as he looked at you admiring him, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so goddamn lucky. “Thanks, Mrs. Peña.” He laughed, taking another bite of his food, shooting you a quick wink. 
Mrs. Peña. 
God, if that alone wasn’t enough to send you over the edge already, your new last name, combined with the incredibly attractive man you had gotten it from that you now got to call your husband? On top of that stupidly hot chain he had decided to throw on with his outfit? There was definitely something else you were hungry for other than the half cleared plate below you. 
It was then that you couldn’t have been happier you had been seated at a table on the edge of the beachside boardwalk, tucked behind a few stray palm trees, secluded enough out of view that you had no problem reaching under the table to rest your hand on Javi’s knee, toying with the hem of his shorts before letting your fingers creep further and further up his thigh. 
“Are you almost done with your food?” You asked, your voice sweet and sultry as your hand brushing against Javi’s crotch immediately caught his attention, making his eyes go wide as he sat up straight, setting down his knife and fork to look down in his lap. “Because if you are, I can think of something else I want for dessert when we go back to our room. Something I want really bad. You wanna feel how badly I want it?” 
Javi swallowed hard as your fingers wrapped more firmly around his bulge, gently massaging his dick in your grasp, before grabbing his hand and guiding it to brush along the slit of your sundress and closer to your core, aching and dripping with arousal. Letting his fingers creep up the inside of your thighs and ghost over your folds, his eyes went even wider, jaw practically dropping open to feel that you were not only absolutely soaked, but also not wearing any underwear at all. Using every ounce of composure he had to keep from falling apart right then and there at the dinner table, letting out a deep sigh as he cursed under his breath. 
“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck, baby… Yeah, I can be done right now.” He groaned, nodding at your proposition before wrapping his hand around the meat of your thigh as he took a long inhale, staring you down with darkening eyes and a devilish grin across the table. 
Never had you been more thankful that the resort you had picked to stay at was all inclusive, because if either of you had to wait a minute longer for a server to get your bill so you could get back up to your room, the probability of impending implosion would have been practically inevitable. 
Firmly intertwining your fingers with his as  you grabbed his hand, you were nearly dragging Javi through the hotel to the nearest bay of elevators, pleasantly shocked to find no one else waiting with you to travel up to their room, leaving the two of you alone to catch the next elevator back up to your floor. 
Without a word, the second the elevator doors had closed, the two of you were on top of each other, a messy dance of tongue and teeth crashing together, Javi’s hands palming the meat of your ass over your dress while yours roamed over his chest, tracing the freckles of his tanned skin up to the golden chain dangling in the open buttons of his shirt, stopping to wrap the necklace around your finger, tugging Javi closer to you. 
“Fuck, you look so good with this on, baby.” You moaned, your words hot against Javi’s skin as you nipped at his neck, chain still tangled in your grasp. “I can’t wait to fu-”
Barely aware of the fact that you had reached your floor, the ding of the elevator was enough to catch your attention and cut you off from completing the rest of your thought before the doors slid open, revealing a group of couples waiting for their ride down to the lobby. Frantically trying to play off the fact that if the elevator ride had gone any longer, you two definitely would have been seconds away from fucking in it, you gulped, giving Javi a nudge to his ribs to bring him back to reality, the two of you quickly trying to slide past the other guests without making a scene. 
As the door closed behind you, you and Javi couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you couldn’t seem to take an elevator trip alone without almost being caught making out like a pair of horny teenagers (which, to be fair, a pair of horny teenagers probably would have had more self control than the two of you being newlyweds on your honeymoon). 
With your room only being a few doors down from the elevator, Javi began fumbling in the pocket of his shorts for his room key, working around the full hard on he already had under the fabric from how pent up he was. Quietly cursing under his breath until he found it, as soon as the card was swiping over the lock of the door, Javi was yanking you through into your room, instantly beginning to pull down the zipper to the back of your dress as you fumbled your way back to the bed. 
Your dress fell to the floor in a crumpled pile before Javi was tossing you onto the mattress, shocked to see that you also hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra, revealing your glowing skin and obnoxious tanlines from your time spent out in the sun. 
“Dirty fucking girl, not wearing anything underneath that dress for me. Fuck me, Hermosa. God, you’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect. My perfect wife.” Javi growled, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to part your legs, draping them over his shoulders as he admired the wet mess between your thighs, your slick already coating your folds, glistening in the dim light of your hotel room. “My perfect wife and her perfect fucking pussy already so wet for me. 
Dragging his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal as he ghosted over your throbbing clit, you let out a soft whimper in protest, sitting up on your elbows to look down at Javi, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your thighs. 
“Javi, fuck- Baby, I wanted to go down on you. You look so good, I-I wanna taste you, Jav, p-please.” You moaned, your argument becoming less and less convincing as his kisses traveled to your center, nose brushing against your aching bundle of nerves before looking up at you with a lustful smirk, tightening his grip around your hips to hold you in place. 
Javi shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself, watching you squirm and buck your hips towards his face, so desperately worked up and aching that the mess between your legs was really beginning to contradict your need to get Javi off before yourself. 
“Cariño…” Javi tutted, almost mockingly, digging his fingertips deeper into the meat of your flesh, “You’re not going anywhere ‘till I get a taste. I can’t leave my poor wife all worked up like this, can I?” 
Before you had a chance to respond, the flat of Javi’s tongue was dragging through your heat in a long, broad stroke, firmly pressing against your clit, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as you threw your head back in pleasure, a soft whimper escaping from your parted lips. As the last of his lick slid through your folds, you shuttered at the feeling of the metal of his chain ghosting over your cunt as it dangled from his neck, only to cry out as you could feel the other piece of jewelry he was wearing on his left ring finger sink deep into your entrance. 
“Oh f-fuck-” You whimpered as another finger breached your tight hole, already sucking him in with your warm, wet walls while his digits curled, bumping against the sweet spot inside you that he knew made you crumble. 
“That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt before diving back between your legs like a man starved, his tongue dancing in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you, even more so now with the wedding band that had made its permanent home on his finger, taking every chance he could get to watch you cover the glistening gold ring in your arousal as yet another way to prove that you were his. 
Javi could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his fingers as your bottom half squirmed against the sheets of the bed, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, tingling building at the base of your spine. Latching his lips around your clit, he began to suck at your sensitive nub, his hand thrusting faster and deeper into your cunt, feeling you slowly coming undone under his touch. 
“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Javi, I’m so close baby, oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaaahhhhhh-” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high, feeling the smirk of Javi’s smile pressed against your cunt as you soaked his face, his free hand wrapped around your hip, holding you in place for him. 
“Fuck, I swear, I’ll never fucking get over that.” Javi mewled, pulling back enough to sit on his heels, admiring the wet and puffy mess your pussy had become, gently pulling his fingers out of your heat, looking down at the way your arousal coated his fingers, covering his wedding band. “Fucking soaked me, Hermosa. You like feeling my ring when I touch you like that, baby? Knowing I’m all yours forever?” 
With your chest heaving in heavy breaths, you nodded frantically, blissed out look plastered across your face as you stared up at Javi, lust pooling in the dark brown of his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip as, opening your mouth for you to suck him clean, the warm and tangy taste of you still fresh on his skin. 
“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. Mi esposa sabes muy dulce.” (My wife tastes so sweet) Javi cooed, gently tugging his fingers out of your mouth, standing up to lean over the bed, caging your body under his as his lips crashed against yours in a needy mess of longing and desperation. 
You could feel how painfully hard he was through the fabric of his shorts, his bulge straining against the seams of his zipper as he rubbed against your thigh, laying on top of you with one arm propped up beside your head, the other gently cupping your face, thumb rubbing back and forth along your cheek as he kissed you with the tender intensity that set your insides ablaze with desire, longing, no, needing to feel him buried deep inside you as you screamed his name. 
It really had been your intention to suck Javi off the moment you had gotten back to your room, to drop to your knees and worship the beautifully handsome man you now got to call your husband and turn him into the same type of moaning, whimpering mess that he had just made you, but with the ferocity of each kiss and the instinctual jerk of Javi’s hips, there was nothing you wanted more than to be filled by the sweet sting of his cock pounding into you, over and over.  
“J-Javi, fuck- I need to feel you baby, please. Fuck, I wanna feel you so deep inside me.” You whispered, your teeth tugging at Javi’s earlobe as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, feeling the audible groan in his chest at your request, followed by a deep sigh as he tried to compose himself from the mess he was already becoming. 
“Yeah? That’s what you want, sweet girl? Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.” He rasped, a devilish grin spread between his cheeks as he sat back to pull his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts and boxers, leaving him in nothing but the gold chain still dangling around his neck as he reached down to stroke his cock, red and dripping with precum before leaning back down to line up with your entrance. 
You could feel your breath hitch as his tip brushed through your folds, rubbing gently against your clit as he collected your arousal to coat his length, looking down to watch as his length sunk deep into your cunt, the both of you letting out ragged moans at the sensation. 
Javi paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch as he filled you, his tip kissing your cervix while his hips met yours. The fullness made your brain go blank, completely at a loss for words as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, pulling himself out enough to sink his whole length back into your cunt, each thrust making you whimper and moan, desperate for more. 
“F-fuck, give me more, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your hand wrapping around his bicep, fingertips digging into his flexing muscles. 
“Yeah? You want more, Hermosa?” Javi mewled, smirking to himself at the blissed out mess you were already becoming as the pace of his hips rutting into you began to quicken. 
As each thrust became faster, the gold chain draped around his neck began to bounce against his chest, his body close enough to yours to feel the cool metal brush against your face with each snap of his hips into yours, the sight of his necklace dangling over you as you stared up at the furrowed and focused look painting his face. The image alone of him wearing that chain was enough to make you feel like you were going to cum on the spot, but as you lay caged beneath the weight of his broad body, feeling nothing but his warm skin and chain rub against you, you were nearly convinced it was going to be over for you right then and there. 
Without even thinking, you lifted your head up off the bed just enough to grab the chain between your teeth, tugging him closer to you, the sudden yank making his eyes go wide in surprise as the two of you came nose to nose, foreheads brushing against each other before his lips were on yours again, entangling you in an all consuming kiss without faltering in his pace. 
“Fuck, you look so good.” You moaned, your lips parting just enough from his to whisper your praises into his ear. “You look so hot with this fucking chain, Jesus Christ.” 
Your comment had a low, breathy laugh escaping from his chest, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief at how enthralled you were with him. 
“Me? Baby girl, you have no idea.” He cooed, slowing his thrusts to sit back on his haunches, readjusting you to bring your knees pressed to your chest, leaning back down, running his hands along your body, up your arms until he had them above your head, pinned down to the bed in his grasp. “You know how many guys I’ve seen staring at you since we’ve been here? How many dirty fucking looks I’ve had to give them? Maybe this ring on your finger isn’t enough, mi amor.” 
“W-what do you, fuck- what do mean?” You whimpered, the new position opening you up in a way that had you feeling every inch of Javi as he sank his cock even deeper into your cunt, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible, your brain barely working enough to let your words escape from your mouth. 
“I mean,” Javi groaned, tightening his grip to hold you in place, his eyes growing darker with desire with another deep, long thrust into your heat, “That maybe, I need to fuck a baby into, Osita. Fuck a baby into my beautiful fucking wife, and let everyone see that you’re mine with our kid growing inside you.” 
Javi’s words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought alone making you whimper- You and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever, and now that you were finally married and had agreed that your birth control wasn’t going to be a part of your packing list, the prospect that in 9 months from now, you could have a third member to your family? That was enough to have you close to finishing right then and there. 
 A gulp traveling down your throat before a long exhale, trying to find the words to respond to his proposition, your voice trembling in an anxious excitement. 
“F-fuck- Oh my god, yes. Fuck a baby into me, Javi. Let me, oh shit- let me make you a daddy.” 
“Jesus Fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth, trying his best to maintain his own composure, taking a long exhale before his gaze met yours again, a fierce kind of determination and promise pooling in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes, leaning his body on top of yours, pushing your knees closer to your chest, opening you up to an even deeper angle as his mouth crashed into yours, beginning to pick up his pace once again as his hips snapped into yours. “That’s what  you want, Hermosa? Fuck, I’ll give it to you, baby. Oh shit- Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets, remember? You want a baby? Fuck- I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you I’ll fuck a baby into you right now.” 
You could feel the all too familiar tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine once again, Javi’s cock pounding perfectly into your g-spot over and over again, the hairs at the base of his length grinding against your throbbing clit, sending you to the brink of collapse with each thrust in and out of your cunt. 
“Yes, oh my god- yes, I w-want it so bad. P-please, baby, fuck.” You whined, starting to stumble over your words as you could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his cock, the coil in your core tightening to the point of nearly snapping. 
“Fuck- say it again. Tell me- mierda- tell me how badly you want it.” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming slopier and more desperate as he could feel himself on the verge of chasing his own high, knowing all too well you were almost hitting yours.  
“I want you to fill me up, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- I want it so bad. I want you to knock me up and give me a baby, please, baby, oh my god- please.” You were all but panting at this point, your legs starting to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of his fullness, promise of pregnancy, and that damn chain dangling in your face was enough to finally send you over the edge. “Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I’m so close baby, I’m gonna, oh shit- I’m gonna cu-ahhhhhhh.” 
Those were the last words you were able to muster before you were screaming out Javi’s name as you came, euphoria and ecstasy radiating through every inch of your body, your orgasm crashing through you with so much intensity you could have sworn you were seeing stars. 
Watching you fall apart beneath him, soaking his cock in your arousal as you came had Javi only moments behind you, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each others combined with your wanton moans and whimpers and curses under your breath making him begin to babble incoherently. 
“That’s it, Osita. That’s my good girl. Fucking soak my cock, baby. Cum all over me before I, fuck me- fuck myself so deep in you it’ll fucking take. Holy fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Gonna fucking fill you up. Give you all of me. Fuck, I’ll give you everyting, baby, mierda- everything you’ll ever wa-ahhhhhh” 
With one last final thrust, Javi was spilling deep inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls, milking himself of every single last drop before collapsing on top of you, the warmth and weight and of his body sinking on top of your chest as the two you sighed in sync, trying to catch your breath with long, labored huffs. 
As Javi felt himself begin to soften, a groan rumbled low in his chest while he pulled out, feeling the mix of your spend dripping out your hole, coating the inside of your thighs in glistening juices. You let out an involuntary whimper at the loss of fullness inside you, your head falling back on the mattress in blissed out satisfaction, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to reality after floating away in post-colotial bliss. 
“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, lifting your head back up to see Javi sitting back on his heels, admiring the mess of the two of you pooling between your legs. 
“So fucking pretty, Hermosa.” He mewled, peppering kisses down the soft skin of your thighs, making his way back towards your core. Before you could even realize what was happening, Javi’s head was back between your legs, one broad stroke of his tongue collecting the tangy, salty mixture leaking out of your cunt and lapping it back into your entrance quickly replacing his mouth with his fingers to push the mixture of your spend even further into you. 
Looking up at you, slick covering his mustache and smug grin spread between his cheeks, Javi curled his fingers just enough to make you yelp as he pressed against your g-spot, considering how worked up and overstimulated you already were. 
“Gotta make sure I keep you full of me, baby. Can’t let anything go to waste.” Javi smirked, gently pulling out his fingers, resting his hands on your thighs, drawing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. 
You tried to sit back up, propping yourself on your elbows before Javi’s body was caging over you once again, slowly lowering himself down until your back was flat against the bed, cradling your jaw as guided you down with soft, slow kisses, feeling his chain brush against your chin he pulled away from your lips. 
“You’re not going anywhere, Momma. My wife wants a baby? Then I’m doing everything I can to give her one. Whatever she wants.” Javi smirked, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead as his hand caressed your face, brushing your skin just gently enough to tickle you, a little giggle escaping from your lips as your eyes met his sweet puppy dog ones. 
“You’re ridiculous, you menace.” You laughed, playfully nudging Javi as he rolled over next to you on the side of the bed, wrapping his arm around you, tugging you to lay against his bare chest, your hand draping over his stomach before crawling up his chest, wrapping his gold chain around your fingers. “Hmmmm whatever your wife wants, huh?” You smirked, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. 
“Whatever she wants, Hermosa.”
“Your wife wants you to never take this damn thing off again.” 
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aphrcdites · 10 months
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behind every hot person, there’s a deep history with a fictional man.
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puchosdementa · 10 months
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soullumii · 1 year
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carry out | javier peña x f!reader
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javier peña x afab!reader
summary: javier’s messy way of dealing with business causes the two of you to work late. he offers to buy you carry out to apologize for making you stay late (and, more reluctantly, for making you miss the date you had planned). then he offers something else to make it up to you.  warnings: 18+ content mdni, smut [oral sex (f receving), unprotected piv], soft!javi, smiley!javi, sassy!reader, praise kink (for both reader and javi), javi likes to please, pet names (chiquita, baby, querida, sweetheart, angel), lots of uses of the word ‘fuck’, might be a little ooc?, no use of y/n. word count: 5k-ish?
inspired by carry out by timbaland
---
The last time you looked out the windows of the U.S. embassy, the sky was fading from blue to a pale orange. Now, when you peek up from the mountain of paperwork in front of you, the stars are the only thing visible, everything else bathed in darkness.
You can't remember the last time you actually went home on time from your job as a secretary. It had to be before Peña and Murphy started working here. With them around, your overtime hours stretched longer and longer. 
It’s for a good cause, you remind yourself. Because, truly, it is. Catching the Narcos is top priority. It’s just hard to remember that when you’re drowning in paperwork and have to cancel the plans you had made a week ago for this shit.
“Look, I’m really sorry again. It’s still crazy over here,” you apologize into the plastic transmitter for the second time this evening, twirling the curly wire around your finger. The first time you called your date was a couple hours ago when you had to relay the unfortunate state of your situation: multiple things to do and not nearly enough hours in the workday to do them. Thus, staying overtime.
“No worries. We can go out tomorrow instead.”
You smile, “Thanks, Michael. That sounds great.”
You hang up the phone and the moment it hits the switch, your expression transforms into a deep frown. You send the most withering glare you can manage to the only man left in the room and the cause of all your problems: Javier fucking Peña. If looks could kill, yours would, but unfortunately, they cannot. And Javier doesn’t even seem to notice, his nose buried in his own respective papers. The hard line of his brow is furrowed over his dark eyes, the skin between his brows pinched in a way that makes you itch to smooth it out. Not for his benefit, but for your own, because it is awfully infuriating.
His normally perfectly coiffed hair is curling over his forehead, ruffled a bit at the edges as if he’s been anxiously running his hands through it, and one hand twirls a pen between his fingers while the other is pushed up against his temple. Seems like the long hours are getting to him, too. 
Good.
“Michael again, huh?” Javier comments, still staring down at his documents. His pen scribbles on a notepad. “He’s… clingy.”
You staple a few papers together, and if the stapler clamps down a bit harder than you mean it to, you can hardly be at fault for that.
“If that’s clingy, I worry about the women you’ve been with. They probably thought you hated them.” You retort, not looking up. 
“Quite the opposite, angel.”
Arrogant bastard, your mind supplies. 
You don’t grant him the satisfaction of a response, focusing instead on the work in front of you. And you want to scream. Or cry maybe. Because this is literally all his fault. 
If it weren’t for the shit he bothered you with earlier, and the multiple times he interrupted Ambassador Noonan, you wouldn’t be here trying to play catch up—rescheduling all the meetings she had to miss and filing reports for the classified information Javier “stole” from the files room, to which you did not give him permission to take, but still received shit for anyway. 
And, of course, you received shit for “letting” him in. Which you did not do! He had just waltzed in, hours after you had told him multiple times that he was not allowed in and that you were not allowed to let him in. 
You glare at him again, and this time he’s looking at you, a single dark eyebrow raised. 
You’d quite like to strangle him. 
“You gonna tell me what these looks mean or am I just supposed to guess?” He asks, bemused. 
“I’m mad at you,” you grit.
“Really? I couldn’t tell.”
The papers in your hold crumple as your fingers tighten. You can hear your molars grinding against each other as you try to hold back your anger. This fucking asshole—! 
“Is this about earlier?”
“Yes. It is.”
He sighs, setting his pen down. “Look, we really needed to get that information and I already said—“
You interrupt him again with a barely concealed snarl. “Sure, right. You’re sorry, and you needed it, but I’m always the one that has to deal with the fallout, while you go prance about and fuck whores and get congratulations. And now we’re here late and I had to cancel my date and I’m so behind.” You bury your face into your palms with a groan of exasperation.
You peek through your fingers to glare at Javier again only to notice... is that …guilt reflecting in his brown eyes? Gods above, you didn’t think he was capable of feeling that emotion, or any, for that matter.
(You know he is. There had been a few times at the local bar with Steve, or in the parking lot after a late shift when he had shown the other side of him. When he’d talk about his family, or life back in the States, you saw something other than a flirtatious smirk or a tense look on his face. Something softer. Warmer. It was…disarming. And terribly addicting.) 
Even so, this whole situation is because of him, so you push away the instinctual urge to forgive him just to wipe that look off his face.
Javier stands, straightening his papers and shoving them in a manila folder stamped with the word “CLASSIFIED” on top. You drop your gaze back to your work, trying to drown out the sound of him packing up.
Yeah. Fine. You go home, while I’m stuck here. 
You’re almost able to read the words swimming in front of you when you’re interrupted by Javier leaning over your desk on his elbows, his leather jacket stretching audibly over his broad shoulders. He drops your coat down next to him on the polished mahogany and you tilt your head to regard him with suspicion, a snarky remark on the tip of your tongue.
He beats you to the punch. 
“Are you even getting anything done anymore?” He asks, gesturing to your papers. You’ve reread the same paragraph about five times by now, you think. 
“Actually, yes—“
He rudely interrupts you with a crooked grin. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. You’re terrible at it.” He taps your coat with two fingers. “Come on.”
“But I’m not done y—“
“I don’t care.” He interrupts, again. “I want to get out of here and you need to get out of here. Seriously. Let’s get something to eat, I’ll pay for it to make up for my shitty behavior.”
You stare at him in genuine surprise, jaw slack. “Wow, the Javier Peña can actually admit when he fucks up? I’m in shock.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not a complete ass.”
“That’s debatable.” 
He frowns. “Do you want food or not?”
“Are you threatening to go back on your word? That’s low even for you, Peña. I’m pretty sure when you’re in debt to someone you’re supposed to be treating them with respect—“
He grumbles and turns for the door. “Never mind about the empanadas, then.”
Your chair audibly screeches over the tile flooring as you jump up, slinging your jacket over your shoulder. “Wait! I’m coming.”
You try your damn best to ignore the amused smile on his face that, to your chagrin, makes him look rather handsome as you follow him out to his Jeep Cherokee.
“If I had known food won you over so easily I would’ve used that a long time ago.” He jokes as he turns the car on. You buckle yourself in.
“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to be so eager next time. I’m only accepting this because I was deprived of my meal tonight.” 
He pulls out onto the road. 
“Sorry you didn’t get to have a date full of awkward pauses and subpar food, sweetheart.” 
You scoff at his audacity. "Goes to show how much you know about enjoying something other than sex with a woman."
"I know how to take a woman out on a date," he insists, glancing at you.
"Don't lie to me sweetheart, you're terrible at it," you echo his words from earlier back at him with a saccharine smile.
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
After a moment, he finally speaks again, tone genuinely sincere. “I hope you know I really am sorry for everything and making you stay late."
It takes you by surprise, and you meet his stare. His brown eyes look almost black in the darkness. A shiver travels up your spine. 
His eyes should be illegal.
You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if I forgive you after my food.” 
He chuckles at that, “Okay.”
Eventually he pulls the Jeep into the parking lot of your favorite local place (how did he know?) and then you’re standing in line to order. It’s ten at night and somehow there is still a line. Well, it is your (and everybody else’s) favorite for a reason. 
Javier manages to convince you to bring your empanadas back to his place. 
“We live right next to each other.”
“All the more reason for me to go home.”
“I have dessert. I’m trying to make it up to you.”
“Ugh, fine.” 
(You really don’t mind it. You just like to give him a hard time.)
So you order carry out.
His keys jangle as he unlocks the door to his apartment, and he sets the containers of carry out on his coffee table. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, and you do the same, trying not to stare at the way the sleeves of his button up stretch tantalizingly over his biceps, nor at the way his strong forearms are on display. 
Listen. He might annoy the fuck out of you, but you can admit that he is quite...attractive.
“Make yourself at home. Want a drink?” He asks, already grabbing two glasses.
“Sure, whiskey is fine. Since I’m assuming that’s all you have.”
“You know me so well.”
You look around his apartment and notice it's sparsely decorated, which makes sense to you, although, it still feels cozy in a way. 
The lamps reflect a gentle warm hue over the barren walls, save for a few government installed abstract paintings. Somehow, compared to your apartment in the same building, his place feels more comfortable. 
There’s a hand-knitted afghan sitting over the back of his couch and you twist the fraying yarn between your fingers as you admire the handiwork. 
“My abuela made that, before she died.” Javier says gently, handing you a glass of whiskey. 
“It’s beautiful.” 
“Yeah. She was really talented. This was the only thing I wanted to take with me from the States.” He takes a sip from his glass. 
“Did she knit a lot?”
He nods. “All of the time, it felt like. Can’t remember the last time I didn’t see her in a rocking chair, a ball of yarn at her feet.” He muses, and these are the moments with Javier that you crave. You wish you had more of them. The way he softens when he gets that damned smile on his face… the way the crows' feet around his warm brown eyes deepen... It's, as you said before, terribly addicting.
You smile gently. “Where’s all her work now?”
“With my dad. He hardly let me go with this.” 
You chuckle, and then Javier’s gesturing to the couch. 
“Come on.”
You follow him over to the couch and he settles down into the cushions with a sigh, resting an arm lazily across the back. You sit perched awkwardly on the end. All of a sudden, the room feels too small. It smells like him, like tobacco and sage and… man. 
You’re finally realizing how close you’ve been to him this entire evening, and your body is certainly realizing it too. 
See, this is why you had a date tonight. 
“Relax,” he tells you.
“I am.”
“You’re not,” he leans forward, a smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not gonna bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
You scoff, but a stubborn flush works its way into your cheeks. “No, ‘course not.”
You grab your container and Javier follows, and soon he’s got the TV on and you’re both enjoying your empanadas with the gentle noise of the Price is Right in the background. You relax into the cushions, your exhaustion encouraging you to do so before your brain can stop you.
It’s nice though. He’s… nice. 
“Hey," Javier eventually mumbles into the space between you. 
“Hm?”
“I’m gonna make sure the guys don’t come after you again for the bad decisions I make."
You roll your head to look at him, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s about time I took responsibility for the shitty things I’ve done."
“No truer words have ever been spoken.” You deadpan. It earns you a quiet chuckle, and you smile, turning your attention back to the TV.
You polish off your empanadas, licking the juices and bread crumbs from your fingers, and you think you see Javier watching you raptly out of the corner of your eye, but then you blink and his eyes are on the TV, as if he’d never been looking over at you in the first place. 
Damn, you need to sleep. 
“So,” he clears his throat, “Is this better than the date with Michael would’ve been?” 
You groan dramatically. “Why are you so bothered by him?”
“‘M not.” He says, but it sounds unconvincing even to your ears. “Just curious.”
“Are you jealous, Javi?” You grin into your glass of whiskey, the alcohol pouring warmth into your bloodstream, along with that heady, outlandish, and fleeting thought of him actually being jealous, maybe even possessive over you.
You really need to sleep. 
“‘Course not. Just want to make sure our little secretary is treated right.”
“I’m hardly treated right at work, this guy would probably be a step up from the people that talk to me on a daily basis.”
“I hope you don’t mean me.”
“I especially mean you.”
He sighs heavily, his head falling back against the cushions. He levels you with a pleading look, lips in a pout. “Come on, chiquita. When will you forgive me?”
Chiquita. That’s new. 
You tap your chin, glancing about as if in thought, attempting to ignore the giddy feeling curling in your stomach at the pet name. “I dunno…You still haven’t convinced me that you’re truly sorry.” 
Of course he has. You just like to stir the pot.
“No?”
“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ dramatically, grinning smugly as you tease him.  “You’re missing the whole groveling and begging on your knees, bit.”
It’s a joke. Seriously. You think he'll just laugh, wave it off, and then you’ll actually forgive him. But that’s not what happens at all. 
Because he’s slowly lowering himself to the floor, all while keeping strict eye contact with you. The air rushes out of your lungs in a single, astonished, harsh exhale. 
“What…what are you doing?” You breathe, because seriously, what the hell is he doing? 
“Groveling. Isn't that what you want, chiquita?” 
He places himself in between your legs, and you really should be pushing him away, but instead your legs spread to make room for him. The movement has his eyes darkening significantly. 
Fuck. What are you doing?
“Javi…” You whisper, eyes wide.
A large, warm hand comes up to grip your right calf, massaging your muscles gently with thick, strong fingers while the other kneads at your left ankle. His lips press up against your leg in a soft kiss. 
“Let me show you how truly sorry I am,” he whispers against your calf, chocolate eyes boring into you. Heat licks at your core in white hot flames. 
Okay. Okay, wait, this is actually a really good way for him to repay you. He had deprived you of potential sex, but now is offering it to you on a silver platter. 
Still, you hesitate, remembering his reputation. 
“Javi, I don’t know… I don’t want to be another notch on your belt.”
He shakes his head, brows furrowed, his voice rough with sincerity. “You’re not. You never will be, you’re so much more than that, querida.” He reassures you, laying another soft kiss against your skin, and a shiver rattles your spine. “Wanna make you feel good…wanna make up for what I did..."
You take a shaky breath, warmth fanning out over your body. 
Fuck, this could either be a really good idea, or a really bad idea that could fuck up your already fucked up work relationship. 
But shit, if you aren’t wet right now…and he really does have some apologizing to do…
“Okay…show me.”
He sighs into your skin, his smile in relief edging on a satisfied smirk. “Thank you, chiquita.” 
And then he’s pushing your pencil skirt up your thighs with his big hands, eyes raptly watching the way your skin is revealed to him, like carefully unwrapping a gift. Soon enough your skirt is pooled around your waist, your throbbing cunt trapped behind the lace of your black panties. Javi sucks in an appreciative breath, eyes scanning every inch of you.
He pulls at the elastic hem of your waistband, then releases, letting it slap against your skin, and looks up at you with barely concealed disdain, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. “These for Michael?”
“Maybe,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way his possessive question sends tingling heat through your core. 
He tsks, squeezing your thigh. Why are his hands so goddamn big? “Now I'm glad I kept you late. He doesn’t deserve to see you like this.”
“Oh like you do?” 
“Chiquita, I know I don’t. Still, who's in between your thighs right now? I bet Michael doesn’t even like to eat pussy.”
“Javi!” You scold, embarrassment traveling up your body. He just smirks.
“That’s certainly not the tone you’re supposed to be using with my name. Let’s fix that.”
He maneuvers his hands to grip your lower back, and he scoots you to the edge of the couch. He inches his fingers beneath your panties and slowly peels them off of you, pupils dilating when he notices the slickness of your cunt.
“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, “you’re soaked.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been awhile.” You grumble, clenching around nothing at his words. 
“You sure it’s not just because of me?”
“Positive, Peña.”
He leans in, warm breaths puffing over your aching core. “Mm, I love it when you’re mean, baby.” 
And then he’s licking a hot stripe through your folds, and your hands that hold you upright jolt to his dark hair, threading the locks through your fingers. You sink into the couch on a high pitched whimper. “Javi—“
“Yeah, there we go, that’s it,” he hums against you, smiling into your pussy, and the vibrations travel through your spine, sending a wave of pleasure crashing into you. 
His cockiness should make you mad, but all it does is make you crave him more. 
He presses in, licking again, this time into you, and the tip of his curved nose bumps against your aching clit, releasing a wrecked moan from your lips.
“Shit,” you huff, eyes screwed shut as he continues to lap at you. “Remind me next time to ride your face—“
He stops his ministrations to look up at you, pupils blown wide, his glistening mouth curling wickedly. “Next time?”
“We all know men are prone to making mistakes,” you tease. “It’s just a matter of when. And when you do, I'll need another apology."
He goes to respond, but you tug on his soft hair, urging him back into your warmth. Whatever response he has is muffled into your slick, and he’s lapping you up like a man in the desert, moaning graciously. 
You feel him start to pull back, and you open your eyes, glaring down at him. “What are you—“ Your protests fade into a moan when you feel two long, thick fingers slowly slide into you. Your head falls against the back of the couch. 
“I knew you were a brat at work but I didn’t think you’d be the same in bed.” He jokes quietly into your thigh, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. They reach so much farther than yours do, and it feels so fucking good. God, you really needed this. 
“Different from your usual whore, hm?” You quip in between moans. 
“Yeah, I like it though,” he admits. “Could get fuckin’ addicted to your attitude and this pussy.”
You should be embarrassed by the new wave of slick running down his fingers at that, but you’re not. If he claims he could get addicted, you know you already are. You’re craving your next hit and Javi needs to be the one to give it to you. 
He seems to know what you want without you having to say, leaning in to wrap his lips around your clit again. 
You slouch into the couch, hips chasing his warm mouth, scooting you toward the edge. His other hand splays across your lower back, holding you upright, and you buck into him. You grip his hair, urging him closer to your heat.
You can feel your orgasm building, ebbing and flowing, like the waves of an ocean. Each lick and suck and prod from Javi paired with the skilled way his fingers thrust in and up and out of you feels like a tug from a rip current, threatening to pull you under. 
God damn, he’s good. 
“Fuck—hng—shit, Javi!”
“Mmhmm, taste so good, chiquita.” He moans against you. 
“Mmngh, fuck, need you—your mouth on me all—all the time. So good.”
He sucks on your clit as if in agreement, and your hips jerk, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen spasming, just on the edge of your orgasm. 
“‘m gonna come—Jav—“
He gently scrapes his teeth over your clit and—oh shit. You’re fucking gone.
Your orgasm punches the air out of you, exploding white hot, tingles zipping through your nerve endings. Warmth spreads across you like a roaring wildfire. You hardly register the moans leaking out of you in an endless stream, your body so overwhelmed with pleasure.
Javi’s moaning too, his other hand palming himself through his jeans as he laps up everything you give him. 
Your legs shake as you ride it out, and he gently strokes them as he licks you through your high.  
“Yeah, that’s it baby,” he mumbles against your heat. “So fuckin’ good for me. Look so pretty when you come.”
He doesn’t stop, continuing to lick you through the aftershocks.
You tug on his hair, pulling him off of you when you’ve had enough. “Okay…that’s enough, Javi.”
Javier laughs as extracts himself from your legs, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You scoot back to sit properly again, though you're practically boneless against the cushions.
Comfortable silence settles over the both of you as you catch your breath. He smiles at you, his dimple showing, and you smile back at him, your heart jumping in your chest. He looks like he thoroughly enjoyed himself, all ruffled and flushed. His dark hair stands up in multiple directions from your tugging, and his mustache glistens with your arousal. 
He looks so cute. Damn it! 
Angry feelings for Javier were normal. But these…lovey dovey-esque feelings simmering beneath the surface are not. 
You just can’t stay mad at him.
“…’Kay maybe I forgive you now.”
He raises a brow. “Just a ‘maybe’?”
You nod, eyes dropping down to where his cock is pressing hard against the zipper of his jeans, just begging to be freed. “Think I remember you mentioning dessert.”
He follows your line of sight and outright laughs, smiling so wide his eyes actually disappear. Fuck, why is he so cute? “I actually meant that—I have tres leches in the fridge but—shit, really?”
You shrug nonchalantly. “I mean, you might as well actually fuck me at this point.”
“Jesus Christ—okay.”
He pulls you toward his bedroom, but you both get distracted along the way. 
He finds your lips at the entrance to the hallway, pressing you into the wall and kissing you roughly, hands unbunching your skirt to find the zipper, uttering under his breath about how unprofessional the garment is. Once the metal piece is in his fingers, he tugs it down, pulling away to watch your skirt fall to the floor.
He loses his shirt next, at the door to his bedroom, with you scolding him about how you’ll call HR on the amount of skin he dares to show at work. You only unbutton it enough for him to be able to pull it over his head, and then your hands are on him, squeezing the muscles of his arms and scratching lightly over his tan pectorals. You run your fingers up the long valley of his spine as he kisses you, delighting in the way he shudders against you at your touch.
He tugs yours off next, choosing now to bite your neck with a teasing “Guess I do bite”, and running his warm hands along your waist and breasts appreciatively. 
You finally make it into his room and he’s pushing you onto the bed, climbing over you, still clad in his dark, too-tight jeans. Those need to come off. 
“Fuck,” he swears, watching as you unbutton his jeans, tugging the zipper down. Arousal floods through you as you palm him through his briefs, hot and warm and big in your hands. 
“Been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he says, voice rough. He tugs his jeans and briefs off then reclaims his spot over you, leaning down to mouth at your neck. 
“How long,” you whimper, head tilting to allow him access. You shiver at the feeling of his light five 'o clock shadow scraping your neck as he moves up to your ear. He bites gently down on your earlobe.
“Too fucking long.”
Your hand wraps around his thick, warm length, and he jerks, thrusting into your loose fist. He groans, a sound so wrecked it’s like he’s in pain, and you take that as the sign that you need to get things moving.
You direct the head of his cock to your entrance, your gaze catching his own. Heavy eyes framed by thick lashes watch your face scrunch in pleasure as he slowly sheaths himself in you. God you feel so full as he bottoms out, more than you have with anyone else.
“Been wanting this too,” you admit. 
He smirks, “Fuckin’ knew it.”
You roll your eyes, but then he thrusts into you and they actually roll into the back of your head as he pulses inside you.
“Fuck, Javi.” 
“That’s it, chiquita.” He grips your thigh, pushing it up to gain a new angle. And then he picks up his pace, fucking into you with abandon. It’s like you can feel it in your throat, his cock hitting deep inside you. You jerk against the bed, the headboard slamming into the wall rhythmically. How many times have you heard this through the wall being his neighbor just on the other side? And now it’s you in the place of the multiple women he’s had over. And you think, maybe, that he’s enjoying it more with you than he was with them. 
He’s grunting above you, moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he fucks you with all the skill and expertise he’s gained over the many years of fucking his informants. He’s louder than he was when you heard him with the others. 
And you…you’re louder than the many times you got off by yourself just on the other side of the wall. Moans and praises drop out of your lips unfiltered—you just can’t stop.
“That’s it, Javi–yes. So good. Fucking me so well.”
And he’s fucking…loving it. 
You can feel his dick jumping inside you with each compliment, and it sends a new wave of arousal crashing within you each time. 
He’s getting close, but so are you, everything is tightening, a catapult ready to sling you off the deep end.
"Javi—I'm—“
"Yeah, that's it, baby." His hand gravitates down to circle your clit. "Come for me, being so good—you deserve it after today. Come on—“
You deserve it.
That's what fucking gets you.
Heat and fire and light and everything heavenly bursts within you as you come on Javier's cock, muscles spasming as they rejoice in that fact that you're finally getting laid. You're practically screaming, back arching off the bed as you ride the wave.
And Javi's fucking you through it, trying to hold off. But you don’t want him to.
"Come in me, Javi."
“You sure?”
“Please.”
How is he supposed to deny you?
He comes right on command, releasing inside you, and the feeling is euphoric. He's warm and hot as he coats the inside of you, and...shit...
...how are you supposed to live without this?
He collapses next to you, and you both lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath.
You turn on your side to look at him, but he's already watching you. His hand idly traces the inside of your arm.
You think you could get used to this.
"So," he says, dragging out the syllables, "forgive me now?”
You run a hand down his chest in thought.
“Hmm… I think I might need a little more convincing.”
He just grins. “You’re a fuckin’ menace.”
And then he’s reaching his hand up to cup your jaw and pull you in for a kiss much more sweeter and tender than before, as if this kiss is the real apology, and everything else before was just him buttering you up to prepare you.
If that’s the case, you accept it anyway, because you deserve it. And so does he. And you know he’ll just keep making mistakes—he’s only human, after all.
But at least he has a method to earning your forgiveness.
Oh, and carry out.
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