#narcos netflix fic

[chronically-ghosted]

Dry Run

rating: T

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 1513

summary: you meet javi in a club and he shows you his favorite way to foreplay sex.

warnings: no smut, no y/n, this isn't explicit but outrageously horny, naughty language and bad touching in public, slutty dancing

a/n: @ravensmadreads reminded me that the songs "Gasolina" and "Rompe" exist and then forced me at gun point to write this drabble. no one talks about what a good dancer javi would be and i've had enough!

🤍Masterlist

It started simple enough. 

A smile at the bar. The tang of tequila and the sour bite of a lime. A touch against your thigh to see if you are easily startled. He has to lean in close to ask if he can buy you your next drink, the deep rub of his voice only audible above the pound and hum of the music when his lips brush the shell of your ear.  

Then you tug him by that linen shirt, the tails already creeping out of the waistband of his jeans as if in anticipation of what comes next. His damp throat visible through the shamelessly undone collar, you wonder if he barely dresses himself because he knows some woman will just tear him naked again. His breath smells smoky, rich, like the mezcal he’s been sipping on, his broad chest warm under your palm as he now herds you onto the dance floor. There’s a grin on his face, a dark fire in his eyes that tells you he likes to play with his food, that this is nothing more than foreplay to him. Practice before the test. A dry run. 

He wants you to know exactly where you liked to be touched before you bring him home, to surprise and bewitch you as if he had known those places all along. 

But you’re not so easily convinced. Not so easily made dumb by slim hips and wide palms. He wants to dance, you want bailar. 

It starts simple enough. His head hung low, teasing grin on his face, he encourages your arms around his neck. You feel his hair stick to your forehead as he leans in rough palms easing down over your wrists, your elbows, your shoulders, then steadying against your hips. He moves like many men in this country do, with the self-assuredness that the music listens to him and not the other way around. He’s light on his feet, cowboy boots taking two steps forward, one step back, and you wonder what kind of a job he has. What kind of a man he is, that he can dance like this but his palms are so rough. You wonder how he would dance if he didn’t have plans of fucking  you in the club’s bathroom. His hands rest lightly on your hips, hardly respectable but a little possessive, a promise and a warning that you are going to only dance with him tonight. 

You watch his eyes flick down to your chest only a few times. 

But then the music changes, the crowd drunk and eager for something stronger than seduction. The bachata gives way to music not about love but lust, its desirable twin. It’s faster, something more metallic and driven. 

The hands on your hips tighten and the pulse in your wrists quickens. It comes as no surprise that this stranger, this man can easily handle the switch – the slide into something that demands a change of pace, the roll of the hips instead of a sway. 

He is never rough and never grips too tight. His hands glide up to the arch of your back, hot and rolling like candle wax, as he suggests silently that you come closer, that you let him feel only what you’ve been showing. You go willingly, curious and painfully turned on. What is he capable of? What can he do to you? What would you let him do to you?

His feet widen apart and you slot in like you’re supposed to. He seems surprised by it, as if every move you���ve made towards him all night hasn’t been bold, hasn’t explicitly told him what you want. His arm now up around the low dip of your ribs, the thumb on the other hand brushes under your lip. He won’t kiss you, you don’t kiss to this music, but you see he wants to breathe you in, wants to make your air his. 

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, everything about him from his hair, to his mustache, eyes and eyebrows dark and heavy. “Que hermosa.” 

You don’t realize you’re pinned to his chest until his arm has nowhere to go, trapped between you two. So he doesn’t move it. He cups the back of your neck, fingers pressing into the damp lining of your hair above the knot of your spine. This isn’t what he expected to happen and neither did you. His belt buckle digs into your hips and you can’t resist pushing into that cold pinch. His nostrils flare, eyes searching, breath short. Sweat drips over his left eye and you half-bite, half-kiss the spot on his forehead, tongue printing on his skin. 

You feel more than hear the groan in his chest. 

The music changes again, the lights spinning and dropping in the low beats. In the half-dark, he tugs your elbows from around his head, finger rubbing over the lining of your panties over your dress, and he turns you, barely allowing an inch of space between you. 

You feel his breath on your neck before those wide palms curl around you, that hot, damp chest curl around you, and he’s dragged you against him, all without missing the flow of the music. You moan when his hard cock, confined by the seam of his jeans, spreads your ass cheeks apart and you drop your head onto his shoulder. His fingers twist the hem of your dress but don’t move it. The bareness of your skin is for him alone, in private, in the half-darkness. Instead, he palms the hand pressing into your thigh, your legs screaming from the constant movement, and brings it up to your chest, his fingers intertwining with yours. He nudges your jaw with his nose, breath heavy against your ear. 

He likes to fuck like this too, you realize.

His hips flow and buck with the music, yours nestled as tight as you can without him physically being inside you. You purposefully fall out of sync for a fraction of a second, your ass grindings against where he is so deliciously hard and he grunts. He drops his head, tongue then teeth digging into the muscle between your shoulder and your neck. You intentionally rub against him again, in the opposite direction, and his other hand again overtakes yours, threading his fingers and yours together, and wraps your arm around your ribs, his own like a hot steel bar across you. 

You toss your head back, gasping for air before you are pulled back under. 

Wrapped around you, he fucks you without penetration, the music a whispered instruction to the pace of his hips. You turn your head and bite his ear, making him groan deep, the metal teeth of his jeans imprinting their shape onto your ass. His eyes closed, his fingers dig into your palms. Hot, humid air puffs from his wet mouth over your shoulder, into the curl of your neck. Your skin beneath your wet hair twitches with sudden goosebumps. 

You realize, in a daze, he’s muttering the filthy lyrics to you, smearing promises into your skin long before you can reciprocate that pleasure. You push back against him, a reward, and this time, he purposefully rubs against you, against the music, his hand over yours dropping to your abdomen, just where your panties sit under your dress. He cups you as if he could mount you –  drive you under him, and eat you out on his knees.

On the next flash of light, the drop of the beat, you slide your hand out from under him and wind up into his hair. His free forearm binds you just under your tits, keeping you against his grinds, his sweat-damp body, so you curl your fingers into his hair and yank. His head drops back as he pants from the sharp spike of pleasure and pain. 

His heartbeat is the same as the bass, you think. Maybe yours too, the heat of his chest felt all the way down your spine. 

He is minutes away from unwinding himself from you, from flushing you cold without the fervor of his body, your own drenched in sweat, only to all but drag you into the nearest bathroom, shove your panties down to your knees and actually, properly fuck you until you have bruises and beg him for more. But not yet. 

There’s an intimacy in dancing like this. A familiarity that is too often rapidly lost and gained in the physicality of later acts. 

You think deliriously that all couples should have to dance like this before going out or even hooking up. Because this, this chemistry, this natural heat and rhythm, can so often provide honesty that can rarely be spoken about so early. This, this dancing, asks, “are you going to fuck me like I need it?”

Yes, his body proves as his strong, thick thighs cage you even further into him, yes, he can. 

He will fuck you. He will, he promises every time he makes you squeeze yourself with his hands. 

But not yet. 

Not yet. 

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix

[ourautumn86]

here.

javier peña x fem! reader

synopsis; Javier and you simply fucked when his job took the best of him, to blow up some steam. You were nothing, just really close friends…, right? Maybe the thought of loosing you ‘causes him to finally open up.

warnings; +18 content, minors don’t interact!, arms, guns, mentions of death and terrorism, unprotected sex (GUYD STDS ARE REAL, WRAP THE DONG UP), piv sex, oral sex (f! receiving), kid of rough/desperate sex, cursing, nipple play, fingering, dirty talking, praising, a little bit of angst with fluff at the end, cursing, cream pie, no use of y/n! use of pet names and spanish from Javi<3!

a/n: please remember that english is not my first language! tell me if there are any gramatical errors. hope y’all love it!<3

Javi was a really close friend… And when you meant really, you truly meant it.

You two had gotten to know each other while sharing an office on the police department, and one night that things had wrong and had come to you staying working late, he had touched you in need of a distraction, in need of someone that could understand. And you could understand.

That’s why you let him use you, fuck away senseless his pain, his frustration, his rage…

He fucked into you like you were the only thing left for him to tug on. Kissed you like you were the only bits of oxygen left in the world.

And after that… His need for you became more frequently to this day.

It was late at night when you heard an stressful knocking coming from your door. You rubbed your eyes open, a frown showing on your face when your eyes landed on the clock beside you on the night table. 3:20 AM.

The new knocking had you pulling yourself to your feet, hissing at the cold that stung your feet.

You quickly went to the door, opening it when the knocking only got more intense. You had your gun on your right hand, ready to shoot in case of need.

The gun met the forehead of whoever had woken you up, your hands quickly pushing it away when you met your co-worker’s and leaving it aside.

“Javi?” you called out to him with a confused look. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?” he seemed out of breath, body glistening in the softest sweat. “Ja-“

And as you were about to inquire him once again, he plunged into your home, his warm calloused hands cupping your face to bring you into a searing kiss that had you gasping into his mouth.

You whimpered when he closed the door behind him and quickly pushed you to the wall on your right, his hands roaming your body with the urgency that always came in this situations: He had had a bad day. Maybe a bad week. The thing with Escobar was getting really hard; the bombing, the loss, the deaths, the fear…

Your fingers laced on his hair, and he hummed, thanking you, when you opened your mouth for him.

His hands cupped your breasts from under your silk night gown, letting the lace of your panties show for his angry eyes. Your moaning was angelic.

“Joder.” he had you over his shoulder in less than a second, throwing you onto your bed, making the head broad dent the wall.

“Javi…” you moaned when his lips latched to your neck, his hands back to your tits and his hardened clothed cock pushing against your cunt.

You helped him get rid of your gown, leaving you almost completely exposed to his hungry eyes. His lips sucked on your nipples as one of his hands came down in between your bodies to cup your pussy, a wet patch growing on your panties under his fingertips. You screamed when he pushed the panties aside to let show your beautiful and puffy soaked lips only of him. “Fuck, darling, you’re so wet already…” he muttered against your chest as his fingers dipped and found your clit, making your head fall back and a pornographic moan to leave your lips. “Such a good girl getting all ready for me to fuck, hm?” you nodded, his touch electrifying. “Look at that. She’s swallowing my fingers…” your walls clenched around two of his fingers when he plunged them inside, making your back curl. It was always a stretch, but nowhere like the feeling of his cock fucking you open. “You’re so beautiful baby.” you cheeks reddened at the compliment, a whimper leaving your lips when his kisses trailed down your stomach, a peck being given to the patch of hair on your mound. “Smell so sweet…” your eyes glistened when you saw him take his two fingers inside his mouth, tongue lapping at your juices and making him hum. “Taste so good too. You drive me insane.” you hands flew to his hair when he dove in, sucking on your clit as his fingers started to fuck into you again.

“Fuck, Javi!” he smirked against your cunt when his fingers found that perfect spot hidden in between your gummy walls, his fingers curling in a relentless peace, that has you falling apart under his touch. “Please don’t stop…” you begged, and the hand clutching your right high squeezed your flesh in an assuring way that told you that he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t. Not when you tastes so good and sounded so angelical. Not when he needed you so bad.

It only took a few laps at your clit to had you gushing and coming onto his mouth, making him groan. You moaned as he worked you through it, telling you how perfect you were and how good you were being for him.

When his lips met yours, your tongue tasted your orgasm off his mouth, the kiss sloppy, hungry and needy, spit dribbling down your bottom lip and onto your chin. You were quick to help him get rid of his polo, pants and underwear, freeing his aching cock.

No matter how many times you had seen him it was always a shock to see how big and thick he was, always a stretch to take him when he would part your lips with his bedded head and pushed inside. You always remembered how he had fucked you for the first time, how he had had you sobbing against the table as he whispered a soft ‘Come on, you can take it. Relax for me, that’s it, atta girl.’ against your neck.

You were even quicker to flop on your stomach, your ass up and pussy ready for him to fuck into, since that was how Javier always fucked you, on your fours.

“What are you doing?” he questioned and you frowned as your head tilted backwards.

“Getting ready…?” you send back in the same unsure tone, a squeal leaving your throat when his big strong arms took you to push you down onto your back once again.

“Not tonight, amor. Tonight I need to see you.” he muttered, and before you could open your mouth to inquire him, he was pushing inside.

You cried out at the feeling, the sting of pain that came with pleasure making you reach out for his back, your nails digging on his skin.

He grunted as he slowly pushed more of him inside your tight walls. “That’s it, baby, open up for me.” he whispered onto your ear when your walls started to relax around him and suck him in.

You both moaned when he finally bottomed out, hitting that deep spot that him and only him had ever reached.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, honey, so fucking good…” he muttered as his hips started to snap into you, making your nails go in deeper. “Always so good for me, so pretty… Fuck, fuck,fuck…”

Your whimpers and moans got cut out with every each of his now harsh and quick thrust. You could feel it, feel it in the way he kisses you, in the way he fucked you into the mattress, how there was no space left in between the two of you, how his hands gripped and bruised your hips as he brought you impossibly closer to him…

Don’t leave. That’s what he was trying to say. Don’t die. I need you. Don’t leave.

“I’m here, Javi. I’m here…” you cried out as he fucked into you, tears breaming your eyes at the intensity of your now incoming orgasm. He pushed deeper at your promise. ‘Cause it was a promise.

“Fuck.” he groaned when your walls started to milk him, a scream falling of your lips as he hit your g spot relentlessly. You were dizzy on it, drunk on his skin and his cologne, high on his kisses and his thrusting. “Looking so pretty. Shit.”

“Javi, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” you sobbed and he only sped up, one of his hands moving to roll your clit in between his fingers.

“Come for me, mi amor, come for me.” your ears rang and your vision went white when your new orgasm came crushing down on you, making you scream out his name for the neighbors to hear. “Look at you. Eres mía mi amor. All mine.” “Fuck, you’re getting so tight…” he grunted against your neck as he made a mark there. “Gonna milk me dry…” he fucked you through it, his dick getting coated by your white release, which now painted the brush of hair on the base of his cock. “Gonna cum, baby, fuck.”

“Inside Javi, please…” you begged, and he was quick to paint your walls with his cum, making your eyes roll back at the feeling. You loved it. Loved it when he would come inside, make you his. Mark you as his from the inside out.

You two stood there, riding out your own respective highs in between each others arms. But you knew it wouldn’t last. ‘Cause it never did.

Tears stung your eyes when he slid out of you, making you hiss at the overstimulation. You knew what came next. He would get up, get his clothes and leave without even saying goodbye ‘till the next time he’d come to you, only for it to happen all over again.

You gave him your back, ‘cause you didn’t want to see. And didn’t want him to see you too, crying your heart out after every night he’d fuck you senseless and hugging yourself at the cold that his skin left behind.

But your breath hitched when after the shuffling of clothes, the bed sank under his weight behind you, and your heart stopped when one of his arms surrounded your waist to pull you closer and against his chest.

It was completely silent in between the two of you, only the sound of cars passing by and both your steady breathing filling the silence of the room.

You slowly tuned around in between his arms, his eyes finding yours under the dim light of your salt lamp.

He left a soft and gentle kiss on your forehead, which made your heart flutter and eyes close. You didn’t understand. He had never been like this. He had never fucked you on your back, facing him, never even stayed after it. So what was going on?

You noticed he hadn’t gotten dressed, he had just folded everything back onto the chair of your vanity so tomorrow neither of you would trip on it. Your eyes swelled in tears as you looked at him. And that’s when you saw it, in his eyes. This longing, this love that he has never let himself show you, never letting you look into his eyes as he fucked you, even less as he left you in the middle of the night.

“I’m here, amor. I’m here.” he promised back with a soft smile.

You quickly leaned into the kiss that now his lips planted on your own. It was sweet, slow. A kind of kiss that talked when words weren’t enough. Your hands found his hair and his your hips, bringing you closer, hugging you to his chest. His skin was warm, his body the missing piece of yours.

You let him hold you, let him look into your eyes and pour all the words that he never found himself to mutter on your heart. Let him kiss you, let him mark you, and let him fuck himself back into you once again when he had rose one of your legs over his hips, making you fall apart in between his arms as he whispered beautiful words into the night until the sunrise.

-

hope y’all liked it, love you xx

xxx

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[bits-and-babs]

𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍’𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓 — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀.

↳ summary: When the DEA picks you up during a drugs bust, Agent Peña tries unconventional interrogation methods to force you to spill the information you have.

↳ pairing: javier peña x f!reader

↳ [2.4k words] content: 18+ MDNI. Mentions of Pablo Escobar, Dickhead!Javi, Dub-con (uneven power dynamic — consent isn’t asked of reader but she is willing <3), spanking (both hand and belt), edging. Rough p in v sex, unprotected sex, cumshot. This is a @beskarbabs remaster - original post date 2021.

javi masterlist I| main masterlist |I join the taglist here

“The phrase butter wouldn't melt in his/her mouth describes someone who appears demure, innocent or sincere but is, in fact, unkind, devious or insincere. The idea is that the person in question is so calm, cool and collected that butter wouldn't even melt in his mouth.”

The door abruptly opening cuts through the hour-long silence and jolts you in your seat. The stunted movement remind you of the irritating ache in the joints of your shoulders and the painfully tight metal cuffs around your wrists that keep you restrained. The DEA agent that stands before you watches with a vacant gaze, refusing to speak at first. His broad biceps bulge as he crosses his arms across his chest, weight shifting onto one foot.

The DEA had been trying to get you to talk for a good four hours now. They'd sent in a young, blonde American with a strong southern drawl who introduced himself as Agent Murphy. Despite his coercion, you refused to do much more than look at him with a fatigued and inattentive expression. He'd given up pressing you after some time before sending in who he called 'Carillo'. He was ruthless, threatening to deport you, to expose you to the rival cartels and have them deal with you - however violent that may be. He, too, had been unable to obtain any information.

So they had sent in who you assumed were the 'big guns'. Though, you found quiet confidence in the fact it was a man wearing a salmon-pink shirt and yellow aviators - not the most daunting get-up you'd seen. He’s far from intimidating as Carillo had been, but he’s certainly handsome. Laying some files on the desk, he rests his palms flat on the table as he leans down to look you in the eyes.

"You may want to start talking," he begins his interrogation, and you glance down at your lap, dejected. You’re confident he knows the score. He's been through this before with countless cartel members. From the very bottom of the pecking order to the closest aids of el patron, you don’t talk about cartel business to authorities. You faced death if you did- public execution. Keeping your lips sealed, you’re unable to look at him for fear of this new agent somehow managing to piece you together.

It was stupid. He couldn't read your mind, obviously, but you were exhausted and under severe pressure.

He looks you over, chocolatey gaze lingering longer than it should. He observes your reluctance to talk, the way you seem fearful to detail your ordeal.

The agent raises a cigarette to his lips, lighting up as he paces behind you. Staring ahead of you, you attempt to smother any sign of weakness— any reason to close in on you. Instead, you jump in surprise when you feel his breath against the shell of your ear.

"I can get you out of this mess, Preciosa. I just need some information,” he murmurs, fingers gliding down your forearms in a ghost-like touch to your wrist. You feel his thumb trace the curve of the too-tight cuffs that restrain you to the chair, and you wince as he traces the bruising skin there. Pausing momentarily, he considers his next move before taking out a key to unlock them.

A moan of relief escapes your lips as you feel the blood rush back into your wrists. You pull your arms around the chair again, rolling your shoulders to relieve the pain that had been building there. Fuck, that felt so much better-

A hand takes your chin, forcing you to look at the agent who had released you. Shock floods your body, as not even Carillo, who had been rather aggressive, had touched you.

"You're going to start talking. You hear me?" He speaks, his tone demanding yet eerily soft.

You hadn't intended to become a part of the Cartel scene, but desperation and need for money had beaten you down. So, when a man approached you and offered to pay money in exchange for you sitting in his taxi as a passenger through the streets of Medellin, you swore it was a blessing. You had been careless and accepted the offer before even realising what you’d signed up for. Had you known you would be serving as a front for the Kingpin of Medellin, Pablo Escobar, who would lay in the trunk of the taxi as it ferried him around the city, you wouldn't have agreed to anything.

Needless to say, there was no backing out of a deal with the devil. Especially when you were the shield for Satan himself. That still stood, even when the Drug Enforcement Agency caught with one of Escobar's closest allies. The DEA had noticed you in the taxi multiple times during their stake-outs of the streets of Medellin and thus had ordered your arrest. With an explanation, you were facing deportation and life imprisonment. Without an explanation - execution.

The agent exhales smoke from his cigarette, tapping his foot on the floor to signal he’s waiting. You clear your throat weakly, beginning to state your case.

"I promise I haven't done anyth-"

"You will address me with 'Agent Peña' before you speak. Do you understand?" he asks you. You stare at him, abdomen twisting with his authoritative tone, but equally shocked by what he said. Without a leg to stand on, you mutter gently 'Yes, Agent Peña'.

"Good," he murmurs, stroking his thumb down your jaw as he gazes into your eyes. You feel your heart stutter, taken by his audacious attitude. He abruptly pulls your face forward, closing the space between you swiftly as a mouthwatering scent of vanilla enters your senses. You note the slightly artificial tinge to the smell. Was that his aftershave?

"I suggest that you start telling me why you were with those men," he whispers, taking in the details of your lips as he speaks. You part them slowly, considering your next move. Would they protect you if you did? You'd often heard of 'rats' being safeguarded by the US government...

You decide not to take the risk.

"Agent Peña, I don't know anythi-" you gasp as he pulls you forward by your wrists, throwing you over the freezing metal table. Before you have the chance to sit back up, his hand is pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the surface. Your raised heart rate causes your breath to come out in soft pants, the respiration causing the shiny desk to fog up. What-?!

"You can't keep lying to me like this. I'll get an answer," he murmurs, the irritation evident in his voice as he begins palming at your ass through your denim jeans. You wriggle your hips, trying to break free, but he spanks you hard, enough for your skin to prickle and sting through the denim. You cry out in shock, attempting to look over your shoulder at the agent.

"Remember, Hermosa; I can get you out of this mess. I can find you a place to go..." His words are feather soft, but his tone is stern as you feel his fingers slip between your legs, searching for your clit through your jeans. Your back arches as he finds it, a soft moan trickling from your lips as he focuses his attention there and waits expectantly for some form of confession.

When he doesn't receive it, he spanks you again, harder this time. You sob out, pressing your forehead to the desk that's quickly warming up under your burning skin.

"You look like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, sweetheart. But we know better, don't we?" he questions, stroking the prickling pain his smack caused. You flush red at that, feeling him squeeze your ass gently. You can't tell if he's talking about your criminal record or your sexual interests - regardless, he reaches his hand around your front and down the waistband of your jeans.

"You're so wet," he says, a smirk evident from the sound of his voice as he traces your pussy with the tips of his fingers through your soaked underwear, "I've barely even touched you." You whine in embarrassment, closing your eyes tight at the pleasure that arcs up your spine.

"Tell me why you were there," he commands, focusing his touch on your clit once again. Your toes curl in your shoes, pining as he grinds his hard cock against your ass.

"I-... I made a d-deal!" you choke out a sob as he pinches your clit. There's a pause as Agent Peña seems to consider what you said before he's unbuttoning your jeans with deft fingers.

"Continue."

"I can't say- fuck- I can't say anything-!” You moan out as he pushes your panties to the side, slipping his fingers into your soaked cunt within seconds.

"Be a good girl..." he goads, pressing the heel of his palm into your clit as the pads of his fingertips feel at your walls. You're beginning to aggravate him; you can hear it in his voice.

"I can't!" you moan loudly, pushing your hips to take his fingers deeper. Agent Peña doesn't even hesitate as you hear his belt unbuckle and his zip come down with his free hand.

"So unsuspecting. Aren't you? You look so innocent... But look at you," he growls in a voice as thick as honey, taking his fingers out of you and spanking you hard again, "Such a filthy girl."

You press your cheek to the table, still pinned down on your front as he kicks your feet apart and slips down your jeans.

You hear a groan as he feels at your ass again, observing the red marks his hands have made under the dim lighting. Peña grips at your ass and the back of your thighs roughly, taking in the view of you in your panties. You whimper, pushing your hips back with the need to be filled by his fingers again.

"You haven’t given me what I want," he scolds you lightly, too invested in the view to put any real effort into it as he slips down your panties. You feel your slick stick to the inside of your thighs as he pulls your underwear away from your core, replaced quickly by his fingers as they begin to slowly circle your clit.

"Agent Peña..." you beg, wanting more- needing more than just his fingers. Instead, you hear the crack of leather against your skin before you truly feel it, but the onslaught of burning, skin-splitting pain is enough for you to yelp. It hurts, but the sting combined with his dexterous fingers hurtles you towards orgasm much quicker.

You're soaking his fingers, and he can feel your walls tightening around him. He removes his digits, once again not allowing you to cum despite the tears of desperation that slip down your face.

"Tell me, and I'll let you cum," he insists, hand rubbing your prickling skin in an attempt to ease the pain. You gasp weakly, gripping the edge of the table as you fall apart, needing his cock inside of you.

"I rode in the back of the taxi. I was a c-cover for Pablo Escob-bar. He was in the trunk!" You babble, yelping as he grips your ass.

"Could you give me the addresses of where you went in that taxi?" Peña asked, gently pinning the side of your head to the desk but amping up the intensity of his interrogation.

"I-I can remember s-some!" You cry out as he impales you on his cock in reward for opening up. He splits you open, the ache between your legs delicious with the mix of your overstimulated clit. You grip the edge of the desk to brace yourself as he allows you to adjust to the length of his cock, which is already throbbing at the tightness of your cunt around him.

"Look at you, so fucking desperate," he practically coos, wrapping your hair around his fingers. You keen at his words, tilting your hips slightly.

That's all Agent Peña needs. Tugging on your hair, he uses it as leverage to piston his hips into you as he holds your hip in an iron-tight hold with his free hand. He uses this grip to tilt your hips upwards so your balance on your tiptoes. You moan loudly, overwhelmed at the sensation as his cock fills you just right.

"This is what you like, isn't it?" He tightens the grip hard enough that you'll leave this room with his fingerprints imprinted on your skin, "You look so innocent, but you just want a dick to cum on, don't you?"

You mewl, the head of his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust as he steadily spits utter filth at you.

"D-Don't st-stop," you choke out, holding on for dear life as mind-numbing bliss creeps its way up your spine, settling- building. The agent grunts with the exertion, noting the way you push your hips back with each thrust in an attempt to take him even deeper.

"Fuck, you're such a little slut!” he growls, spanking you again as you cry brokenly. His hips pound into you so fucking hard, still using your hair as leverage as the pain and the pleasure all build to an earth-shattering crescendo.

You cum so hard that your body crumples inwards, everything fading as heat rips through you. The rapture is so great that your toes curl in your shoes to the point they cramp up. It's eviscerating; your entire body just overwhelmed by the pleasure to the point you can't even hear your own loud sobbing.

"F-Fuck-!" Peña growls, dick throbbing as it pulls out of you, leaving you breathless as you hear a groan rip through the DEA Agents' throat. He cums, spurting thick ropes over your back as he continues to jerk himself off with one hand, the other keeping himself steady with his palm on the desk beside your waist.

Finally, you're both still and quiet, the only noise being that of yours and Peña's heavy breathing as the two of you try to collect yourselves. He clears his throat after a while, tucking himself back into his pants. Laying on your front still, dazed from the dicking down you just received, you hear him mumble under his breath.

"Could you give me those addresses please?"

... At least he asked nicely.

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[softstarlite]

The Casualty of Love

CHAPTER 1

Summary: He's back home. You have almost forgotten how warm his eyes were and how big your crush for him was.

Warnings: Age gap (Javier is 40 and reader is 27), mentions of death.

Rating: +18 (Not explicit)

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

A/N: sorry guys that this one is kind of short, I promise that it is because is the first chapter that I write after almost 4 years without writing anything at all and because I have a terrible big cold bullying me. But I promise that future chapters will be much longer, I hope this one gets you hook up (please remember that English is not my first language) :-))

Divider by @saradika

Javier didn't though he would be waking up in his old bed in his parents house ever again, for him there were only two options, dying on the field in Colombia or working on the DEA until he would be too old and they would force him to retire from the field and he would just live the rest of his days in Miami to be close with the only people he would have then, Steve and Connie.

After everything that happened with the Cali Cartel, Los Pepes and the government of Colombia, the DEA “invited” him into retirement, for a bit he thought about moving to Miami but he couldn't bear thinking about turning his back to his pops again, even more now that he was alone in that big ranch.

“Fuck…” he rises up from the old bed, his back protesting. He makes his way into the kitchen, where his dad is already dressed up and drinking a cup of coffee.

“I made a pot, mijo” Chucho says, signaling with his head towards the coffee maker and sipping.

“Gracias, pa” after two weeks of the same routine, waking up, drinking at least one cup of coffee, getting dressed and spending the day keeping himself busy around the ranch so he wouldn't have to even think, Javi was getting tired of what his life looked like now. He loved his pops with all his heart but between the absence of his mom that was their string of unity and the many years that they've had spend away from each other, he felt like there was always a tension when they were together.

“Mijo, would you mind going into town today to pick a few things up for me?” his dad says while getting up from the kitchen table and putting the empty mug in the sink.

“Sure, pops. Just make me a list and i'll go after feeding the cattle”

Taking the keys out of the ignition and making your way across the parking lot to the little store, your head, more specifically your forehead, collapses with a hard thing.

“ Ouch” you rub your forehead while looking at where your purse has landed.

“Uh, fuck” you hear a masculine but almost familiar voice say from above you. Your gaze comes up to be met with a pair of chocolate brown eyes that you have for sure seen before.

“Ja-Javi?” you say with wide eyes and mouth agape. He mumbles your name like a question, like he can't believe what he's seeing, was it truly you? you looked so… so different, so grown up…

“So it's true, you really are back, eh?” you can feel the corners of your mouth rise a little while you say it.

“Been for two weeks…” his eyes can't help but to roam your body “you… look different…” he says more to himself than you.

“Well, that's what more than a decade does to someone” you chuckle.

“It really has been that long? Mierda…” he runs a hand through his hair.

You suddenly realize that your purse it's still on the floor, so you pick it up. For a few seconds an awkward silence floats between you too, in which you both just stare at each other.

You then realize something, “espera, you´ve been back for two weeks and you haven't been to my mama´s house? She's going to kill you when she finds out, you know it right?” you nervously rub your hands together in front of you.

“Shit, you´re right…” he closes his eyes tightly, “with helping my pops getting the ranch in a better shape and all, i forgot about going to Maria´s…”

“Hey, I'm sure if you explain it to her, she'll understand it. You´ve always been her favorite anyways” you give him a reassuring smile that he reciprocates with another, but somehow it looks like it almost pains him to do so, like he has not given a real one for way too long.

Javier chuckles, “well, after so many years away and only picking up like three of her phone calls a year, i wouldn't bet on been her favorite anymore”

“Yeah… I don't think that could ever be possible. And if the amount of times she talks about his Javiercito are indicating of it, you definitely are on top of the list still” you don't take your eyes off of his, you had almost forgotten how warm they can be and now it was almost impossible to pull yourself away from that warmth.

He changes the subject, still feeling guilty about how much he felt he had abandoned his parents in one of their hardest times in life and also the woman he felt that was like a second mother to him.

María, your mom, was his mom's best friend, they had been since high school. His parents became parents at a very early age, most people in Laredo gave them side eyes and their back for a long time, but your mom never did, she was there even when Alma Peña discovered that she was indeed pregnant and not just sick.

She was even the third person to ever hold him, after his own parents.

Your parents didn't have you until they were 30, so Javier was just like a first born child for your mom for 13 years until she had you.

Alma and Chucho did try to have more children but life had a weird sense of humor and after giving them a son they weren't looking for at such a young age, it decided to not give them anymore children. So when Maria had you, Alma Peña held you in her arms even before your father did and she loved you like her little girl until her last breath.

“How old are you now? You were only like 12 when I left” he shifts from one leg to the other.

“I was actually 15,” you chuckle “don't worry, didn't expect you to remember, you were too busy all the time to even notice me” you say a little fast, trying to hide that the fact hurted you every time you thought about it. “I'm 27 now” you give him a tight smile.

“Almost the age I was when I left. Wow, time really has passed, eh?” he says with an air of sadness in his eyes.

“Yeah, that happens” you feel an awkward tension growing between you so you change the subject fast “so… you're just working on the ranch now?”

“Yeah… pops needs the help anyway, he's getting old. I would rather not see him deal with the ranch chores by himself anymore” he looks at the ground of the parking lot for a brief moment then his gaze rises up again towards you “what are you doing now that you´re not in high school anymore?” he asks you with a tiny smirk.

“I changed one school for another,” you giggle “I went to college to get a teaching degree and after working in Boston for a few years, when my dad got sick, i moved back home to help ma with him before he died, then i just stayed for her and your dad to be honest. I'm working at the elementary school now” when you mention your dad, your face can't help but make a tight lip expression, you didn't have a good relationship with him, and you couldn´´t understand why your mom didn't leave his ass for so many years. But your relationship with your mom was pretty good considering the circumstances.

“Sorry about him by the way, even if you guys had a rocky relationship” he gives you a worried look, like he wanted to ask a million questions about how you felt back then and feel now about it, but they never leave his mind. “Your mom told me about it in one of her calls…”

“Yeah, thank you. She was devastated when it happened and I think she felt like she couldn't confide in me because of my situation with him, so she only talked about it with Chucho” you re adjust the purse in your shoulder “well i need to buy a few things and then get back home to ma, I'll tell her that you´ll be visiting soon?” you ask, putting your gaze back into his warm eyes.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Tell her I'll be there on Friday, after finishing my chore on the ranch” he says, almost nervously putting his hands inside of the pockets in his tight jeans.

“Okay, I'll let her know Javi. She'll start making food today, I'm sure” you chuckle and take a step away “see you on Friday, bye!” you wave to him and make your way across the parking lot to enter the little store.

“Bye…” Javier mumbles more to himself than to you, since you were far already. His eyes can't help to roam the back side of your body in your sundress while you walk away from him, when he catches himself, he shakes the thoughts roaming his mind away and walks to his truck to go back to the ranch.

Next chapter

#javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javi peña x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javi pena #javi pena x reader #javi pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javi pena fanfiction #chucho peña #chucho peña narcos #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos netflix #pedrostories #the casualty of love

[drabbles-mc]

Right For Once

Steve Murphy x F!Reader

For the @narcosfandomdiscord July Smut Alphabet prompt: angry sex

Warnings: 18+, language, smut, choking

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Me?? Doing a smut challenge despite typically avoiding writing smut like it's the plague?? It's more likely than you think!! Honestly, I'm super excited to see what I end up coming up with for this challenge. Here's to getting out of our comfort zones in July. 😌 Kicking things off with Steve Murphy because I can lmao

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You didn’t know how the two of you had gone from arguing in the car, to arguing while walking up the steps to your place, to suddenly being tangled up and pinned against the closed door of your apartment. The entire drive back to your place, Steve hadn’t had a single good thing to say to you. And you were pissed off enough to reciprocate his energy. The two of you were physically and mentally beat up after how the day had gone, but you weren’t too tired to refrain from picking a fight. It was a real choice, after all, for him to be giving you so much shit about making rash decisions when he’d made quite the habit of waving his gun around in spaces that he shouldn’t.

But now all the snide remarks were being muted as his lips moved against yours, teeth pulling at yours just slightly. His hands were wrapped around your wrists, keeping your arms pinned above your head while he used his torso to keep you pressed tight between him and the door. One of his legs was wedged between yours, and you hated the way that your body automatically responded by grinding against him.

He finally pulled his lips off of yours, dragging your bottom lip just enough to make it sting as he did. You were fighting to catch your breath, your mind in complete disarray from everything, from the day, from the fact that you could feel the warmth of Steve’s breath against your face as he stayed so close to you.

“And I’m the reckless one,” you snapped with a roll of your eyes. Your sarcasm would’ve hit a little harder if you didn’t sound so breathless.

His grip on your wrists tightened. He leaned in, closing what little shred of distance he’d put between you, his nose brushing against yours. “You fuckin’ are.”

You shook your head at him, giving him a little resistance, trying to fight back against his hold on you just enough. It got you nowhere, of course. If anything, it just had him pinning you harder, his hips pressed against yours.

“This is you using good judgment, then?” you asked, knowing that he could hear the smugness in your tone even though his face was too close to yours for him to see it in your expression.

He let go of your wrists, hands dropping so that they were balled into the collar of your shirt instead. Somehow you almost felt more trapped that way even though you had back the use of your hands.

“Do you know what could’ve happened out there? What shit you could’ve fuckin’ landed yourself in? Landed all of us in?”

You leaned back, letting the back of your head tap against the door behind you. “Why don’t you fucking enlighten me, Agent Murphy?”

“Do you think that you weren’t wrong?”

You scoffed, trying to remain as collected as you could given the circumstances. “You’ve made it pretty goddamn clear that I was wrong, Steve.” You paused. “Got a weird way of showing it, but—”

The tic in his jaw was impossible to miss. You could only imagine what he was thinking, the remarks in his head that he wanted to say. You were waiting for it, for the next verbal blow. How he hadn’t exhausted himself between base and your apartment was beyond you.

Instead of coming back with another comment, he pinned you with another bruising kiss. You knew it was coming this time, and while the logical part of your brain was telling you that you should try to quit while you were still half a stride ahead of whatever mess this was about to turn into, another part of you was saying that the way was already an absolute shitshow, so what was one more thing? Steve was already pissed at you about literally everything else, so why not just throw this on the pile? At least this would be something the two of you could be mad about tomorrow, when you were done being mad about everything that had happened today.

One of his hands moved from your collar up to the side of your neck. His thumb pressed just beneath your chin, keeping your head tilted at just the right angle to keep your lips on his. You busied yourself with undoing the buckle of his belt. The slight hitch in his breathing when you started on the button and zipper of his pants wasn’t lost on you.

Bringing your hands up to his chest, you rested your palms flat against him before pushing him back. It wasn’t out of resistance this time, not trying to push him away from you. Both of you were fully resigned to whatever mistake this ended up being now. Your push this time was a direction. Rough guidance, the only kind either of you really knew how to give. And he followed the cue, allowing you to get him back to the couch in the center of your living room.

When Steve felt the backs of his legs press against the sofa, he made a point to stop, to not let you keep pushing. His hands gripped onto your hips, pivoting the two of you so that you now had your back to the couch. He pushed you back just enough for you to fall back onto the cushions and he was on you in an instant.

Before you could take too much time to think about it, your shoes and jeans were on the floor and Steve was hovering over you. It was close, almost cramped quarters on the couch for the two of you, but it’d work. It was fitting. Maybe if he was in the mood to clean up the mess of the day rather than make it worse you would’ve let him fuck you on your bed.

You were pushing his jeans down off his waist just as he was curling his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He pulled them down your legs at the same time he pulled himself away from you. He only put enough distance between you so that he could take off and cast aside his own clothes. Then he was right back on you, pulling up the bottom hem of your shirt to peel it off over your head. You’d started off undoing the buttons on his shirt, but you only made it about three-fourths of the way before every single type of frustration coursing through you got the better of you and you ripped the remaining few, hearing a couple of them clatter on the floor.

Steve mumbled something against your lips, a sentence you couldn’t quite make out but you knew that he wasn’t thanking you for what you’d just done. Whatever rebuttal you would’ve come up with was lost the second you felt his hand running up the inside of your thigh. The string of curses that you let out under your breath when his fingers slipped between your legs was something he would’ve taken more pride in on a different day under different circumstances.

Your legs were just beginning to tremble when he pulled his hand away. Your head dropped back against the cushion as you muttered an exasperated, “Fuck me.”

Steve let your annoyed statement act as an instruction as he gripped onto your hips and pushed into you. Your legs immediately hooked around his waist, locking him to you. His hips snapped against yours in a way that had you clawing at his back, asking for more with everything but your words. His lips slid down the column of your neck, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin there until they sunk in right where your neck met your shoulder. You arched into him at the contact, nails setting in a little deeper.

You knew from the second he pulled his mouth off of you that there would be a mark left behind when this was all over. Just another piece of the mess. What was one more bruise?

He put enough distance between the two of you so that he could look down at you and really see you. Despite the motions that you were going through, the peculiar intimacy of it all, you could still see and feel the tension between you. Even knowing it wasn’t going to fix the issue, you still didn’t want to stop. A thought crossed your mind in scattered fragments that you would rather take all of Steve’s anger like this, let it be a problem between the two of you that you tried to work out this way, instead of him constantly making his anger everyone else’s problem that he came across. This had to be better than that, right? It certainly felt better for the moment.

His hand slid up your stomach and over your chest, creeping higher until his hand was resting around your throat. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did you. The look on his face asked the question for him, because he was an asshole, sure, and he had been beyond pissed off with you all day, but still. He still hesitated with the silent question.

You were pissed off too. With him and just about everything else. But right now it was just you and him. And as much as you wanted to make things more difficult just for the sake of doing so, you found yourself nodding instead, curiosity beyond piqued at the way things were unfolding.

His hand tightened and your eyes instantly fluttered shut, body arching into him before you even knew what you were doing. Your eyes were closed and you couldn’t see him, but you heard the breathy, “Fuck,” he let out at the sight of you like that. For a brief moment he almost forgot the hell you’d put him through.

He heard the shaky gasp of a breath that you pulled in despite his grip. He could feel the way your body began to tremble the closer you got to release. Your nails bit into his arm, his shoulder, but you weren’t fighting against him. You were just out of ways to pull him closer so you had to settle for that.

Something about the sight of you like that, coming undone beneath him, looking so blissed out despite having no right after all the hell you’d caused, sent him over the edge right after you. His hand slipped away from your throat as he collapsed against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck for a moment as he felt the thudding of your heart, listened to the sound of you sucking in a full breath. Your hands rested on his back, flat, gentle compared to the way you’d been raking your nails against him before.

Once the two of you had started to catch your breath, you let your hands drift so that they were resting against his sides. “Steve?” you said, voice still a bit raspy.

He pulled back, looking down at you with an expression you couldn’t quite piece apart. “Yea?”

“Get the fuck off me.” You started to push him away from you, not roughly, but you needed the breathing space. “Please,” you added on, the ultimate afterthought.

He scoffed and shook his head, but he did what you said. You were pretty sure it was the first time you’d ever seen Steve without something to say. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he gathered his clothes off the floor. He tossed you yours as he came across them, and you shimmied into them the best you could from your current position on the couch.

Once he was dressed, his shirt open at the bottom because of the missing buttons, Steve ran his hands back through his hair. His face was flushed, tinged pink in a way that you might’ve found endearing if you weren’t so annoyed still.

He let out a deep sigh before looking over at you. “So…”

You sat up, swinging your legs off the couch so you were sitting on it properly. Bracing your arms against your thighs, you repeated the word back to him. “So?”

“What,” he gestured vaguely in the air, “the fuck now?”

You shrugged, running your hands down your face. “You can stay and we can keep arguing, or you can leave and we can argue again tomorrow.”

His brows knit. “You don’t think we should talk about—”

“Is it gonna change anything?” you asked, cutting him off. “I mean, really. Is anything actually different now?”

“I mean, yea, I was just fuckin’—” he stopped himself short this time, shaking his head. “You know what? You’re right.” He threw his hands up in defeat.

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Wow. First time I’ve heard you say that all day.”

“It’s the first time you haven’t been wrong all day,” he rebutted.

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for making sure I got home safe, Agent Murphy. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

You weren’t yelling, but the look on Steve’s face had you thinking that he almost wished that you were. At least then he’d have a reason to respond in kind. Instead, he shook his head as he made his way to the door. He muttered under his breath, “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

If your head had been a little less foggy, you would’ve gotten the last word in. Instead, all you got was the sound of your apartment door slamming. Letting out a deep sigh, you leaned back against the back of your couch, staring up at your apartment ceiling. On top of everything else, now you had this to deal with too. You’d decide for sure in the morning if it was worth the trouble it caused.

#narcos fandom smut alphabet #nffalphabet #steve murphy #steve murphy x reader #steve murphy x you #x reader #x reader fic #narcos #narcos netflix fanfiction #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #angry sex #day 1 #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[girlboybug]

writing request for a smut fic with established relationship with javi x reader? dialogue prompt: javi: “he looked at you funny” reader: “i didn’t know you were the jealous type..”

OOO i like this muahaha >:) i hope you enjoy hehe, thank u for requesting!! <3

art deco

"shining like gunmetal, cold and unsure. baby you're so ghetto, you're lookin' to score."

or the one where jealousy happens to be a good look on javi.

what’s playing 🎧 : art deco by lana del rey

content warnings : SMUT, jealous!javi, blowjobs, face fucking, car sex, semi public sex (?), unprotected sex (extremely unwise w javi idk wtf he got goin on down there), creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk, themes of slut shaming, threats of exhibitionism, threats of restraints e.g cuffs, brat tamer!javi (been dying to write that)

trigger warnings : mentions/threats of gun usage, alcohol, both reader and javier are tipsy at best, if there is anything i missed pls lmk!

word count : 4k

a/n : im pulling SO MUCH out my ass w this bc i havent finished narcos and only rlly pay attention when pedro or boyd is on screen and even tho im half mexican my ass cannot speak spanish for the life of me teehee sorry yall

you’re a bad actor. 

you’re also bad at lying and honestly, just generally bad at the things javier happens to be especially good at. 

but that’s okay, javier likes you like that. it’s refreshing, endearing, to be with someone who hasn’t gotten good at lying or pretending to be someone they’re not. and actually, he’s currently watching you fail at that right now. 

you’re at the bar, swirling around your drink that he bought for you, pretending to not notice the way he’s eyeing you from across the club. he thinks it's cute how you keep stealing glances at him, giggling to yourself whenever he catches you.

you two do this little song and dance every now and then, it keeps things exciting and fun, and you never have complaints about it. 

you pretend to be the single, bored girl sitting alone at the bar, and javier just so happens to swoop in, introducing himself as the man who’s been ordering drinks for you all night, ready to charm you into his bed for the night. it’s stupid when you say it out loud, but the way he fucks you when you do this little act makes it seem like the best goddamn idea he’s ever come up with.

it’s harmless fun between a couple, and the tension you two create throughout the night is always a recipe for mind blowing sex. however, it seems things are going a bit off script tonight. 

a man invites himself to the empty barstool beside you that was reserved for javier, but he’s oblivious to the little game you’re playing right now. “hi there,” he says, grinning, and you try your best to hold back a long sigh while you greet him back politely. 

javier’s hand tightens around the beer he’s got, wishing the neck of the bottle belonged to the man staring you down. he decides he’ll keep watch for awhile, he trusts you, and wants to see how this’ll play out, despite his patience already wearing dangerously thin.

“can i buy you another drink?” he asks, motioning towards the dwindling liquid in your glass. its not a difficult question, but the answer isn’t coming to you like it should be. 

you are playing the role of a single woman tonight, and you won’t let anything go further with this guy than receiving a free drink. 

eh. why not? 

“yeah, sure, thank you.” you smile back, and he hurriedly calls over the bartender, asking for two glasses of whatever it is you ordered. javier shifts in his seat, his jaw coming down harder than it was just a moment ago as he watches you share a drink with someone that isn’t him. 

javier follows his wandering eyes, how they trail up and down your figure, making it obvious he’s wondering what you’ve got on underneath.

javier wants to walk up to him to tell him how he knows what you’ve got under that dress, because he picked it out. 

god, this night fuckin’ sucks so far. 

“i noticed you for awhile now, what’re you doin’ here all alone?” he asks, and you get a little nervous with the way he gets closer to you. “i’m just waiting for my boyfriend to show up.” you answer, deciding the single woman role didn’t feel as fun anymore. 

“ahh, i see.” he replies, and you expect him to scoot farther from you, or better yet, leave. but much to your dismay, he stays. 

“it’s just,” he starts, and you glance down at your shoes, saying a silent prayer for him to get on with what he’s got to say before he leaves you alone for good. 

“you’ve been here for awhile now, you sure he’s comin’ honey?” he questions you, faux concern in his voice and you close your eyes for a moment to hide the way they roll at him.

“yeah, i’m sure.” you reply curtly. “how about i keep you some company while you wait for him then, how’s that sound?” he gets closer than you would’ve liked, boldly resting his arm around your shoulders, and yep, that’ll do it. 

javier’s beer clatters down onto his table as he shoots up from his seat, stalking over to you. he’s quick to join you, standing tall behind your seated figure, his strong chest a familiar surface against your back. 

“uh who’re you–” 

“her boyfriend.” he answers, eyes lowered testingly, practically itching for him to give him a reason to swing. “hi baby,” you beam, turning around and craning your neck up to give him a kiss. he leans down, holding your chin while he kisses you. 

with your lips still connected, he stares at the scoffing man that just sits and watches. 

“yeah well i wasn’t the one who kept her waiting all night so why don’t you get lost? we were havin’ a conversation, weren’t we sweetheart?” he looks at you as if you’d actually agree, and you open your mouth to defend javier, but he doesn’t need you to, he’s more than eager to put this guy back in his place. 

he steps away from behind your back, moving right in front of you now, leaning in close to the man. he reaches around to his lower back, sliding his gun to the side of his waist before he’s got it in his clutch, pressing it to the man’s ribs.

“you have 3 seconds to get the fuck out my face before i stop being so polite.” he whispers in his ear, and the man stiffens with immediate fear once he registers what’s being pointed at him. 

he swivels out of the stool, hastily hopping out to make his way out the club all together. javier turns back to you once he’s out of his field of vision, expecting a profuse thank you javi, but he gets quite the opposite. 

“what the hell was that?” you question, sounding angry, and uh oh, you saw that. 

“baby,” he starts off but you just huff, climbing off the stool. “that was way too far,” you point at him and he sighs, holding your arms, rubbing them up and down, trying to settle your irritation down. 

“but he was making you uncomfortable, and you didn’t see the way he was looking at you–” 

“and what way was he looking at me for you to pull a gun out on him?” you whisper yell and he starts to join you in your frustration. 

“he looked at you…funny, like he was just thinking about fucking you the entire time.” he sounds upset that he even has to explain himself to you about this, and you catch it, deciding to throw it back at him when you turn on your heel to leave. 

he growls with annoyance as he follows you out the club, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn back and look at him.

you exhale sharply, looking up at him, switching your weight onto your left foot. “i knew you could be a little…impulsive sometimes but jesus jav, i didn’t realize you were the jealous type that would do something so…stupid.”

his annoyance is fast to turn into a hard glare, and you see the sudden shift, instantly feeling regretful. he purses his lips to the side, laughing dryly. “stupid huh?” he clicks his tongue and you shake your head, walking closer to him now.

“javi, i’m sorry,” you try to remedy the mess of this situation, but unlucky for you, what little patience he was holding onto is now gone. 

he grabs the hand of yours that’s reaching towards his jaw, he isn’t in the mood for it. he pulls you along by your wrist to the parking lot. 

“yeah, you’re about to be baby,” he mutters, and your heart picks up, your heel clad feet in turn picking up speed to keep up with him. 

he ushers you into his backseat, slamming the door behind you once you’re both in. he tugs you into his lap, your legs on either side of him, your knees making contact with the cold vinyl. his hands find their way to your ass, squeezing it hard.

you gasp a little, arching into his chest. the second you move in closer, his lips are on your’s. it’s not gentle, it’s not slow paced, and it’s not soft, no, that’s for when you’re good. and you’ve been anything but. 

you’re grinding in his lap, his growing bulge feels perfect right up against your dampening panty clad cunt, too perfect that you can’t stop yourself. you’re moaning in his mouth, struggling to keep up the pace and intensity in the way his lips are moving with your’s. 

he tastes like beer and cigarettes, smells like it too, with traces of his cologne that you love. he’s like paradise incarnate and you want to live in him forever. 

when he pulls away you're left panting in his hold, lips parted, brushing against each other, stealing the other person’s breaths. “you know,” he sighs lowly, his words trailing up your spine, leaving shivers in their wake. 

“just because i let you pretend you’re single for the night doesn’t mean you actually are,” he says, and he sounds serious, but there’s something hidden in his air, something challenging, like he wants you to argue just so he can put you right back where you belong. 

you nod heavily like he speaks words of righteousness, cupping his jaw in your hands. “i know javi, i know,” you pepper his face in kisses, but he remains still, outwardly unphased.

“guess you just got too excited at the thought of bein’ a slut huh?” he breathes out flicking a brow at you, keeping you in close when you try to inch away from him at his accusations. 

“i’m not a slut–” he unfolds your offended arms, hands leaving your wrists to hold your thighs that rest on either side of his lap. “no baby it’s alright, s’not a totally bad thing. i like sluts. they let you do whatever you want to ‘em,” he grips your thighs, forcefully sliding you off his lap and letting you land down on your knees before him. you gasp, holding onto his legs for steadiness. 

“and they let you all while tryin’ to convince you they aren’t sluts. isn’t that funny? he chuckles, caressing your cheek, peering down at you while he does so. 

“javi,” you say, you don’t know what to say next, the only certainty that remains is that his name never sounds wrong coming from you. 

“if you wanna be a slut so bad then go ahead, i won’t stop you.” he shrugs, leaning back into the seat, arms stretched out beside him. you swallow away your stuttering, running your hands up and down your thighs. “what do you want me to do?” you ask smally, looking up at him from under your lashes. 

he readjusts, lifting his hips in the air, settling back down closer to you. he tilts his head, eyes flickering from his crotch back to your gaze, “what sluts do best baby.” he says under a gravelly breath. your thighs close just a little tighter at that, feeling eager to oblige to his insinuations. 

you unzip his levi’s, unbuttoning them before you’re pulling him from out his boxers, throat getting tight at the way he pulses in your hands. precum is already beading at his tip, and you lean forward, flicking your tongue over it. he hisses quietly, a hand coming behind your neck. 

your lips envelope the tip, shutting your eyes when you trail down until you can’t take any more of him down your throat. he groans, throwing his head back, bucking his hips into your mouth. you gag around him, hand trembling while you try to jerk off what you can’t fit into your mouth. 

he rolls his head forward, holding you by the back of your head, starting to thrust further in, chuckling to himself at the way you gag. he lets you slide off him, jerking his slick cock off while you catch your breath. 

you’re staring at each other in the thick air, the night breeze sneaking in from the cracked windows, making your nipples perk from behind your lacy bra. 

the moon glimmers through the side window facing javier, and it panels his cheekbone, across his jaw and down his chin, trickling over the curve of his collarbones. 

he looks so beautiful like this, sitting tall in front of you, looking at you like he could tear you apart with one hand, jaw clenching when your thumb slides over the head of his cock. 

the way he’s looking at you elicits a reaction from your body before your mind can reach it. you lean back down, taking him deeper into your mouth. 

you don’t mind the way he keeps your head still, using your mouth the way he likes. 

he fucks your mouth like he wants to prove a point, and at this moment he doesn’t even know what the point is, he hardly even remembers where he’s currently at, the only thing that makes sense is how fucking good you’re taking him down your throat. 

you’re being so good, so perfectly compliant for him, and what’s fueling you is the tingles exploding between your thighs at the way he’s using you. 

the grunting utterances of your name in his spewing breaths adds propellent to the roaring fire building in your lower tummy. 

his groans get a little airier, picking up in quantity, coming out one after the other, fucking your mouth so deep your nose brushes against the brown curls sitting just above his cock. “look at me,” he instructs through gritted teeth, and you listen, blinking away your teary eyes to look up at him. 

he sends one, two, three, hard thrusts into your mouth before he pulls out, resting the tip over your lips. he pants to himself, shutting his eyes closed while you take this time to do the same and catch your own breath. “what’s wrong?” you sound a little rasped, and he can’t fight the smug look on his face at your voice. 

“as much as i’d like to let you continue, i got better things planned baby,” he chuckles breathlessly, pulling you back up into his lap. 

he pushes your dress up, exhaling when he sees how wet you are in the panties he picked out for you. “javi, i didn’t bring any condoms, do you have one?” you press your hands to his chest, momentarily halting him, and he looks at you, scoffing quietly. 

“huh. sluts don’t usually care about that kinda thing.” he rubs the head of his cock over your clothed clit, watching your lowered eyes fully shut, a moan slipping out at his ministrations, proving him right. “s’not gonna fit like this,” your whimper when he moves your panties to the side, flicking himself up and down your folds. “it will baby, i’ll make it fit.” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips.

you rarely ever got on top, he was always very adamant about taking care of you, whether that means you’re on your back, legs thrown over his shoulders or you with your wrists being hoisted by his tight grip while he fucks you senseless.

the constant is, he’s always on top. 

he’s big, no matter the position he’s got you in, it’s always a stretch he has to ease you into. which is why you’re typically reluctant to get on top, but right now he isn’t asking, he’s telling. 

“javi, s’not gonna go in like this,” you whimper nervously, curling into his chest. head on his shoulder. he rolls his eyes, fingers gliding right over your clit to shut you up. and it works, naturally, he chuckles. 

your breath gets faster when he swirls over your clit with his fingers, squirming around in his lap. he holds himself from the base of his cock, circling over your fluttering hole. your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the back of his hair. 

he starts crowning into you, pushing in the fat head of his cock, pausing the breath in the middle of your throat. it rumbles out as a pained moan when he continues pushing in. “god javi,” you whine, legs on either side of him flexing with nerves at the intrusion. 

“doin’ all the work for you baby, jus’ take it for me,” he mutters in your ear, his mustache tickling your jaw while he rubs your clit to ease you into it.

“actin’ like i haven’t fucked this pussy before, know you can handle it, sè una niña grande para mí,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, and you melt, nodding desperately. “i am,” you mumble, bracing yourself for when he bottoms out inside you. he thrusts upward, holding you by the fat your ass, pulling you down onto him. 

the air is knocked out your lungs, and all you can do is hold on to his leather clad shoulders for dear life. your hips start moving in sync, rolling into each other, and you feel insane, it feels so good, you start thinking maybe you’ll do this more often.

the sting from the stretch subsides soon, but the feeling of being full stays, and you keep it, loving how good it feels. the head of his cock nudges deep inside you, bobbing up into your throat and you fall apart, fucking yourself on him, addicted to the way he hits every little spot inside you that you need. 

you’re moaning, panting loudly in his ear, and he eats every single one of them up, gripping your hips when he guides you down onto him. kisses lay wetly across the side of his neck, teeth graze over his ear, praises of how fucking big he is, and how good he feels inside you, relay to him over and over, making his cock twitch when he picks up the pace in his thrusts. 

“you’re so nice while i fuck you baby, maybe this is how i should shut you up more often huh?” he teases, but you don’t care, you’d start arguments with him if it meant he’d always feel this good in you. 

“in so deep,” you whimper more to yourself but he hears you, he hears it all. he hears how fucking soaked you are around him, hears every little breath, every little moan that comes out of you. 

he smacks over your ass, chuckling to himself when you whine and clamp down around him. “maybe i should go find that guy huh?” he leans forward, lips on your shoulder when he ruts up into you deeper, right there to hold you closer when you keen into him at the hard thrust.

“ ‘should find him and fuck you in front of him, show him how its done, what do you think of that baby?” he grunts, hands tightening over your hips. 

you just moan, babbling something incoherent when you grind down onto him, his words acting as a lighter underneath the growing flame while you bounce on him. you squeeze around him, your body unashamed of how much you like the idea of such a dirty act. 

he feels the way you clamp down around him, chuckling breathlessly, his hand traveling behind your neck to force you to look at him. “or maybe it’s you who’d like that,” he taunts, expecting a shy shake of your head, but you just nod, trying to meet his thrusts. "i'll do whatever you want javi," you whimper pathetically, and god, that does something to him. 

"know you will, so sweet baby," he groans, leaning back to watch where you both meet, loving the sight of his cock entering and disappearing into your cunt. 

you tug at the hair from the back of his head, messily kissing all over his jaw and cheek, and he takes it all, adoring how clingy you are with him right now. he pulls the front of your dress down, hooking his fingers under the cups of your bra and groaning to himself when he sees your tits, pretty and pert under the bra, he of course, picked out for you. 

black see-through lace, his favorite. 

"gonna be the death of me, mi vida," he murmurs to himself, latching his hot eager mouth over them. he assaults the soft skin with his tongue, teeth grazing over your sensitive nipples, a smirk forming around the flesh when he teases the ghost of a bite, wanting to laugh when you squirm and arch your back at his actions. 

his fingers find their place back to your clit, rubbing over the nerves like clockwork, syncing the way you bounce on him with harder thrusts, making the pleasure surrounding you inescapable. 

breathing is getting harder, but it feels unimportant, everything does when it comes to javi. in this moment if he told you to stop breathing altogether you honestly just might listen to him. 

but it's so much so soon, and you want to hold onto the moment for as long as you can, enjoy each stroke of his cock deep inside you longer, and if he keeps touching you like this, you know you won't last. you paw at his hand, trying to push the relentless wrist away. "no more javi, m'gonna cum too fast please," you whimper, but he doesn't agree. you're finished when he's finished. 

"do i need to cuff you to the headrest or are you gonna keep those hands to yourself?" he spits, sounding harsh, sounding serious. you whine like a wounded puppy, shaking that empty little head of yours. 

"but javi," he grabs your chin, guiding your gaze downward when he moves his jacket to the side, revealing the cuffs that hang from his belt loops. "think i'm kiddin'? hands to yourself or around me. otherwise you get these. your choice," he's still inside you, and you can't take it, you throw your arms around him, hugging him close while trying to get him to move again. 

"gonna be good, gonna listen, m'sorry, please move javi, please?" 

he senses your desperation, and gives in, continuing his thrusts. you sigh in relief, following the way his hips piston up into you with your own. 

"can i touch you?" you whisper, unsure if you're allowed to, but javier relents, nodding with a kiss to your neck. you slide his jacket off eagerly, quickly unbuttoning his shirt before your hands are running along the warm skin of his shoulders, squeezing them when he thrusts right there. 

your hands drag down his chest, nails lightly digging into his tanned skin when your head falls back, rising and falling up and down on his cock. his mouth is on you again, tongue swirling over the curve of your chest, gripping them roughly in his wide palms. 

he watches you from this view, how you lose yourself when he's got his cock in you, and he thinks maybe he should have encouraged you to ride him earlier. 

he's getting close, watching you has only pulled him closer to the end, his cock twitching the more he imagines how good you'd look dripping in his cum. he imagines your trembling thighs being parted by his hands, your abused hole just leaking and leaking from his cum. 

"m'close, gonna let me finish inside mi vida?" he grunts, and you nod heavily, clamping harder down around him when he asks. "please, please javi," you beg, and who is he to deny you? 

his fingers run around your clit once more, those tight circles from the pads of his fingers bring you right there alongside with him, moaning his name in an incomprehensible voice while his face rests in the crook of your neck, bouncing you on top of him. 

"always wanted to cum in you baby, always wanted to fill you up nice an' good —fuck—, make you fuckin' full of me, just know you'd look so fuckin' good just drippin– shit," you're squeezing him like you never have before, his confessions, the ferver in the way he fucks you is just too much, your body acts before you can even process what’s happening. 

you cum all around his cock, and the pulsing of your walls, the whimpers of his name from your pretty lips is all he needs to join you in your blinding orgasm. he's cumming inside you, grunting your name and how fuckin' good you are for him, his mouth hot on your neck while he fucks you through your shared orgasms. 

he doesn't let up on your clit until the pleasure bleeds into pain, and you can't take it. with heavy breaths you collapse in his arms, panting like you've just ran a marathon, sweaty forehead resting on the cool leather of the seat. 

he gently shifts your hips backward, looking down at his cum that pours out of you. he likes the mess, likes how your cunt looks when he rubs his cum across your throbbing clit, you jump at the stimulation, begging him in a tired voice, no more javi. 

he listens, taking sympathy on your spent body. he puts your panties back over you, tucking himself away before he repositions you so you're properly sitting in his lap, letting your legs stretch across the rest of the backseat. 

"you okay mi bebita?" he murmurs softly, and you hum a sleepy yes, still buzzing from your orgasm. "still mad?" he asks jokingly, pulling a hazy giggle from you.

“i think you just fucked any anger i had left out of me." he laughs proudly at that, rubbing your back. "yeah? maybe that's how we should settle all our fights then." 

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[cowgurrrl]

The Palace in Flames

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Author's note: okay two things 1) fuck it we ball on this timeline 2) i don't love how this turned out but I need to finish it otherwise I'm gonna stare at it for god knows how long so enjoy anyways

Summary: "I'm not a violet dog. I don't know why I bite." [3.8k]

Warnings: canonical violence and language, alcohol, a little bit of backstory, discussion of PTSD like symptoms, a touch of misogyny, canon events but slightly canon divergent timing i think

There's not a lot you can do at the scene of the car bombing. You and Javi talk to local police and take witness statements from frightened neighbors and anybody else willing to come forward with information while Steve takes pictures. From what you can tell, it looks like it was a crude C4 bomb, one of the easiest to make and detonate. All it takes is the right amount of pressure, and boom. A few unfortunate souls died right beside Jorge as they walked past, unaware of the explosion to come. A hit for one quickly turned into a hit for five. 

You're good enough at your job to recognize the fact that Steve and Javi went poking around for information about the person who ratted on you, and then a few hours later, he's dead, not even ten minutes outside of your neighborhood. Medellín is a big place. It could've been a coincidence, but you're almost certain it's not. You really hope you don't have to make good on your promise to return to the US if they go after you again. 

You, Javi, and a handful of other police officers finish with the witnesses and join Steve by the truck. All files and statements will need to go through the proper channels tomorrow, and it's too late to do anything else. You'll start fresh in the morning: follow through on the plan to send out CENTRA SPIKE to see what they can find, monitor movement, and stay vigilant. But tonight, you deserve to get a drink with your two self-appointed bodyguards.

The great thing about working at the Embassy is that everyone touts interagency cooperation and work, but in reality, you rarely want to see each other in the same place. DEA will hang out at one specific bar while CIA will go to another. You don't even want to know where soldiers and higher-ups go once the clock hits six o'clock. Every agency thinks another agency is fucking them over or doing their job wrong. Everybody wants a medal for being in Medellín and fighting the narcos and communists but rarely wants to work together. You like to think your agencies have the upper hand with the three of you being friendly and sharing information without going through official, classified paperwork. It's not the most recommended or legal way to go about it. But, you've been able to pass on valuable information Javi let slip in between rounds and shared cigarettes under the guise of a Confidential Informant.

You were friends with Javi first. He came to Colombia around the same time you did, and you worked the same hours. You did him favors, and he returned them. You learned not to ask each other too many questions and to take what you're given and hope it leads somewhere. You've gotten little victories here and there: guerillas extradited, kidnapping victims recovered safely, witnesses given protection and visas in other countries. It was nice to have someone you could rely on and bounce theories off of when the office was empty, and you two were puffing your way through a pack of cigarettes. The lines got blurry about six months in. It happened fast and without warning, and you swore it was a one-time thing. And then it happened again. And again. And again. Then, it just made sense to keep doing what you were doing instead of going through the cycle of fighting about it and giving each other the cold shoulder, only to end up fucking in his apartment before the end of the day.

Steve, however, got stuck with you. When he became Javi's partner, he was forced to know your name and seek you out in the office when he needed something. At first, he wasn't super keen about the idea of having to rely on CIA for things— something to do with that DEA machismo of not needing anything from anyone— and then he realized how good you are at your job. Once you helped them get an especially important collar, he opened up. He told you about the killing of his last partner and a little bit about his career up until this point. He practically begged you to talk to Connie when she started getting homesick and having doubts, and you came to care for her. Now, you're an inseparable trio (quartet if you count the nights Connie makes her way from the communa clinic and into the bar). 

You think Noonan knew that when she asked Steve and Javi to join the Colombian police on your recon. Something about friendly faces in an unfriendly territory. She was right. You stuck to Javi the entire ambulance ride to the hospital, and they each took turns at your bedside. Even Connie showed up to take care of you during those long few nights in the hospital. You were less willing to accept help once you were discharged, but Steve would knock on your apartment door every night and leave a covered dish on your doormat while Javi bought you groceries. You owe them a lot, though they'll never let you admit it.

Javi buys the first round to celebrate your reinstatement. He gives a brief, flattering toast to your work, and you roll your eyes but clink your glasses together anyway. You avoid talking about theories and leads in the bar, even though you probably could talk about those things in English and get away with it. Everybody already knows you work for the American Embassy. No reason to give anybody anything to report back. Instead, you talk about stupid things like Steve being unable to speak Spanish.

"I can understand a little," he tries to defend himself, and you and Javi share a knowing look. He definitely doesn't understand enough to quantify it as a little. He might pick up every tenth word and know enough commands to dole them out when he's in the field, but that southern accent anglicizes every single syllable he utters. "Alright, y'all can go fuck yourselves." He says at your silence, making you laugh.

"Don't worry about it, Murphy. Couple more years and you'll be running circles around Javi." 

"I don't know about all that, but she's right. You'll get better," Javi takes a sip of his drink. "Eventually." 

Over two more rounds, you talk about things back home, tell stupid stories, and whatever else you could think of. It's nice to see Steve and Javi acting like they kinda like each other outside of work. Lord knows they're at each other's throats most of the time. You enjoy hanging out with them, and even though you know you can handle yourself, you like feeling protected by them. Years of CIA training and undercover work don't mean shit when all people see is a woman alone at night. 

"Alright, I've gotta get home," Steve says as he drinks the rest of his whiskey and puts his cigarette out. He probably should've been home hours ago, but that's none of your business.

"Tell Connie I said hi." You say, and he smiles, nodding and mumbling a quiet "yes, ma'am." He loves her so much, even just the mention of her makes him light up. Your thought from earlier creeps up. A good man. And yet he's here, doing the same shit you and Javi are. It's a little funny how squeamish he still is about things, but you figure that's the last sign of his humanity. God, please let that linger for as long as possible. Javi takes a drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke away from your face.

"Yeah, give her a kiss for me." He says. Before Steve can even open his mouth, you smack the back of Javi's head and groan.

"Ay, Javier," you scold. "Malo, malo, malo." Javi smiles, a rare sight reserved for moments like this, as Steve bids you goodnight again and leaves the bar. The second he's out of sight, you reach over, snatch the cigarette from Javi's hands, and bring it to your lips. 

"Get your own," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind it. You roll your eyes and exhale. 

"Stealing from you is so much cheaper, though," you shrug as you hand it back to him. "You think he got suspicious when we showed up at the same time?" 

"We live down the road from each other and got the call around the same time. Even if he figured it out, he wouldn't say anything. Plus, I think your little attitude at work throws him off." He says, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"My little attitude?" You ask. You know he said it just to piss you off, and you hate that it's working. He smirks and you shove his shoulder, stealing the cigarette back from him. "Pinche cabrón." You mumble, and he laughs. He gets a new cigarette from his pack and lights up. A comfortable silence falls over you as you sit there, his hand finding a home on your thigh under the table. 

"So, how're you doing?" Javi asks, seemingly out of nowhere. You shrug and ash your cigarette into the half-full tray in front of you.

"'M fine." You say, and he hums. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and glances around like he's looking for something you can't see. He blows smoke away from you and leans in. 

"So, waking up screaming is fine for you?" He asks. You didn't want to talk about it when you woke up, and you especially don't want to talk about it now. You poke your tongue into your cheek in annoyance. 

"If you thought I wasn't okay, why'd you push for Noonan to clear me?"

"I didn't say I didn't think you're okay."

"Then, drop it." 

"Look, I know you wanna go all in again, but maybe you should take it slow—at least for a little while," he says, and you scoff.

"Give me a fuckin' break, Javi. Did you take it slow when you got shot?" You ask.

"Getting shot and getting kidnapped are two completely different things."

"And yet we both survived," you say, gesturing between you as proof of your survival. "The doctors wouldn't have cleared me to come back if they didn't think I was ready."

"Yeah? How much you pay 'em off for that signature?" He asks. You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek. You're not going to dignify him with a response but you so easily could. "C'mon, just... let your feet get wet again. Everyone knows you've already got the lay of the land, but they don't know that you won't freak the fuck out once you're fully back in the field. I think some of them are waitin' for it," he says. It would explain why everyone's treating you like you're a time bomb. "If you won't do it for yourself, at least do it because I'm asking you." 

"And are you asking me as a coworker or a friend?" You ask. He's staring at you in his weird Javi way: hardened brown eyes softening just enough to bring your guard down. It's not something he learned from years at the Academy or in the field. That's all him. 

"Would it make a difference?" He asks quietly. Answering a question with a question. What a cop.

"Not really." You say, and he sighs. He scrubs a hand down his face and picks up his drink, a cigarette lingering between his fingers. 

"I'm asking as someone who saw what they did to you." He says before taking a big gulp of whiskey. You haven't talked about it. Not about what he saw and knew before finding you or what exactly happened in that room over those few days. You spent hours upon hours repeating the story for doctors, depositions, agency paperwork, and even to the court-appointed psychiatrist who had to screen you before they could even let you back in the building. So, you weren't necessarily gunning for the opportunity to repeat it again when Javi asked you about it. There are only so many sympathetic looks and half-hearted reassurances one person can take.

Even though you relied on him to tether you back to earth during those first few days, he took the brunt of your emotions. You refused to answer his questions and pushed him away. "I'm just trying to help," he told you when he tried to take care of you. "Where was your fucking help when they grabbed me from the street, huh?" You snapped, exhausted and sore and a little out of your mind. It was mean and unfair. You know how hard everyone worked to find you. You know how he blames himself. You know how scared they were to find your body.

When he puts his empty glass down, you look at him and nod. You can't take back what you said, but you can soften it a little. You put your hand over his and trace the contours of his knuckles. They're a little bruised and cracked, but still a part of him. You take a deep breath and rub your thumb against his skin. 

"Okay," you concede quietly. "I'll slow down for a little while, but the second we have good intel, I'm all in again." He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes your thigh. 

"Thank you." He mumbles. To anyone walking by, you two would look like a couple having a drink after a long day of work before going to your shared home and sleeping it off. You indulge in the thought for a second longer than you meant to before you retract your hand and reach for your drink. 

"You're gettin' soft on me, Peña." You accuse, and he chuckles.

"God forbid I wanna see you make it outta here alive." He says, and you hum as you finish the rest of your drink. His eyes stick to the corner of your lips where a few drops of tequila spilled, his thumb twitching as he stops himself from wiping them away. "What're you doing for the rest of the night?" He asks. It's an opening. An invitation to finish what he started earlier. What happened with Alemán earlier in the day must've wound him up, made him tense and in need of release. Unfortunately for him, there are few things you like more than making him sweat.

"Well, I've got a dinner I need to pack away in the fridge and dishes to clean."

"I can help."

"I don't think you can," you say as you stand and grab your jacket from the back of your chair. "Besides, I'm supposed to be taking it easy. I should probably get some rest before my first actual day back, right?" He rolls his eyes as you throw a couple of bills down on the table for your share of the drinks, and you smirk. "I'll let you walk me home, though." 

"You'll let me?" He asks, but he's already standing and pulling his own jacket over his shoulder. Like clockwork, you think.

"Figured it's the least I could do." You say, and he scoffs, swatting at your ass when he passes behind you.

"Vámonos princesa." 

You get a warm welcome back to the office by immediately getting thrown into the chaos of the CIA. A corkboard with all known names of M-19 and other communist group members looks like a serial killer's wet dream with all the notes and grainy photos that stare you down as you talk about recent developments in the jungle. Honestly, you don't care what a group of kids are doing or planning to do, but everyone else in the CIA seems to think it's the most pressing matter.

Despite what the Agency and Reagan want you to believe, you know communists are not the most dangerous group in Colombia right now. Narcos are practically running the country and ruining countless lives with their rampant murder and exploitation. So even though Lou wants to sink a billion dollars of American taxpayer money into fighting guerillas in the jungle, you have one eye on the situation with the narcos. You're just waiting for the message to come down through the ranks that it's all hands on deck for taking down Escobar. Lou knows about your indifference and exacerbates it every chance he gets.

"Agent, I want you to work with Mil Group on tracking their movement to see if there are any patterns. I want to know where they're going and what they're planning." He says, pointing to you. You give him a look and cross your arms over your chest. You hate working with Mil Group. It's a group of guys with sticks up their asses and, somehow, never see the outside of an office. You catch Javi and Steve walking by through the windows, obviously going somewhere, and you lose whatever patience you have.

"All due respect, Colonel, but Ambassador Noonan took me off of desk duty effective immediately. I think I could be of more help in another area concerning M-19." You say, and he raises his eyebrows at you. You're also not fucking boss, you think.

"I'm sure we can find the time for you to show us how big and bad you are another time, sweetheart, but right now, this is where you're ordered to go." The nickname is abrasive in your ears, and you want to correct him, demanding your title as Agent, but Javi's words ring in your ears. They're waiting for you to freak out so they can send you home. They're waiting for you to blow up on somebody for a small thing. They want you to fail. You sigh and bite your tongue. 

"Yes, sir." You say before making your way to the Jarheads. 

For being off of desk duty, you still feel like you're doing mind-numbing work. All you're doing is plotting points on a map where satellite phones have pinged off of cell towers in an attempt to triangulate where they might be hiding out. Considering how there are barely any cell towers that reach that deep into the jungle, and even if they did, the calls drop after about thirty seconds, you don't have a ton of riveting information to work with. You listen to the recorded, half-legible calls and translate what you can to another agent, but nothing suggests they're planning anything. If they are, they're keeping it off your radar.

After wasting a stupid amount of time doing that, Lou draws up a bigger map and makes you replot all the points down with an estimate of where they might be. You're not CENTRA SPIKE or well-versed in how triangulation even works, and he knows this. It's a fool's errand at best, but he demands it by the end of the day. "So I can give it to the tech analysis guys." He says. You're about one more pointless task away from bashing your head into a wall, but you start on the map anyway. 

You're about halfway through when you hear Murphy calling your name, and you turn to see him and Javi walking through the crowded Mil Group office. 

"You're working with the Army now?" He asks, and you sigh. 

"For the day. Lou is on everyone's ass about this M-19 shit and thinks I'm the best person for the job, apparently," you say. "Please tell me you have something better than this." 

"We just got a sicario's son off the street. Dumbass was distributing in broad daylight in front of a cop." Javi says, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"We both know that's not a good enough reason for a cop to pick up a sicario's kid. What're you holding out on me?"

"Apparently, the cop heard him bragging about rigging a car with a bomb. He said something along the lines of, 'That's what happens to rats,' and then said something about going after La Golondrina next." Steve supplies. So this sicario's kid rigged the bomb to kill the informant who sniffed you out, said he also had a bomb for you, and now he's sitting somewhere in DEA custody? If Escobar's men weren't going after you before, they definitely are now. 

"Do you think he even knows anything? He might just be daddy's errand boy." 

"He asked for a deal," Steve says.

"Wheeling and dealing might not be grounds for extradition, but threatening to blow up a United States CIA agent just might be," Javi says. Something shifts in his eyes just enough for you to catch it, and you know it has to do with the conversation you had at the bar. You shake your head and break eye contact with him to look at Steve.

"Right, but you know how Wysession and Jones are. If it doesn't involve communist groups, they don't even want to look at it."

"The kid told us that some of Escobar's men have been talking with one of the leaders of M-19." Bingo. You throw down your marker, stand from the desk Wysession relegated you to, and all but march into his office with Steve and Javi close behind you. 

"How's that plotting coming along, honey?" Lou asks as he looks up from his paperwork, his face falling at the sight of the two men behind you. Lou might not like you, but he dislikes Javi and Steve more. 

"Agents Peña and Murphy have intel that Pablo is communicating with M-19 guerillas," you say. "That means there could be a joint attack coming, which means we can't keep separating the communist and narcos task forces." 

"Has this information gone through Noonan?" He asks.

"No, sir. We wanted to relay the information to our Agent here first since the intel involves her kidnapping." Steve speaks up, using your actual title, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking. 

"Is your intel good?" Lou asks Steve, ignoring you and Javi, and Steve gives him a look. 

"You think we'd be wastin' your time if it wasn't?" 

"Well, then, you better get a move on and go tell her." He says like he doesn't actually like the idea, but he can't think of anything else to say. You, Javi, and Steve quickly leave his office and start the trek to Noonan's office when Steve gets a call on his sat phone. He looks like he's about to ignore it before remembering it could be Connie, and even though she's supposed to be at work, he doesn't take any chances and answers it. You're close enough to him to hear her frantic chattering on the phone and saying something about M-19 and Escobar. The walk to Noonan's office turns into a run, but it doesn't matter. By the time you get there, thousands upon thousands of pages of evidence against Pablo Escobar are burning on the TV as M-19 takes over the Palace of Justice. 

This isn't just a singular agency fight anymore. You doubt it ever was. You know that the Palace of Justice Siege will change everything for better or worse, and you have to be ready for it. Promises made over glasses of scotch be damned.

TAGLIST:@abbyhaslongshorts@kiwiharrykiwi@sumsworldz@myloveistoolittle@anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @space-zaddy-din-djarin @rainy-darling (let me know if you don't wanna be tagged for this series!)

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #javi p x reader #javi peña #javi pena #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña fluff #javier peña angst #narcos au #narcos netflix #javier peña au #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters

[chronic-ghost]

Javi is tickled pink that you want to read this fic.

However, It's moved! Find part one and part 2 over on my pedro boy fan/fanfic account, @chronically-ghosted

thank you!

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena fic #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Secure

Summary; Javier Peña x Fe!Reader -> You meet Peña at a coffee shop but after time passes, he finds out your secret.

Disclaimer: fluff, angst, mentions of guns, mentions of death, illusions to smut, swearing (I think, I haven't proof read this - probably spelling mistakes), spanish is in italics.

You had met Javi one late night in the coffee shop. You were getting the place cleaned up for the morning. Isabella, a regular customer, was sat in the corner with her nose burried deep in her research. The old man who’d you come to know as Pops - a name he told everyone to call him by - was finishing his book closer to the counter. It had been a promise he made to his wife. To read a little, at least, while she was gone. That way they’d have something else to talk about when they met again. Jośe, the young boy who’d run through the door every couple of hours in need of a coffee for his mama and a small cookie for himself, had just left, rushing out of the door going ten miles an hour. 

“Good book, pops?” You asked and he looked up and smiled. 

“Excellent.”

“Good.” You smiled. 

Just as you placed the empty cups from different tables by the counter, the bell above the door rang out. “You open?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Yeah. For a couple minutes.”

“Great.”

He rushed over, you moving the dirty cups from the counter. 

“What can I get for you?” You asked in English. 

“Coffee. Decaf.”

“Coming up.”

Then it hit him. “How’d you know I was American?”

“What?” You looked to him as you changed the filter. “Oh, uh, just a guess.”

He nodded and looked around, suddenly being met with Pops. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sweet.”

You smiled and waved to Pops. “Have a good night.”

“Night.”

“Nice Spanish.”

You smiled. “Thanks. I’ve lived here long enough, I should know.”

“I’m Javier, by the way.”

You smiled back and gave him your name which he repeated. It sounded nice. 

“So, how long have you lived in Columbia?”

“A couple years. Yourself?”

“Same.” 

The conversation ended soon enough when his coffee was paid for - he had something important to get back to. 

But the next night, you were closing up again and he came in. In fact, for the following weeks, he came in around the same time every night; just before closing. 

He started conversations with Pops who would tell Javier the meaning behind all his books. He actually started taking a couple of night classes at the local college. His wife always told him he needed to socialise more. 

She was a people person. 

And Javier would sit there and listen. Pops, clearly, was a man who demanded respect with a single look. Something, over the weeks, you realised Peña had, too. 

During the week, you had heard rumours about Javier. About his job. 

But it was never something you asked him about. You knew more than to ask an American in Columbia if he was working for the government. 

But still, he’d come in every day and order a cup of coffee and smoke his cigarette. You’d both talk and eventually, it got to the point where he’d walk you home. 

It wasn’t far; maybe a couple of blocks. 

You’d tell him why you came to Columbia - your sister. She travelled after college and invited you to join her. But something made you stay. 

He ask where you learnt Spanish. You’d tell him school, mostly, but the practice came in while you worked in the coffee shop. 

Some days, he’d come in during the day and just talk to you. He’d order a coffee here and there but it mostly remained untouched which wasn’t like him. 

Steve had asked questions at work about who Javi was going seeing every day - at first he expected it was to see one of his ‘informants’ but after he began to smell less perfume and more coffee around Peña, it raises his suspicions. 

Peña would give a vague answer but when Steve told Connie, she knew instantly. 

It wasn’t that a woman’s intuition was lost of Peña, it was just something about Connie that scared him. She seemed to know what he was thinking about whenever she looked at him. 

Little did he know, she’d seen him a couple times walk into the same coffee shop and leave with a smile on his face. One Connie nor Steve ever saw on the man’s face. 

But surpringly, it took him a while to ask you on a date. 

Javier wasn’t one for dating. After all, his job didn’t exactly allow it - especially in Columbia - but Connie (and Pops) thought he would have at least done it sooner. After all, the man came in every day for weeks just to simply spend time with you. He’d walk you home and always made sure you were safe. And god help any man that approached the counter and started flirting with you. 

It was like Javier had a radar for those who were flirting with you because each time, not two seconds later, Javier would stroll into the shop and make his way to the counter. Most times, it was like you had a radar for him, too. His coffee would be ready for him to pick up and if the guy wasn’t scared away by the look Peña gave them, he’d order a couple more cups for Steve and Connie (she’d usually come by in the afternoons to check in on him when she had the day off). He’d stay until the guy left and most people who looked away from their books noticed. 

And maybe, in truth, you had noticed a little, too. Most guys tended to scarper when Javi walked in. A few of them would even apologise to him and you for thinking differently. 

Eventually, when he asked you on a date, you said yes. 

He was so nervous. Imagine; Javier Peña, nervous around a woman. Even the heavens wouldn’t believe it. 

But he was. 

He’d asked after he dropped you off at your apartment. His palms were sweating, his mind was racing, and you were right in front of him. 

But the moment you smiled, his nerves eased. 

You smiled at him, nodded and said; “I’d love to.”

He smiled back, a little more confident, and before you opened your door, you kissed his cheek. 

“Goodnight, Javi.”

“Night, hermosa.”

As you closed your door, leaning against it, you smiled but you knew. 

You were in deep trouble. 

It didn’t take too long before you were both…intimate with one another. Four dates, in fact. It was longer than either of you had presumed but it kinda made sense. Mostly, the dates went as follows: 

You’d both ask questions which the other would answer, just simply wanting to know more. Then, you’d take turns picking the restaurant or bar. Next, you’d both head back to the coffee shop - the temp waitress had a family to get back to in the late nights - where you’d wrap your apron around your waist and serve the last couple cups of coffee to the night owls. Finally, Javi would either walk or drive you home (usually walk since he could hold your hand or wrap an arm around your waist) and finally would kiss you goodnight. 

It felt different. 

You’d gone on dates before but…they didn’t feel like this. Like…it was the first time but it was also the millionth. 

It felt…natural.

Homely.

A couple more weeks passed and you’d see Javier at least once a day. He always pop into the cafe to either kiss you good morning (when you hadn’t spent the night together - which was a rareity) or to kiss you goodnight which, you weren’t ashamed to admit would always turn into something more. 

One morning, as Javi lay back in bed, the cover draped over his lower half, he watched as you got dressed by the end of the bed. 

But that was when he noticed them. 

How he hadn’t before shocked him. It was like he studied every inch of you - and not only in the night but that morning too - and yet, how did they slip by him. 

“Hermosa?”

You smiled at the nickname before turning to look at him over you shoulder. You just wished you both had the day off. 

“The marks…”

It took you a moment to realise what he was talking about. But then it hit you. 

A memory you wished to forget. 

“They’re just from…” you contemplated telling him. 

He’d understand, right? He never confirmed it fully but you knew he worked as DEA. He’d understand carry a couple extra physical scars from a job, right? 

“They’re nothing, Javi.” 

You heard him shuffle around before you finally felt his hand on your back, tracing them before placing a soft kiss onto a couple, brushing your hair from your shoulders. 

You felt yourself melt into him, his other hand now reaching around your stomach to capture the other side of your waist. 

Slowly, you both lay back but then you remembered. 

You had a job. 

Unfortunately.

Javi groaned. He had one, too. 

You pressed a few kisses to his lips before he moved from on top of you and headed for the bathroom, him leaving you resting on your forearms with a huge blush across your cheeks. 

God, you were falling. 

Hard. 

It would be a while longer until Javier would find out the truth behind those scars; Find out the story that came with them and you. 

And it wasn’t in any way either of you thought it would happen. 

4 months later…

The sun was still burning hot over Columbia. Thankfully, however, the humidity was becoming less close and claustrophobic. 

Yourself and Javi had been going pretty strong. You had met Steve and Connie - albeit a little surprisingly. 

One of your waitresses had cut their hand whilst cutting up some of the breads for lunch later that day. Connie had been passing on the street with Olivia when one of the customers ran out asking for a nurse or doctor. 

Connie came rushing inside. 

After asking for your first aid kit and a space away from the customers, she handed you Olivia who you stood with in the kitchen as Connie cleaned out the wound and did what was necessary. 

“You’re lucky. It doesn’t need stitches. Just keep it wrapped and clean.” 

Your waitress, Elena, looked to you confused. You translated in Spanish and she nodded before thanking Connie. 

You gave Elena the rest of the day and offered Connie a cup of coffee and some food on the house. She thanked you before sitting down at one of the tables and placing Olivia on her lap. 

Yet, by the time you finished up, Javi had come strolling in and was a little shocked to find Connie sat inside. 

And, as suspected, Connie was shocked to find Javi there, too. But then it began to make sense. 

The smell off the coffee shop - it was Javi. 

It was you. 

Later that night, after Connie had insisted, you sat down and had a double date with Connie and Steve at a local place. 

Steve was glad Peña had finally found someone. As much as he himself had enjoyed the single life, there was just something about being married. About having someone to go to when things got too tough. 

And, this was something, if Steve ever said it out loud, Jacier would have to agree with. 

Sometimes it was like you were the only thing keeping him breathing. Keeping his mind awake when all it wanted to do was drown in the crime and the cases he delt with on a daily basis. 

The last six months, from the moment of meeting, it had felt like bliss. 

But sometimes it felt like Javi was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, although you never voiced it, you did, too. 

And finally, late one night in the coffee shop, it did. 

Javi had worked later than he’d wished to have done. His paperwork had kept him back, making seven typing errors in one sentence. 

Most of the time, he wouldn’t bother. But with Messina…everything had to be up to code. 

And legible. 

But as he walked up the street, he found flashing lights outside your coffee shop, a waitress sat by the ambulance getting patched up and no sign of you. 

His heart dropped. 

“Peña?” 

One of the cops recognised him. “I wasn’t aware we’d called the DEA.”

“You…what happened?”

“Oh, uh, robbery. Or, attempted. Two shooters. One deceased.”

“And the other?”

“Hospital.”

“How?”

“The owner faught. One of them came from the back and sneaked up on her. She said she was fine and needs to go home. We’re gonna bring her in for questioning tomorrow.”

Peña nodded, trying his best to keep a clear mind. So you was okay? Why hadn’t you called him? 

As quickly as he could, he ran to his car and sped down the roads towards your apartment. But the closer he seemed to get, the more he began to panic. 

You had faught? 

It wasn’t that he was surprised but…no, he was surprised. Most people when met with two armed gun men didn’t exactly fight against them. Especially when the only other person in the shop had been knocked clean out and now had a severe concussion. 

But you had faught. You had, what? Killed one gun man and injured the other? 

This seemed more than just a robbery, to Peña. He didn’t exactly know why. Maybe it was the fact that the toll hadn’t even been touched. Maybe it was the fact that they’d knocked out one of the waitresses. Maybe it was the gun they had been using - Peña saw them as they got taken in for evidence. 

This couldn’t have just been a robbery. 

Peña didn’t bother knocking. He knew where you kept the spear key and he knew the code. 

He shouted your name as he entered, shutting the door behind him. “Honey?!” 

Javier had to double back as he passed the enterence to you living room. There you were, sat on the sofa, blood splattered across your body, hair, arms and clothes. You had a first aid kit open in front of you. Javier could see the bloody gauzes in a pile in the table. 

“I’m fine-“

He rushed in, pulling you up and hugging you. God, he thought you might have been dead. That the cop had got it wrong and he’d decided to just hear what he wanted to. 

But he didn’t.

You were here. 

You were alive. 

Are.

“Cariño,” Javi’s voice was soft as he took you in. Any anger he had right now could be saved for later. All that mattered was that you was alive. 

You pulled back from him to sit back down. You needed to clean the wound. 

One of the gun men had got you. Thankfully it wasn’t too bad and since it was night, you got away with telling the cop the stain on your uniform was from the kitchens. 

Peña pushed the first aid beside him as he sat on your coffee table, you knees interlocked with his. 

“It doesn’t hurt?” He asked you after a couple of minutes. He was shocked. Most men he’d met would be at least grunting in pain by now. 

You shook your head.

Something changed in Javi. His back became straighter, his gaze more focused. 

“Those scars. How did you get them?”

“Javi.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“They’re nothing-“

“Bullshit.”

You stared him down. He wouldn’t budge. 

“How did you fight? Those men. One is dead and the other will probably do so in hospital. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

You bursted. You tried your best to look away as Javi questioned you but when he said your name…

“I was a cop, alright!” You hadn’t meant for it to sound so loud. 

Javi just looked at you. You hadn’t told him? Was this how you got the scars?

You sighed as you looked down. Well, it was out in the open now. 

“I was a cop, back in the states. FBI.” You explained, your voice a little quieter now. “I had a partner, a couple years back. We had been working on a case for months. Turns out, all the information, all the insider stuff he’d found - it had come from him. He wanted into their circle. The people I had seen die, everyone’s families and children and friends had all died because he was the mole. He would tell the group where to find the families, he’d tell us he knew where the groups would be that night. Then he’d go back and inform them that we were on our way. It as fucked up.”

Javi waited for you to continue. 

“Look, I felt something was wrong so I tailed him one night. I put a call in and somehow…he found me one night. He caught be by the shipyard. When my agents finally turned up, I was almost dead. When I woke up in hospital, a guy came in. CIA. I had a bag packed, my life covered up and a plane ticket to wherever I wanted to go.”

“So you came to Columbia?”

“My sister stopped over for three days and I stayed. I don’t know what made me but I did. An agent found me a job at a local place since I wasn’t ready to go into the field or anywhere near it. The job stuck and then I decided to buy the place.”

“And the guys?”

“Local gang, I guess. They look into everyone’s background and they must have thought something was up with mine.”

“Did they say anything?”

“Just that I was American and that I had a dirty secret.”

“They know you were a fed?”

You shook your head. “Probably thought I was an informant or some shit.”

Javier nodded. You could see the worry in his eyes. 

“I’m fine, Javi.”

“You could have told me, you know.”

You looked at him. Maybe. Maybe you could have told him earlier. Maybe you should have told him earlier. But what would that have done? Make him worry more? Make him panic when you were left alone?

You’d been in Columbia a good few years before you met Javi. You were one of the best agents the FBI had in the field and - if you ever wanted it - there was a job waiting for you at the FBI in the states, the CIA or, probably now, the DEA. 

You were protected. By your career, by your knowledge, by your skills and by the fact that you entire past had been burried so deep, not even the Pentagon had access to it. 

Your gaze was both soft and serious. 

“I’m telling you now.”

Over the next hour, Javi went to your bathroom and grabbed a fresh face cloth before getting a bowl of warm water. Sitting back in his place on the table, he held your chin softly, Turing your face so he could wipe away the splats of dried blood. 

Once he finished, he placed the cloth down and turned back when he felt your hand grip his. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Javi just nodded, interlocking his knees with yours once more. “I get it. I do. I just wish…”

“I know.”

You both shared a look with one another. It didn’t need to be said out loud. 

Peña leaned in, and pressed a secure kiss to your lips. 

You would be okay. 

You are alive. 

And, over time, more stories would be revealed. What happened on certain jobs, what scars came from where, what they signified…

But in this moment; it didn’t matter. 

All of that could wait until tomorrow. 

For tonight, he wanted to show you what you meant to him. He’d say the words soon enough, but right now, he just needed to show you. 

And you were okay with that. 

After all, you felt the exact same way. 

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[pedrostylez]

How The Crow Flies Masterlist

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

An old saying; the most direct route of travel. 

Working your way up from the bottom while in Florida seemed like a walk in the park compared to moving to Columbia to help the US catch the Cali Cartel. Your boss, Javier Peña, sets you on a mission he’s trying to keep under the radar to catch Gabriel Lorea to see who on his team is screwing him over, and maybe to get a little cash on the side for his troubles. 

While you’re trying to infiltrate Lorea’s home in the jungle, fronting as a working girl for his security guards to gain more information, Frankie Morales hides in the trees with the rest of his group, desperate for the money hiding in the walls. He thinks he can use you to his advantage.

Overall Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. Frankie has no daughter or girlfriend/wife, mean!Frankie, mean!Javier, violence, dubcon, smut, anger, fighting, PTSD, and other mature themes.

Please support by commenting, sending me thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you!

Smut is indicated with *

This story is complete-thank you for reading <3

Part 1*

Part 2*

Part 3*

Part 4*

Part 5*

Part 6*

Part 7*

Part 8*

Part 9* NEW 3/15

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[chronically-ghosted]

you call and I come running

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a drunken confession leaves you and Javi on unsure ground. When an on the run narco douses you in an unknown, off-market drug, Javier has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

warnings: sex pollen, dub con due to sex pollen, minimal plot scaffolding to hold up a gratuitous amount of porn, minimally edited, feral!javi is best javi, the barest hint of breeding kink, not really butt stuff more like butt touching, light angst, no use of y/n, spanking

a/n: comes from @perotovar 's ask for my 100 follower milestone event: hi there! congrats on your milestone!! i saw your prompt list and saw "I’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit." and "A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips." and thought it would be a really good combination for either javi p or max p? which ever one you feel fits better! 😊 (as for smut, only include it if you think it works!)

🤍Masterlist 🤍AO3 Link 

Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty. 

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension. 

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees. 

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said – 

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen. 

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him. 

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part. 

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all. 

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine. 

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?” 

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin. 

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.” 

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed. 

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.” 

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?” 

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has. 

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.” 

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.” 

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat. 

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod. 

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places. 

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway. 

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him –  running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night. 

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense. 

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips. 

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win. 

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest. 

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet. 

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest. 

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates. 

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper. 

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you. 

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough. 

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.” 

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this. 

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass. 

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command. 

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you. 

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall. 

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing. 

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need. 

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks. 

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him. 

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?” 

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh. 

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.” 

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs. 

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!” 

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles. 

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life. 

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.” 

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor. 

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more. 

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.” 

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing. 

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all. 

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in. 

If you just –

“Come for me.” 

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot. 

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck. 

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again. 

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down. 

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely. 

But that is something he is not capable of right now. 

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse. 

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them. 

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days. 

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open. 

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off. 

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over. 

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest. 

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.” 

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.” 

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission. 

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands. 

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again. 

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you. 

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to. 

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you. 

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.” 

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end. 

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him. 

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips. 

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick. 

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you. 

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,” 

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.” 

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips. 

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb. 

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls. 

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning. 

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs. 

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth. 

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth. 

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?” 

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.” 

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.” 

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s. 

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted. 

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open. 

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week. 

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you. 

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release. 

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.” 

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking. 

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted. 

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his. 

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken. 

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels. 

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake. 

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away. 

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek. 

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change. 

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs. 

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles. 

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock. 

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.” 

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you. 

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession. 

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?” 

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck. 

“Not at all.” 

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while. 

Noonan is annoyed. 

Murphy is not. 

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.” 

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.” 

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

“Not at all.” 

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix #this is my first time writing sex pollen did i do okay?

[bits-and-babs]

✰ 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↳ summary: a bad day at work drives you to drink. When a stranger offers to be your drinking partner for the night, you realise that he’s the solution to your problems.

↳ pairing: javier peña x f!reader

↳ [6.7k words] content: 18+ MDNI. Alcohol, diabolical attempts at flirting. Fingering, oral ( m & f receiving ), p in v sex, twist at the end! This is a @beskarbabs remaster — original post date 2021.

javi masterlist I| main masterlist |I join the taglist here

Cigarette smoke and aged whiskey assault your nostrils, the acrid scents singeing the inside of your nose the moment you walk through the doorway and step into the bar. Your aching muscles buzz at the microdose of nicotine, driving you forward despite the exhaustion that desperately tries to pull your throbbing body back to your apartment and the comfort of your bed.

Peering inside, you find the older patrons at the counter smoking cigars while engaged in small talk that you can’t discern from this far away. The smouldering ends pinched between their fingers add to the already significant, smoky haze that blurs the ceiling above your head. Neon lights douse the foggy air with a crimson overlay, and classic Spanish guitar music plays quietly from the radio in the corner of the room. Public houses in the middle of Medellín were busy most nights, but this was a Monday evening, and most of the sticky tabletops were vacant. Desperate to unwind after the taxing work, you resign yourself to the smell of tobacco.

As you reach the bar, you pull your coin purse from your pocket and pinch the zipper between your thumb and forefinger. You can’t help glancing at it as though it may explode in your face. You’re almost out of money; the account is running on empty. Considering you are yet to make a significant breakthrough for your boss and the mission he levied on you, you couldn’t exactly act shocked. You only get money when you provide what he requests. Sure, it probably broke every trading law in the book, but that was the ‘contract’ you’d signed.

You settle onto a stool separate from the rest of the customers and mumble your request to the bartender for a shot of tequila. Sliding over the exact amount of pesos needed to cover the drink over the tacky countertop covered in alcoholic liquid and cigarette burns, you let out a shaky sigh. You couldn't be giving away any tips with how little money you had. In reality, you shouldn't have even walked through the door, but you were desperate to unwind, even just for a little while. It wasn’t ideal, but you could always turn off the television for a week to prevent the electricity bill from racking up more than you could afford – those telenovelas were shit anyway.

Tapping at the surface of the serving area with your nails, you wait impatiently on the drink. You can’t even recall the last time events at work drove you to drink; you usually excelled at meeting your boss's demands. Business had been turbulent recently, the constant violence that plagued the streets of Medellín causing significant strain in your line of work. You rub at your temples with the pads of your thumbs in exasperation as you feel the irritation begin to mount again, nipping uncomfortably at the edges of your mind in the form of a headache.

"You look like shit," the barman points out honestly, and the laugh you return is bitter. If anyone else had ‘blessed’ you with such a compliment, you’d be throwing the tequila into their eyes– but it was too fucking expensive to pass up, and you knew Jose well. He speaks the truth, ugly as it is. You'd been coming to this bar since you moved to Medellín, and you’d never entered the doors as anguished as you are now. He passes over the shot of tequila, and you thank him tacitly with a nod.

"I do," you admit with a sigh of indignation, continuing to tap your nail on the cool, smooth side of the shot glass.

"Lover? Family? Work?" Jose probes, watching you as he polishes a pint glass with a microfibre cloth. You shrug awkwardly, considering just how much you could safely indulge him.

"Work, but it's not that important," you dismiss with a wave of your hand, and he thankfully takes the hint, nodding and walking to serve the older men at the end of the bar attempting to wave him over.

You pick up your shot glass and knock it back with a wince, mildly enjoying the burn in the back of your throat. It adds to the warmth on your skin, the humid summer air having already dampened your brow with sweat. Leaning into the comfort of it, you take a moment to appreciate the taste and the immediate ease of the work pressure that had been silently crushing you.

Tracing the rim of the empty shot glass with your fingertip as you wait for Jose to finish serving the elderly gentlemen, you consider ordering a refill. You don’t plan on getting drunk, but you hope to relax a little. Recently, you’d spent so many evenings staring up at the ceiling while silently bargaining with the plasterboard to let you sleep. The dark circles taking root under your eyes are mildly concerning. Eventually, you decide on just enough to drink to get you tipsy enough to fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow in your apartment.

"Need another, Hermosa?" A gravelly voice speaks up over your shoulder. Twisting in the stool, you take a glimpse back at the person who spoke—a handsome man dressed in a red button-down shirt and tight-fitted denim jeans that look as though they went out of fashion a decade ago and yet look delicious strapped across his thighs. He has yellow-tinted aviators tucked into the collar of his button-down, which you observe is unbuttoned far enough that it exposes more of his bronze-tanned skin and flashes his collarbone.

"I do, actually," you hum with a smile, taking him in. He’s easy on the eyes, and you aren't exactly about to turn down a free drink, so you decided to play along with his game. You playfully gaze into those wandering eyes through your lashes, and his sultry lips pull up into a smirk.

The handsome stranger clicks his fingers with self-assured arrogance, grabbing the attention of the barman, Jose, almost instantly. His American accent, laced with a southern twang, slips seamlessly into Spanish, ordering you another tequila shot and himself a glass of whiskey as he settles down on the stool beside you. All the while, his eyes remain rooted to you, taking in the curves and plains of your body. The hubris this man gives off is excessive, and yet it suits him well. It is clear to you he knew how attractive he was, and how to use it to his advantage.

"That's very kind of you, sir," you thank him politely, turning in your stool to face him. He arches his eyebrow a little at that, lips tugging his smile wider. The honorifics seemed to please him.

"Well, I couldn't help but notice you were all alone," he drags his eyes over the length of your body, clearly enjoying drinking in the view, "So I thought I'd join you. You were staring into oblivion looking as though you were waiting for Prince Charming to save you from a miserable day."

"Oh, are you saying you are my Prince Charming?" You quiz with an arched eyebrow, keeping up with his teasing. You rest your chin on the balls of your palm and balance your elbow on the countertop. A sparkle dances in the warmth of his irises, amused by your ability to match his flirtatious taunts.

"Why don't you wait and see?" He keeps his eyes on yours, and his voice drops to a thrilling, gruff tone that sparks excitement down your spine. He’s bold and brazen, and you find yourself already warming to this stranger’s charms. He turns back to the counter, breaking the spell momentarily as Jose approaches with your drinks.

While he speaks to the bartender and thanks him for his service, you mindlessly drop your gaze to his hand and spot something that piques your interest. When he pulls out his leather-bound wallet to pay, you note his identification cards, driver's licence, bank card and recognise the flash of a silver badge too. Etched into the shape of a shield, the badge very clearly states in bold, midnight blue writing that the dashing stranger beside you belonged to the DEA—a Drug Enforcement Officer. You sit back slightly on your stool, observing the man as he hands over a few pesos notes and pushes your drink over the counter to you.

"Cheers, Hermosa," he nods to you, taking up his whiskey and holding it aloft for you to tap your glass against. You waste no time picking up the shot and clinking glasses before knocking back your drink with a grimace. It burns your tongue and heats your stomach lining. He sips at his, swirling the amber liquid around the crystal glass slowly as he takes in the view of your body again.

You purse your lips, glancing around the room for a second to act indifferent, despite the fact you are now very much interested in this stranger. "So, what is the name of my Prince Charming?" You urge him to talk about himself. He smirks at your questioning, undeniably assuming this meant he’d hooked you in this ‘pick-up game’.

"Javier," he answers, sipping his whiskey again as you repeat it back to him with a hum. You trace the rim of your shot glass with your fingertip absentmindedly. The man before you had captured your attention enough for you to escape boredom for just a little while at least. It could get interesting from here on.

"Prince Javier works for the DEA too?" You ask with a knowing smirk. He pauses, glancing at the wallet in his palm. “I didn’t realise they hired royalty.”

"You're observant," Javier says cautiously, his voice suddenly guarded as he places his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. You shrug, keeping the light and flirty atmosphere between you as Javier rests his forearm on the countertop, still holding his glass of whiskey.

"I have to be. Can't be too careful when a random man is buying me a drink," you point out, indicating you felt safe around him now you knew his occupation.

"But I'm not just a random man, Hermosa. I'm Prince Charming," He winks at you, but also finds himself grimacing at the clunky attempt at flirtatious raillery. It triggers a giggle through you, shaking your head as you twist the shot glass over the countertop with a grin.

"So you keep saying. Why don't you prove it by sticking around and having a few more drinks with me?" You ask in a coy tone while slowly inching forward and tracing shapes on the back of his palm with the tip of your index finger, the pad wet with remnants of your tequila shot that coated the rim of the glass. His eyes flit between your touch to the curve of your lips as a cheeky smile stretches across his mouth.

"Only if you let me buy you another drink," he raises his eyebrows.

"I like the sound of that, Javier."

-----------

The hours fly by, and the hands on the clock on the wall complete two rotations by the time you notice. Javier had moved his stool closer to yours and ramped up the flirting the more he drank. You’d both bounced off each other, conversations about family and interests flowing smoother than the alcohol between you. It’s way past one o'clock in the morning, yet neither of you seemed to tire, invigorated by each other's presence.

You had told him about your funniest stories, and he, in turn, spun you a tale from when he was back in Texas as a teenager, leaving his high school sweetheart at the altar to fight the narcotics epidemic in Columbia— You hang onto his every word, clasping his palm in your own.

At this stage, the two of you had been through quite a few glasses of tequila and whiskey, and while Javier is clearly feeling the effects of his drinks, you maintain a constant tipsiness. You had been pacing yourself, not wanting to look a fool in front of such a handsome man.

Despite his intoxication, Javier was still charming and had been showering you with so many compliments that you had lost count. During the shared drinks and life stories, the two of you had settled on the nickname Princesa despite you giving him your name, given he insisted upon making himself out to be ‘Prince Charming’. It was cringe, but the two of you found the funny side in your drunken states.

"Mhm, Javi- I like your dress shirt," you muse, reaching over to smooth the collar. Your fingertips trace the tanned skin just beyond the fabric, noting the heat that rolls from him.

"You do?" He watches you closely, taking a drag from a cigarette he had lit a few minutes ago. He claimed it was because he was craving the nicotine, but you hadn’t failed to notice how his jeans looked a whole lot tighter.

It was subtle at first. You hadn't been able to stop yourself, moving your hand to his bicep as you laughed, with Javier returning your touches by stroking his hand up and down your thigh while you converse. It had been give and take, teasing touches and lingering gazes adding to the sexually charged atmosphere between you. The circles he thumbed across your knee had settled butterflies in the pit of your stomach, the hungry eye he’d aimed at you heating your cheeks.

"I do. It suits you," you trace your hand down the front of his shirt and across his sternum as you look up at Javier through your lashes. His pupils blow wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises and watching you hungrily as you circle the buttons of his shirt with your fingertips. You knew that you were driving him crazy; he’d been giving you this look for hours— like he'd been ready to throw you over his shoulder and carry you out of there around an hour ago.

His hand drags up your thigh slowly, settling on the hip of your skirt as he pulls you to the edge of your stool. It tears a gasp of surprise when your noses bump. He makes no effort to remove himself from your personal space, and you can smell the whisky on his breath. It’s strong, the heavy, woody scent swimming in your mind as you sink your teeth into your lower lip.

He groans softly.

"Princesa, this bar is closing soon. Would you like to come back to my apartment?" He says it so casually, as though he isn't implying anything at all. Like he was just asking you back for another drink, his body, however, betrays the unceremonious offer. His eyes are hungry, and his hand squeezes at your hip, underlining the question and almost leaving you light-headed.

"I'd like that," you whisper, gazing back into his brown eyes, your own heavy-lidded with want. He smirks and gets so close, *so close* that you swear he’s going to kiss you until he’s patting at your hip before standing. He thanks the bartender, leaving you light-headed and giving a small wave before Javi practically drags you to the door. The red lighting in the bar bleeds into the street, the dark of the outside punctuated by the yellowish glow of the sparse street lamps.

"I assume you don't live very far away?" You ask quietly as he walks alongside you. He shakes his head and gives a small smile.

"No. I only live around the corner, actually."

Well, that was convenient.

You both walk in relative silence after that, taking in the quiet street and the sounds of the city in the background. Loud drunkards stumble out of the closing bars as the owners begin to throw them out, and there’s the distant sound of cars driving on the main roads.

Distracted by the ‘music’ of Medellin, you felt the back of Javier’s hands brush your knuckles gently, skimming the skin in a feather-light touch. It’s such an innocent connection, and yet the touch sparks heat in between your legs and lights up your spine. You don’t even need to look up at him to see if he feels the same way; the excitement crackles thickly in the slither of distance between your bodies.

You both walk into the apartment's hallway, walking to one of the doors on the first floor, directly opposite the entry door. Room number 3. It's a pleasant apartment complex, unremarkable, clean and quiet, with stairs leading to other floors.

Finally, Javier pulls his keys out of his jeans pocket, and he looks at you. Those fucking eyes drag over your body again, unashamed in how they drink you in and savour the view. You watch, anxious with anticipation and chewing on your lip, as he slips the key into the lock. The click echoes in the small hallway.

The nerves begin to kick in a little now, and you start shifting your weight from one foot onto the other as you wait impatiently. Javi looks at you with such an intense hunger that you feel the warmth pooling deep down in your abdomen. It feels as though he’s sparking your nerves set alight, blooming across your skin that was begging for his touch. You’re sure you’re sweating, a soft sheen clinging the fabric of your clothes to your body.

He takes his time as he steps towards you, and you try to steady your breath as he closes the space between the two of you with ease. Tingles of excitement tickle your skin as he takes you by the hip, his large palm swallowing your side and anchoring you against his chest gently. He backs you against the door, which he hasn't yet opened.

The hand on the curve of your pelvis is dangerously slow as it skims your body, trailing his fingertips from your hip across your waist and tracing the edge of your breast until it settles, cupping the side of your neck gently. Javier’s thumb brushes your throat delicately as he stares fixedly into your eyes.

"Javi," you whimper, breathing shallowly as you watch him touch you delicately.

"You're such a tease, Princesa. Kept touching me, kept giving me these looks like you wanted me to bend you over the counter right there in that bar," his voice is gruff, and you feel yourself throb at his filthy words. You’re beginning to think you wouldn't have complained if he had; grasping the edge of the countertop, wailing as he took you from behind in front of the patrons and claimed you for himsel-

Javier uses his gentle grip on your throat to pull you impossibly closer, so your nose brushes with his. Once again, you can smell the whiskey on his breath, but also the scent of what you assumed was his aftershave. It was citrusy and mixed with the smell of the cigarettes he had been smoking in the bar. You wanted so desperately to kiss at his neck and take in that scent deeper, drag the tip of your nose against his jugular and sink your teeth in.

"Is this okay?" He asks under his breath, wanting to be sure this is what you wanted. Before your mind even has the time to process the query through the haze of citrus fruit and cigarette smoke, you’re nodding your head with a soft whimper. Tilting your head up to chase his mouth, you gaze into his eyes in a desperate, silent plea. He takes in your expression for just a moment, relishing the evident arousal he draws from you and then smirks, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours in a soft brush of a kiss.

Javier controls the kiss, still clasping your throat gently as he keeps the kiss soft. His moustache brushes your skin slightly, and yet you don't mind it; you're too lost in his touch to care. His tongue slips into your mouth, tracing over your own and taking in your taste as he leans you back while fumbling for the door knob to open the door into the hallway. You're both stumbling in the darkness, with Javi blindly feeling against the wall to turn on the lights. You pull him closer by the collar of his red button-down, his aviator glasses clattering to the floor and skidding beneath some of the furniture. He groans, tugging on your lower lip with his teeth and guiding you towards the bedroom.

The kiss is rough now, all teeth and tongue as you move your fingers on one hand into his hair, the other gripping the open collar of his shirt. He nudges the door open with his shoulder with practised ease, not once breaking away from the kiss in the process. He edges you towards the bed, carefully helping you lay down when the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Javi climbs over you with a soft groan of praise at the sight of you beneath him, the sound making your body almost vibrate with need.

"You're such a minx. Could barely keep it together this long," he growls in your ear, spreading your thighs with his palms and slotting his hips between them. His lips trace against your neck, kissing gently over your throat.

"Fuck, Javi, "you breathe out, a crack of white-hot pleasure running down your spine as he wastes no time in sucking marks onto your neck that you are sure will be a violent purple tomorrow. Already your body craves him, arching against the mattress to chase more of his touch, to pull him impossibly closer.

Javier’s hand shifts further, slipping beneath your skirt and brushing his thumb across your soaked lace underwear. The pad presses against your swollen clit, and he chuckles as your body jolts in shock at the sudden stimulation. Javi anchors his free hand to your pelvis to push your hips down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"You're so wet, Hermosa. Your panties are soaked," he whispers as your hips grind into his palm, desperate for more friction. The burning need in your abdomen has you babbling, begging to be filled. You’re not even sure that you’re making any sense any more; the only words spilling from your lips are a pathetic mixture of ‘Javi’ and ‘please’ and curses all strung together.

"Do you want to get off on my fingers? Is that what you want?" He rasps, rubbing tight little circles through the fabric that makes you choke out a needy, sinful little whine. It’s like you can’t suck in enough air to your lungs, toes curling at the build-up of pleasure in your core. Fuck yes, that's what you wanted, but you found yourself utterly inept at trying to form words while he teased your clit like this, slowly and teasingly circling it with the pad of his calloused fingers. He's dragging out wails of bliss from your shuddering chest with each brush of the bundle of nerves.

"Please, Javi, plea-" you're cut off, eyes rolling back into your skull as your panties are pushed to the side, and his finger slowly slides into you. You feel every individual ridge of each knuckle as it stretches you, adding a bite of dull pain to the tingling pleasure burning through your cunt. Javier watches your expression as your mouth falls open, brows knitting together. Your hands reach up, gripping at his red button-down as he begins to move his fingers in and out of you slowly.

It's like your brain short-circuits. He seems to know every part of your body that makes you feel good, not once missing those pleasure points that make your toes curl with each gentle thrust of his fingers. Your hips are again rising off the bed, legs spreading wider, desperate to take him deeper. Javi waits until you're clenching around his digits before he pulls them out despite your pine of protest. He's teasing you, repeatedly giving you hardly any time to enjoy the full feeling and then pulling his fingers out again, leaving you begging for more.

"Javi!" You beg, breaking off into a sob. You need his touch so badly, the pulsing ache between your legs almost painful. He ignores your pleas, hooking his fingers unto the waistband of your underwear and sliding them down your thighs achingly slowly. He tosses them somewhere on the other side of the room and hikes your skirt up to your hips, too impatient to battle with the zip to rid you of it entirely. Subconsciously, you lean into his kisses, fingers making quick work of his button-down and sliding it slowly off of his shoulders and down his arms to reveal his carved biceps and a white undershirt. He pulls back and yanks this over his head, discarding it in the same general direction he had thrown your lace. Even in the dimly lit bedroom, you can still make out the delicious expanse of tanned skin on his chest and toned stomach. Before you have the chance to taste it, craving to leave kisses across his sternum, his head is trailing down your body. He's mouthing at your thighs, gripping your hips to hold them in place as you sit up on your forearms to watch him.

"Or do you want to get off on my tongue?" He murmurs, the lewd sound that escapes your throat in answer louder than you expect it to be. Javier clutches your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders and causing your breath to hitch in your throat with anticipation.

Then his nose brushes over your clit, followed by the warmth of his tongue dragging a stripe over the length of your cunt and eliciting a soft moan from you. Despite your best efforts to restrain yourself, your fingers found themselves in his dark curls, pulling slightly to ground yourself as the tip of his tongue swiped over your clit. He moans at your taste, causing a familiar, buzzing sensation that has you clenching around nothing. Fuck, he felt heavenly, tongue moving lazily against your clit as he built that electrifying arousal.

"Don't stop," you beg him, gripping tighter at his hair and pushing his face deeper, almost terrified he’ll stop. Javi doesn't miss a beat, instantly fulfilling your wordless desire for more by slipping his fingers back inside of you and sucking on your clit. He's brutal, not giving you a moment's rest as he continues stimulating your throbbing bundle of nerves while moving his fingers in and out of you. It's so good, a coil of bliss working its way at the base of your spine and causing you to lose any form of inhibition. You use his hair to anchor him as you shift your hips, attempting to ride his face for more friction to satiate the growing wave of ecstasy between your thighs.

His teeth graze at your clit, and suddenly your mind is wavering as it goes blank.

"Shit-"you gasp out, feeling your climax build tightly between your legs as you desperately pull at his hair.

"Fuck, please, pl-please-"you gasp out, a sound of elation caught in your throat as his fingertips brush a spot inside of you, which drives your hips from the mattress entirely. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you tip headfirst into your blinding orgasm. You’re enraptured, caught in the most intense sensation of bliss as your ears ring, cumming against Javier's mouth. He continues to tongue your clit, your legs trembling, and your back lifts off the bed as you keen, tears streaming down your face. Javi keeps at it until you're sobbing, grasping at his hair and forcing him back. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, his moustache slick and glistening with your cum.

"You taste so fucking good, Princesa," he purrs, watching you as you float back down from your high and into your spasm-wracked body. He takes your face in his palm and moves back up towards your face, kissing you gently while settling onto the mattress beside you. You can taste yourself, musky and heady, yet it's so good with the hint of woodsy whiskey still lingering on his tongue.

You wind your arms around his neck, pulling Javier closer while he fumbles his belt. You know he must be struggling in those painfully tight jeans, his cock straining against the denim, so you trace your fingertips against the zipper. Pulling it down ever so slowly, you watch as Javi pulls the belt from the loops.

As you slide your hands down into his pants, you feel for the waistline of his boxers to dip your fingers underneath. The further you move down, however, you're shocked to find he's not wearing any at all. You pause, minding the arousal that floods back between your thighs at his brazen choice. When you look at Javi, he's smirking at your expression, the cheeky bastard.

"Are you really not wearing any boxers?" You whisper, staring at him in shock.

"Easier access," he muses, enjoying your surprise. Heat prickles the skin of your cheeks, and you focus on tugging his jeans past his hips. Javier helps you pull them off entirely as you concentrate on the throbbing urgency of his cock. The head of his dick is flushed red, needy after almost three hours of incessant teasing. Tentatively, you take his length into your palm to stroke him, and Javier lets out a soft groan as he lays his head back against the pillows. His breath is shaky, hand gripping at your hips again as you pump his cock slowly.

"Fuck," he breathes out, eyes rolling back into their sockets as you run your tongue over the head of his dick, tasting the salty precum leaking from the tip. You keep your mouth busy, taking him deeper as you use one hand to unzip your bunched-up skirt and wiggle out of it, kicking it off the mattress somewhere onto the floor over the side of the bed. His fingers slowly card through your hair, but do not apply any pressure.

You whimper softly, hollowing your cheeks as you take the rest of him into your hand and begin to jerk him off slowly. Javier tilts his head back further into the soft down of his pillows, hips twitching slightly as he attempts not to thrust down your throat. The moans that creep up your throat send vibrations from base to tip, and Javier releases soft gasps of shock as your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his thick cock.

"Dios mío, Princesa," he growls, lifting your head off of him and flipping you suddenly onto your back. You yelp in surprise, Javier quickly grasping the base of his twitching length to stave off any impending orgasm.

"If you keep doing that, I'll cum," he rasps, lips tracing the shell of your ear as you wrap your arms around his neck. Pulling your thighs around his waist, Javi reaches for one of the drawers on his nightstand. You pat him quickly on the chest, stopping him.

"It's okay," you whisper, and he looks down at you in surprise.

“Princes-“

"I'm on contraception.” You swear that even in the dark, you see his pupils dilate as he stares at you. Avidly, he lines himself up with your folds, holding your face in his palm and smoothing your cheekbone with his thumb. Brushing the head of his cock up against your clit, Javier groans as he watches you jolt slightly, still hyper-sensitive from that mind-shattering orgasm. You slowly trace your fingers down the shaved skin of his chest, eyes pleading with him to fill you.

Javi begins to sink his hips heavily, cock pushing at your entrance and stretching your walls deliciously. You whine, head cocking back into the pillows and exposing your throat for him to kiss while you adjust to the sting between your legs. Javier holds your hips in his hands, rubbing circles into your skin soothingly as you grow accustomed to the intrusion. By the time he's sheathed fully inside you, you're convinced he's split you open, begging for him to start moving.

And then he does, slamming his cock into you and setting a cruel pace. He feels so fucking good, the pleasure so intense and the slam of his hips so heavy that you can feel your walls fluttering around his cock already. He's stoking the fire twisting between your thighs and making you feel so full that your eyes are out of focus, tears welling up in them.

Javier pulls back from your throat, looking over your body with a ragged groan as he uses his grip on your sides to pull you back onto his cock harder. The overwhelming waves of bliss grow maddening as his tight hold on your waist leaves a dull, painful sensation, and you're almost sure you'll have bruises the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, complete with swirls and arches. You can feel Javi pulse inside you and grinds his hips, attempting to find that earth-shattering spot inside of you again.

"Fuck, you look so good like this; keep your eyes on me," he demands, wanting to see the build-up of pleasure in your eyes. You roll your hips, whimpering at the way he commands you. Soon, with your combined efforts, the head of his cock is knocking up against your cervix, and the pressure has you wheezing out his name with a sharp intake of air. Javi takes this moment to brush his thumb over your clit, growling when he sees your eyes roll back into your skull at the sudden fervour you feel that's bringing you closer and closer to climax.

Then he brushes against something inside of you that makes your nerves light up, and you're sobbing desperately, eyes squeezing shut and trying so hard to chase that high. Javier pulls his calloused hands over your stomach, pressing down on the pliant skin there to feel himself move in and out of you at a rapid pace. Your pleasure is threatening to spill over, sparking at the base of your spine, and suddenly it's too much to hold back.

"Javi-"you beg, voice catching in your throat.

"Come on, Hermosa. Come on, give it to me," he purrs, brushing his thumb against your clit one more time and suddenly— oh, suddenly, you're there. Time seems to slow down for a moment, suspended in the air until it crashes down on you. It’s so intense, so overwhelming that you have tears streaming down your cheeks, cumming with a keen of his name. Your cunt is pulsing and tightening around Javi's cock, and he's growling out a moan as he goes rigid inside of you, pumping you full of his cum. He's shuddering, and his fingers dig tightly into your waist.

For a moment, the two of you stay still, Javi leaning over you and peppering your chin with soft, open-mouthed kisses. As the afterglow kicks in, you're giggling, covering your face with your palms as the delirium kicks in. You hear Javi chuckle to himself, pressing his lips to your hairline and wiping away the sheen of sweat at your temple.

As you come down from your high, you relax into the covers of the bed, entirely spent. Exhaustion is ebbing at your mind, your breath still heavy as Javi pulls out of you with a haggard groan and holds you close to him. You both don't say anything to each other at first, too blissed out to form a sentence.

Javi kisses your forehead over and over, brushing his hand along your bruised side in an attempt to ease the painful ache his fingers left behind. You find yourself leaning into his touch, allowing yourself to revel in the post-orgasm bliss.

"Do you need some water?" He asks you softly, stroking your hair back, to which you shake your head no but thank him quietly for his consideration. He nods and gently pulls the thin cotton covers over your body as he settles in beside you. You both lay in each other’s silent company, Javi's thumb tracing lazy patterns on the skin of your abdomen as his eyes slip closed, alcohol and blissful exhaustion causing him to fall into sleep relatively quickly.

The room is quiet, Javi's breathing the only sound you can make out. You lay perfectly still for at least ten minutes, feeling the man beside you ease into unconsciousness. With his breathing slowed and his thumb eventually stilling at your side, you assume sleep has him in a tight grasp. Ever so gently, you ease out of his hold, slipping out of bed and picking up your clothes. You’re careful to be silent — the last thing you needed was him waking up and discovering what you were about to do.

A part of you feels terrible, using Javier this way. He'd been kind enough to buy you drinks. Instead, fear motivates you to put one foot in front of the other, the bare soles of your feet padded across the floor towards the bedroom door. Your boss, Pablo Escobar, had demanded information on DEA agents from you and the other women he had hired, and you daren’t argue, fearful of the bullets that you were almost certain had your name etched into them. Having bumped into Javier at the bar, it was a stroke of luck akin to striking gold; a stay of execution.

Don Pablo had hired a group of women into his staff only recently. Well known for hiring only men, like most drug lords in Columbia, he knew the women he hired would not come under the scrutiny of the DEA or the Columbian police. With the support of the American government, the DEA was closing in on him, and the Medellin cartel at a frightening pace, and he was in dire need of some form of information to get ahead of the gringos - stat.

Without the suspicion of the police, you had managed to get around relatively quickly, but finding the information without talking to anyone and alerting people of Don Pablo's covert mission was a much more challenging task than anticipated. You had carried on regardless, motivated by knowing you wouldn't get paid unless you handed over relative information to Escobar and his cousin Gustavo. You were getting pretty desperate for both the money and your life, knowing Escobar was anything but forgiving. Javier just happened to step into the line of fire.

You find your way back to the living room in the darkness and grab at anything you can see that could be of value. Papers that had Escobar's name on them and had multiple attack plans regarding the cartel's drugs labs in the Amazon Rainforest lay in the drawers of the desk underneath the television and a recording device that was set on the table. When you play it, the sound of Javier and his partner, whom he referred to as 'Murphy’ in the bar, floats quietly from the speakers.

Covert recordings of sicarios' conversations played, revealing the code words Pablo and his men used that the two partners had managed to decipher and use to their advantage.

You could almost laugh at how careless Javier had been to allow you into his house with all of this information just strewn about in the open, but you suppose he thought that you weren't a threat. No one did.

You take the items you snatched from Javier's apartment and slip out into the humid street once again. As you walk back to your apartment, you can’t help but think back to the conversation you and Javier had at the bar. The one where he claimed he was "Prince Charming saving you from a miserable day." You realise, looking back on it, that he had done precisely that. Prince Charming had unknowingly given you all the information you needed for a payout from Escobar and managed to save you from the end of a pistol barrel.

And you try to convince yourself of your shamelessness, insisting to yourself that you aren’t exactly the princess he’s looking for.

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Renegada♱

Taglist: @707otto @juxt4p0siti0n @arcticversed (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply )

Pairings:  Amado Carrillo Fuentes x f!reader(Latina Reader) x Walt Breslin  [From Narcos: Mexico TV Series]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Synopsis : Everything that was happening on Aruba Island wasn't right at all. You know damn well when Amado kissed you. And when you heard the sound of the gunshots behind you

AN : I was almost giving up on updating this fic until I found new comments. Thank you to those who still enjoy my work. I will try to update as long as there are people waiting to read.

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𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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[5]ᅳ 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢́𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐨 ✟

"Amado Carrillo Fuentes is more like a businessman than a drug lord. His background is clean compared to others in the same industry. This man is cautious and stays under the radar all the time. We need to know everything about him. Every detail matters.

That's a summary given by Bill Carter in the last meeting before you leave Mexico tonight.

And when the time comes, you have to leave everything about yourself behind. From now on, you'll have to breathe under the name of Camilla, a musician from Cuba. And it will be like this until you can safely return to Mexico again, if there are no mistakes during that time.

Amado's fascination with airplanes is more than what you imagined. You realize this when you're brought to his private airport. Lined up are all types and sizes of planes, totaling no less than a hundred. Every plane here belongs to Amado. Also, it's the same plane used to secretly smuggle tons of cocaine into America every year.

El Señor de los Cielos is the nickname drug dealers use to refer to Amado, the most powerful man both on land and in the sky. The man on top of the food chain

And this same man is waiting for you in front of a private jet. It's not difficult to notice him, with his flowing hair and the same old black shirt you first met him in, now covered with a bomber jacket. A satisfied smile passes through his sunglasses when you step out of the car. You briefly catch Amado's eye before flashing a smile back at him.

Starting the drama with a beautiful face and a survival instinct, just follow a few simple rules: just hold hands, just smile, and just turn a blind eye and pretend to fuck him a few times. Just run away before getting caught.

Throughout the time you step straight into him, you never know what you're really getting into.

Life can change suddenly and easily. One day you're still a CIA officer, and the next you become the partner of a criminal. And what will happen next? How many bombs will explode in front of you? How many people will die in your life? And when will death finally become yours?

You can't find answers to these questions.

Lately, you've often imagined the end of yourself, from the moment you closed your eyes to the moment you woke up—every pain you've ever experienced in the past, which still remains and continues to haunt you. It will never disappear until the end comes for you, just like it did for others before.

The end must come one day. And for the law enforcer who fights against the dark power all the time, there's no way this story will end well. Either with you or with Amado.

You know. You're prepared, unwaveringly. But it still turns out worse than expected.

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Aruba Island, Kingdom of the Netherlands

1600 (Military Time) *Three Hours Before the Incident*

Although it's approaching evening, the sunlight on Aruba Island is still bright and clear, no different from the afternoon. The scene in the travel magazine doesn't seem exaggerated at all when seen with your own eyes. The clean white sandy beaches, lush green coconut trees, and crystal-clear blue sea reflect the shimmering sun. It's breathtakingly beautiful here, and the atmosphere is just right—neither too quiet nor too bustling like the seas in Miami or Thailand.

This place is suitable for tourism, you think, and also suitable for opening a cocaine market for these tourists.

But Amado's purpose for coming to Aruba Island remains unclear, something you must urgently investigate while there's still a chance.

For you, every second is crucial and calculated, tension infiltrating every action.

But for Amado, it's the opposite. He seems completely at ease. You can tell from the relaxed smile on his face all the time.

You glance at Amado thoughtfully, not hiding your slight surprise as you see him change into a blue Hawaiian shirt, yellow shorts, and slip on sunglasses with a smile. He blends seamlessly with the other tourists. For you, this is quite a surprising and unexpected look compared to his usual all-black attire.

"What wrong, Mija?[1] You're staring at me too much, I'm starting to blush," he said, raising his eyebrows with a playful smile after handing you the Esquites[2] he bought from the nearby store. "Or am I so handsome that I'm stunning you?"

You chuckled and took the Esquites from his hand, then pretended to glance at him with a half-serious look. "It's not that much," you shrugged. "Just... average."

"Average? No, Mija. You should say, You look so handsome, Amado!"

You burst into laughter again, genuinely amused by this man's incredible sense of humor.

The dark stories you've heard about the drug wars in Mexico seem like distant memories here. There's no violence, no gunfire or explosions, and no cocaine. 

And your date, who was enjoying Esquites by the seaside with you at this moment, was hardly anything like a world-class drug dealer.

But beneath the seemingly ordinary and charming nature of Amado Carrillo Fuentes, you know what he's capable of and how dangerous he is.

Honey trapping [3] is another important method to access intelligence for secret agents worldwide. It's not your expertise compared to other spies, but you're confident that you can do it just as well. You intentionally charm him without going too far, being both a good speaker and listener, creating an atmosphere that's relaxed and friendly. Every conversation you have leads him to tell you what you want to know.

However, Amado's responses barely provide any significant information for the mission. It seems more like casual chit-chat. If it weren't for the fact that he is exceptionally clever and cautious, it would mean that he must be a very inane person.

Of course, you're damn sure he's not stupid. Amado is a true master of deception. What you can do is make him like you enough to let his guard down a bit, and that's the ultimate challenge of this mission.

There's still plenty of time. You think. And maybe...that was the first mistake that led to bad things in ways you never expected.

"I want you to answer truthfully, Mija."

That sounds like just another normal question from Amado, but not for you. You blinked slightly as you caught a hint of seriousness in his tone. Yet, you still pretended to smile as if everything were normal. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I do, right?"

For a moment, you hesitated. But you managed to maintain your composure, even though your heart was pounding with excitement and anxiety.

You couldn't predict why he asked you this question. You weren't sure if it was just one of Amado's tests, or worse, if he was starting to suspect you. But regardless, your answer would undoubtedly affect the entire mission, one way or another.

Because Amado was clear about wanting the truth. Ultimately, you chose to take the risk and answer as he desired. You softly reply, "i think I can figured as much."

"And aren't you afraid of me? Even when you know what I do?"

It could be either a threat or a challenge from the drug lord. You could feel Amado's piercing gaze, scrutinizing. However, this time, you handled it better than before. You turned to face him, inching closer without a hint of fear, even if just a little.

"Should I be afraid then?"

"Of course, you should be terrified, Mija," Amado's arms wrapped around your waist slowly, pulling your body closer until there was no space between you. The mingling sensation of his breath tickling your face, combined with the scent of cologne and cigarettes, made your heart race in a way different from before, clear and distinct.

It was too close—much closer than you thought. A slight flutter of nervousness crossed your mind, but you couldn't retreat, especially when you were under his tight arms.

Amado was too smart. He deliberately blocked off every escape route for you.

"My life has encountered many terrifying things,There's nothing left in this world that can make me scared anymore."

That was another truth you decided to reveal to him.

Certainly, you were afraid of the mission failing. But that didn't mean you were afraid of Amado. Years of CIA work exposed you to countless horrors. You had killed many and lost many. So, what reason did you have to fear someone like him?

It wasn't just Amado who tried to test or challenge you. You chose to do the same. It was a slight defiance and a steady gaze that showed your refusal to submit. That was enough to create even more surprise for the man known as the biggest in the drug trade, a man whom everyone else bowed to out of fear.

The sun had disappeared from the sky, gradually dimming Amado's face with shadows. However, his eyes still sparkled, no different from the streetlights. You tried hard to read his thoughts from his expression, but it was too difficult. You didn't know what he was thinking or what he would do next.

But his decision in the end surprised you.

His lips pressed against yours, catching you off guard. It was a brief  kiss, yet long enough to make you feel and remember every detail. the stubble of his beard, the bitter taste of cigarettes lingering on his tongue, the warm and humid heat in his mouth, intense with desire until your body trembled.

It felt as though your lips were being burned by an invisible flame, and the fire still smoldered deep within even after he pulled away. His hand lingered on your cheek, trailing slowly down to your chin, before using his thumb to touch your lower lip. Amado's eyes never left yours, and beneath those intense gazes, there was something dangerous and alluring hidden within.

"Will you dance with me?"

Even though you knew how dangerous he was, Amado was undeniably romantic. That was something you had to admit.

Nothing could be more romantic than dancing on the beach at night. And Amado knew it well. The moonlight shining brightly in the sky, the breeze blowing through your hair and skin, and the sweet melody of Latin music floating in the air. His large hand rested on the small of your back, and his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, gently guiding your body to sway to the rhythm.

This time, there were no tests or challenge like before. "Just dancing with me" Amado said before pulling you back into his embrace. 

The dance proceeded quietly and calmly. The word 'calm' felt strangely out of place for a CIA like you. It was like a phrase that didn't exist in your life, But what was happening now might be the closest thing you could think of—a feeling of relaxation and comfort as you laid your head on his chest, and his thumb to massage your back.

This wasn't right at all.

Standing in a country where you hardly knew, in a street where you had forgotten the name, you felt safe next to a man you knew was dangerous. It wasn't something you should feel at a time like this with someone like him. You should say something, focus on the mission as you should, but at the same time, you didn't want to ruin what was happening. And Amado probably felt the same. He was silent, saying nothing, Everything between you and him was so quiet that you could hear the music, the laughter of other dancing couples nearby, the sound of the waves, and the sound of his breath blowing on your neck.

...Before the sound of the gunshots rang out.

------------------------------------------------------------ 

[1] Mija in Spanish means "daughter." However, in a slang context, it can mean "dear” or “honey"

[2]Esquites Another name for it is "elote en vaso" or "elote" (specifically in America). It's a well-known Mexican street food made with grilled corn, mayonnaise, spices, and cheese.

[3] Honey trapping is a method of investigation or espionage that has been used since World War II. It involves deception through the use of romantic or sexual relationships with a target individual who possesses important information or resources.

#narcos: mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mexico netflix #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #narcos fic #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #walt breslin #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #Renegada♱

[drabbles-mc]

Bad Guy Treatment

Steve Murphy x F!Reader

For Day 18 of @narcosfandomdiscord's July Smut Alphabet: role reversal

Warnings: 18+, smut, language, handcuffs

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Coming out of my 3-day-long meltdown to become absolutely fucking unwell about Steve Murphy 😂 I think it's good for him! Make the man beg a little! Is it edited? No. Is it beta'd? No. But i am who i am what can we do about it? 😂

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarnesevents @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“Oh, come on,” you goaded as you knelt on the foot of the bed, hands rested in your lap as the mattress cushioned your knees, “it’ll be fun!”

Steve shook his head as he stood in front of you, looking down at you. “I doubt that.”

“Please?” you laid it on thick, the tone you only ever used with him when you were really trying to get something from him. You didn’t have to use it often.

“No,” he said as he shook his head. “No fuckin’ way.” He looked at you, the way you were batting your eyelashes at him. He could feel the waver in his resolve, but he knew that if he buckled on this he would absolutely never hear the end of it from you.

Reaching out, you pulled him closer to you by the beltloops of his jeans. His legs pressed against the edge of the mattress as you asked, “You’re telling me that you’ve never even thought about it?”

He gently cupped your chin, tilting it so that you were looking up at him. He brushed the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip, eyes dragging slowly over every feature of your face. You felt a tingle of hopefulness before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the dead center of your forehead and said, “Not even once.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. You lifted your chin so that it was no longer being cupped by his hand. “I doubt it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head at you. “Whatever you say.”

You stayed put at the end of the bed. It’d been long enough now that you felt like you knew Steve pretty well. The two of you had always been able to get a good read on each other even when you’d first gotten together, and since then you’d only honed the skill. He could try to lie about his curiosity, but you could still see it in his eyes anyway.

He started undoing the buttons on his shirt, eyes fixed on his own hands now instead of on you. Leaning, you placed one palm to the mattress, leveraging yourself so that you could get your legs out from underneath you. Within a few moments, you were sitting, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. You had one on either side of Steve, who had noticed the way you were resituating yourself but didn’t say anything about it one way or another.

Peeling his shirt off, he tossed it into the hamper. He was about to start undoing the buckle of his belt when he felt your heels press against the backs of his legs. He let out a quiet laugh, looking at you and the amused smirk on your face. Leaning in, he kissed you on the lips. He went to pull away but you followed, not letting him get enough distance. He caught the hint enough, bringing his hands to either side of your face as he kissed you with a little more heat behind the action. You put your hands on his hips, fingers crawling their way along his belt. They grazed over where his badge rested on one side, empty holster for his gun on the other. The feeling of your lips against his had him blind to everything else, including the way you deftly lifted the handcuffs from the back pocket of his jeans without him noticing.

What you’d done didn’t register with him until he heard the clinking of metal as you brought the cuffs back to you. Once he recognized the sound, his eyes instantly popped open and he pulled out of the kiss. Instantly, he was grabbing for them, not nearly as amused by your pickpocketing skills as you were as you scrambled back farther on the bed, doing whatever you could to stay out of his reach. You were laughing as you tried to move quick enough for him to not be able to snatch them back out of your hand.

“Give those back,” he told you as he crawled up the bed to you.

Still laughing as you got your back pinned flat against the headboard, you shook your head. “No can do.”

“I’m serious.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing by the look in his eyes that he really wasn’t that serious. He was more annoyed that you were able to pull one over on him than the actual situation itself. “Come on, Agent Murphy,” there was just enough sarcasm layered on the way you addressed him to get him riled up more. “You can’t possibly tell me that you’ve never wanted to know—”

Your sentence got cut short as Steve placed one hand on each of your thighs, pulling you down so that you were flat on your back on the mattress, your legs still on either side of him. He had one hand planted next to the side of your head, keeping him propped so that he could look down at you, his other hand gripping lightly onto your hip.

“I’ve worked real hard to make sure I never end up on the other end of those cuffs.” His thumb traced back and forth against your hip as he said it, applying just enough pressure to wake up every nerve ending in your body.

The hand with the cuffs was tucked safely behind your back, like you were a few teenagers bickering on the schoolyard and you were holding his lunch money just out of reach. Using your other hand, you dragged your fingertips down his chest. Your nails didn’t dig enough to leave a mark, but you still felt the way his heart sped up in his chest at the contact.

“It’s just me,” you said as innocently as you could manage. “You trust me, right?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not with those.”

“Why not?”

The nearly-genuine surprise in your voice had Steve fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You know why.”

Your mouth formed into a knowing smirk as you finally gave in with a shrug. “I guess.”

“So?” He leaned in, lips close enough to yours that they brushed as he spoke. “Can I have ‘em back?”

Despite the excitement that was coursing through you with him so close, you weren’t so distracted that you didn’t notice the feeling of his hand slipping behind your back. He’d have to work harder to get you off-kilter enough for that—you weren’t quite as easy as him.

You brushed your nose against his, slowly pulling your hand out of the reach of his. “No.”

You heard the way he mumbled your name under his breath, along with a couple curses as he tried to use his long reach to take the cuffs back from you. The fact that you were so incessantly amused by it all only made it more frustrating for him. It became much more about the principle of you giving him a hard time rather than whether or not he wanted anything to do with being handcuffed to the headboard.

He grabbed for them once more. “Will you just—”

He heard it before he felt it. The unmissable clicking sound cuffs made when they were being tightened around someone’s wrist. His eyes drifted up to see where you’d clamped it around his wrist. It wasn’t uncomfortably tight, but the fact that it was latched around him at all was his issue.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, the tiniest bit of amusement in his voice underneath his frustration.

You smiled. “See? Not so bad, right?”

He shook his head, putting himself in a kneeling position so that he could reach into his other back pocket. “Hate to break it to you, baby, but—” He stopped short, patting all the pockets of his jeans before looking back at you again, disbelief on his face. “Did you…?”

You burst out laughing as you held the key to the handcuffs up, a triumphant smile on your face. “You should keep better track of your things, Agent Murphy.”

His head dropped, chin tucking in towards his chest. “Guess I thought I’d be safe with my girlfriend but I guess not.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Should’ve known better.”

There was a pause as the two of you looked at each other. Steve was shaking his head at you but he was still smiling. He couldn’t believe how proud of yourself you looked for the shenanigans you were performing. Gun to his head, he’d have to admit that he was a little impressed too.

“You’re not gonna give that key back to me, are you?”

“I might…”

He chuckled. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“C’mon,” you hooked your legs around him and pulled him back to you, “be the bad guy for once. And I’ll, you know,” you twirled the key between your fingers, “I’ll bring you in for questioning.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head but not fighting to pull away from you. “’Cause you know what that’s all about?”

“Give me your other wrist and you’ll find out,” you replied, not missing a beat.

His eyebrows shot up at that. The look in your eyes as you toyed with the key in your hand had him giving into you, his curiosity taking precedent over everything else. He took a deep breath, giving a small shake of his head as he sat back and looked at you.

“Alright.”

Your entire face lit up. “Yea?”

He chuckled at your excitement. “Yea.

Wasting no time, you moved so that Steve could lay down where you’d just been. Once his back hit the mattress, you quickly threw one leg over him so that you were straddling him. You felt him laughing beneath you before you heard it. Glancing down, you saw the way he was looking at you and you couldn’t help but to smile.

“Can I have your other hand?” you asked, one eyebrow raised.

He took a deep breath, but nodded as he stretched both arms above his head, wrists close enough so that you could loop the short chain over the bar of the headboard and clamp the second cuff around his other wrist. You carefully tightened each of them, running your fingertips along the insides of his wrists before looking back down at him again.

“You good?”

He nodded, his breathing, the look in his eyes, already shifting. “I’m good.”

You set the handcuff key off to the side where you could both see it. “I know I like giving you a hard time,” leaning down, you cupped the side of his face with your hand and traced your thumb along his cheekbone, “but if at any point you don’t wanna do this, just tell me, okay?”

Steve nodded, squirming beneath you with anticipation. “Okay.”

You kissed him lightly on the lips. “I love you.”

He relaxed a little more at that, nodding as he said, “I love you too.”

You brought your lips back to his, kissing him as you raked your hands back through his hair. You heard the moan that built in the base of his throat, soon followed by the clinking of the handcuffs being pulled on against the headboard. You laughed as you kissed him, the kiss only breaking when Steve dropped his head back to the pillow with an exasperated laugh.

“I already don’t like this,” he said with a chuckle.

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Looks like I don’t even have to give you the bad guy treatment.”

He lifted his head so he could get a better look at you. “Not being able to touch you is the bad guy treatment.”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t fight the smile on your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yea,” he tugged against the restraints, “I see that now.”

Still smiling, you pressed your lips to his in another kiss, one that he didn’t break quite so quickly. You had one hand on his chest, the other cupping his face and keeping him close. You could feel the shift in the muscles in his chest and shoulders as he went to move his arms, like he’d already forgotten what had happened only a few moments before.

Your tongue slid to meet his and you felt the way his muscles eased, his body becoming pliant beneath yours as he reveled in the taste of you. It wasn’t until you started to grind your hips against his that you heard the clanging of metal on metal. Even through your shorts and his jeans, you could feel him getting harder. He tugged against the cuffs once, twice more before resigning himself to them again. You had the feeling it was going to be an ongoing fight, and it was one that you were looking forward to.

Pulling your lips off of his, you left a trail of kisses along his jaw, down the column of his neck, trailed across his chest. You heard the sound of his head against the pillow, the way he dropped it in resignation as he breathed out a quiet, “Fuck.”

Your lips curled into a smile against his skin as you continued to move your hips. You felt the way that he tried to get enough leverage, be able to move himself against you, but you had the upper hand here in every possible way. Separating your hips from his, you heard the short huff of frustration he let out.

It was impossible not to let your hands roam. All the real estate in the world and no one to stop you from exploring every inch of it. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you as you drank him in. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was hypnotic, your teeth dragging along your bottom lip at the sight of him now when you’d barely gotten started. You could only imagine how he was going to look when you were done with him.

Locking your eyes onto his, you dragged your hand over the bulge of his jeans, fingers running along his length even through the denim. He took a slow, calculated breath in, hands steadily pulling against the cuffs.

“Something you want?” you asked, feigned innocence in your tone.

He laughed. He was shaking his head at you until your face was suddenly directly over his again. You cupped his face by the chin the way he’d done to you so many times in the past. Being on the other end of it, along with the slick grin on your face, sent a jolt down his spine, any smug remarks he’d been thinking of making stuck in the back of his throat.

Finally, he got himself together enough to say, “You’re killin’ me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Help me out,” he said, pulling against the cuffs for a moment like it might be the time they magically came undone.

“You know how this works,” you said as you sat back, hips moving just slightly against his as your hands rested against his stomach. “You want me to do something for you? You gotta do something for me.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. Fuckin’ bad guy treatment. “Like what?”

Your fingers began to toy with his belt, almost going through the motions of undoing it and then you stopped. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

For a moment the thought crossed his mind that he never should’ve given you so much power. But then he felt you move just slightly against him, saw the hungry look in your eyes, and suddenly all he could think about was making you look at him that way forever.

“I wanna be inside you,” he said, quieter and more breathless than he intended.

A smile curled the ends of your lips as you finally undid the buckle of his belt. “That’s a start.” Your fingers landed on the button of his jeans, eyes traveling back up to his as you paused. “Would it kill you to say please, though?”

He huffed out what he could manage of a laugh. Shaking his head, all he could think about for a moment was how differently this would all be playing out if he just had the use of his fucking hands.

He was snapped out of his obstinate thoughts by the feeling of you cupping his face again, forcing him to look at you. “Hey,” you leaned in, lips nearly touching his as you spoke, “you wanna know what you have to do for me so I’ll do something for you?” Your nails bit into his skin just slightly. “You gotta beg a little, baby.” You brushed your lips against his, hardly enough to constitute a kiss, but more than enough to leave him wanting more. “That’s what you can do for me.”

For a brief moment, he thought that he was going to melt right into the mattress. All he could feel was you—your hand on his face, your breath on his skin, the warmth radiating off your body seeping into his. He was about to disappear into it all, and willingly at that.

“Please,” the word came out in the closest thing to a whine you’d ever gotten out of him, “please fuck me.” He turned, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. “I wanna be inside you so bad.”

His words went straight to your core. Pressing a quick, hard kiss to his lips you pulled away so that you could finish what you’d started, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. He lifted his hips off the bed just enough for you to be able to pull his jeans and boxers off all in one swoop before tossing them onto the floor beside your bed.

Steve was vaguely aware of how exposed he was in that moment, how vulnerable. He expected to find himself second-guessing it all, shying away from it. But all he could focus on, all he could think about, was the way that you were looking at him. You were kneeling between his legs, eyes roaming over him like you were about to dive in and devour him whole. He would’ve let you.

He sucked in a sharp breath when he felt your hand wrap around him, not caring about the noise that came from him fighting against the cuffs around his wrists. Each stroke of your hand had him pulling against the restraints, and you were loving it.

Resituating yourself just slightly, you leaned down, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. His head dropped back, and you heard him muttering out, “Fuck,” and a string of other curses as you started to move, tongue running up and down his length as you did. Using your hand and mouth in tandem, it wasn’t long before you had Steve repeating nothing but your name and the word please over and over again.

When you pulled your mouth off him, you could feel the way his breath caught in his throat. Lifting his head, he looked down at you, almost like he was worried that you’d changed your mind. You smiled, tongue darting out along your bottom lip as you quickly slipped your shorts off. The groan that Steve let out when he realized that you hadn’t been wearing underwear the entire time was sinful, and it brought a smile to your face.

You straddled him once more, so close that Steve was pulling hard enough against the cuffs that for a moment you thought they might actually snap. “Still want me to fuck you?” you asked, like the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious.

You were rewarded with the clanging of metal on metal, followed by Steve’s breathless, “Please, baby.”

Giving right in was just as much for your own benefit as it was for Steve’s. You both moaned as he slid into you. Leaning in, you slowly started moving your hips as you kissed Steve on the lips. He kissed you back fiercely, hungry for whatever you would give him.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against your lips between kisses. “All that for me?”

You smiled into your kiss for a moment before pulling away. Reaching up, your fingers danced along his hands and wrists. “Guess I kinda like you like this.”

He chuckled, letting out a breathless, “Fuck me,” at the realization that he’d been right all along—you weren’t ever going to let this go.

He didn’t have too much time to think on it as you began to move your hips quicker, falling into a rhythm that was going to send you both over the edge soon. Steve’s eyes were glued to you as he watched you slide your hand down your body until your fingers reached the small bundle of nerves at your core. The moan you let out as your fingers teased, the way your walls clenched around him while you did, had him doing whatever he could to buck up into you, chasing his high the way you were chasing yours.

You braced one hand against his chest, hips stuttering in their rhythm as you came. The only sound in the room for a moment was the sound of you repeating Steve’s name over and over again. The sight of you like that sending him over the edge right with you, the clinking of the cuffs against the headboard reminding you that all he wanted in that moment was to touch you, pull you as close as he could.

You melted against him, sinking down so that you were resting your forehead against his, hands on either side of you doing what they could to keep you just the slightest bit upright. You were both fighting to catch your breath, still stealing kisses from each other despite that as you kept him inside you..

“You okay?” you asked, still breathless.

He let out a small chuckle as he nodded. “I’m good.” He kissed you. “You good?”

You laughed. “Yea, I’m, I’m good. Here,” you leaned over and grabbed the key from the nightstand, carefully undoing his cuffs before tossing it all safely off to the side. You gently ran your hands over his wrists, pressing kisses along the insides of them where they’d taken the brunt of his pulling. “You sure you’re okay?”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you tight to him because he finally could. “I’m good.” He kissed the edge of your forehead. “Next time, though?”

You tilted your head up so you could look at him. “Next time?”

He rolled the both of you so that you were lying on your back beneath him. “Next time,” he laughed as he kissed you, “you’re the one getting cuffed to the bed.”

#narcos netflix fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos #narcos netflix #steve murphy #steve murphy fanfiction #steve murphy x you #steve murphy x reader #x reader #x reader fic #nffalphabet #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Framing Escobar Chapter 3 Light Leak

Specific Warnings: This chapter has some sexual suggestions, allusions to violence, mostly just scene setting and fluff. General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Summary: Javier is gone by the time you wake up and you take to the streets of Colombia on your own.

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You roll awake with a groan to the sun glaring through the gap in your thin, ageing beige curtains, you make a note of getting some blackout ones when you get the chance. You’re a little crestfallen as you notice Javier is nowhere to be seen, but you try not to dwell on it. It was a one-night stand, a fucking good one, and maybe he had something else to do. But it worries you more than you want to admit. 

You put on a pot of coffee before showering and dressing for the day, the weather is decidedly gloomy, thick, dark clouds hang heavy in the sky. You throw on a pair of faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt with the slogan, I love Colombia written across your chest. You slip into your sneakers as you sling the camera bag around your neck and pour a cup of coffee. 

You nurse it slowly as you hear Javier’s door open and close across from yours. You wince at the sound, both because it startled you, and that it confirmed what Javi had said last night. 

The walls are paper thin, damn it.

You shake your head, hoping Steve wouldn’t rib you too much about it. You finish up the coffee as you wait for the appropriate amount of time to pass to follow Javier. You head down the stairs with a spring in your step and to your surprise you bump into Steve. You assumed he would have ridden with Javier to the DEA building. 

“Morning,” Steve drawls as he gives you a knowing look, “You kids have fun last night?” 

“I’m less than a decade younger than you both, besides, aren’t you two the same age?” You ask, dodging the question for now. 

“I’m a whole year older than him, besides, you didn’t answer my question.” Steve needles you and you glare at him as you try not to let the embarrassment show on your face.

“None of your business Murphy.” You bark, not letting him get under you skin, or at least trying not to. 

“That’s the spirit, you need a ride into work?” He asks with that Labrador look he gives Connie when he’s trying to make up for something. It’s funny how a simple dinner could tell you so much about someone. 

“Yeah, is Javier going to be with us today?” You try not to sound desperate and needy, but you can hear it in your tone. If he did hear it, he ignores it as he begins to walk out into the street. You jog to catch up to walk with him. 

“Nah he’s got a meeting with a CI, he doesn’t let me get involved in that.” Steve grumbles as he unlocks the truck, leaning over the steering column to unlock your door and you climb in. 

“You two been partners long?” You ask as Steve pulls away into the busy streets of Bogotá. 

“Not long at all, few weeks? A month? Still don’t think he trusts the Gringo.” He admits with a grimace. 

“¿Hablas español?” You ask him with a sly smile and you watch the red blush creep over his pale cheeks. 

“No, lo siento.” He grumbles and you try not to lord it over him too much. 

“Well you’re going to have to learn, Gringo.” You tease and you see him shake his head, his moustache bristling with a soft chuckle. 

“You’re not wrong sweetheart, I’m going to have to drop you off in town, I’ve got some business that I don’t need a reporter for.” He says with the slightest venom in his voice. 

“Photographer, not a reporter.” You correct him and jab him in the arm as you pull into the garage, “Anyway, I’ll be heading off then, no point me hanging around. I’d like to walk around, catch my bearings.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.” 

“I’ve got to try and look like a tourist Steve, rocking up somewhere in a known DEA agent’s truck might not send off the right signals.” You say, pointing to the t-shirt you were wearing. 

“Good point, alright, but any trouble, you know the number for the DEA agent line?” He asks seriously now, his eyes hard and cold as ice. 

“Got it memorised boss.” You say without thinking and Steve chuckles.

“Don’t go calling Javi that, he’ll never let you live it down.” 

“Got it, see you later.” You say as you hop out of the cab and head off into the centre of Bogotá. 

The clouds clear by midday and you regret not wearing shorts but maybe the sweaty, poorly dressed look would lean into the tourist vibe you were going for. You sit in a small plaza, half a beef empanada in one hand, book in the other as you try and take a break. Try being the operative word.

All day you’d either been so engrossed in your work that you’d almost got run over by a cab, or mulling over your night with Javier, and the lack of communication since, it was torture. So you decided to force the issue, opening up the book and forcing yourself to eat something. 

You’ve already filled three rolls of film, still making sure you had plenty of dummy rolls to hand over if needed. You savour the empanada like it’s the best thing you’d ever tasted, the corn-meal casing completely changing the flavour of the pastry from the doughy, bland, Americanised stuff you’d had back home. 

Today’s favourite shot is of the little old lady selling produce at a stall to the Western edge of the plaza, you take a few shots, trying to adjust your camera settings to the glorious sunshine that now bathed the city.  The DEA gave you 100 and 400 ISO film stock, daytime and evening stock, but nothing in between, which is just you being picky, as you know how to make both those work but it’s a lot more effort, more margin for error. You look back up and the old lady is gone, replaced by a couple embracing like there is no-one else in the world around them. 

On a whim you snap a photo of the scene, you hope you can capture a nice depth of field effect, to mirror the blur of the world around them, to capture the feeling of no-one else mattering. You adjust the aperture of your lens to f2.2 so that it’s nice and wide, and snap a series of photos of the couple. 

You’re confident you get a few and swap out the film with a fresh one as you realise you’ve filled the roll. You mark the dummy rolls with green electrical tape and reseal them before depositing them in the bag, but this one you mark red, which meant you were going to develop it. You had gotten some snaps of street art that you were eager to see, and the couple just completed the roll nicely.

You get the camera set back up you raise it to take another few snaps, on the off chance they were still there. Your heart seizes in your chest as you recognise the man through the view finder, his eyes dark, fixed on you. 

Javi. 

You feel the deep, primal head of jealousy rear up and swallow you whole as she woman turns to you, wondering what had caught Javi’s attention. But you were already up, lens cap attached, camera stowed, and were practically jogging back onto the street. You get half-way back to the Embassy building before you realise that you’ve left your book but you don’t care, you could buy another copy. The tears sting at your eyes but you don’t let them fall. 

He doesn’t deserve your tears. 

You scold yourself internally as you flash your pass to security and head down to the basement, you’re grateful for the tape deck and the taste of the other agents and technician who do their own development. You flick through the clearly re-labelled cassettes, the red light makes covers near-impossible to read, so you smile at the improvised labelling to make it easier to distinguish the tapes. The deck closes with a click, Mick Jagger’s melancholic rasp filling your ears as Gimme Shelter lilts through the speakers, giving you some background noise to develop the few red marked films, ones you want to develop as you hummed along. 

The process always takes longer than you remember, but you don’t mind, switching out the tapes as you reached the end of one, then another, and another. Sifting through The Stones, Elvis, Pat Benatar, and Nina Simone. You work through the tedious process with a smile on your face. You make sure the negatives scale perfectly, that the grain levels were low, and that every negative you developed meant something. Professor Thomas had called it perfectionism, you call it dedication to the art. 

You finish up, stowing developed photographs in a manilla envelope, and you are more than ready for bed, developing on your own at quantity is tiresome and your eyes are dry and sore from the strain. You clean up the dark room as best you can and make for the exit. You gather up the developed images in their envelope and head out. You check your watch and realise it’s already ten. You rub your eyes lids with a groan as you head home. The walk home is tedious, pushing your already well worked feet but you press on, your mind drifting too easily to Javi. 

As you cross the threshold of the apartment building you hear it, the rhythmic thumping and carnal moans, you think it’s ironic that you were in that exact same situation only last night as you shake your head, smiling to yourself. You hear the creak of the Murphy’s door as you reach the stairs and you turn to see Connie looking at you. 

“You ok darlin’?” She asks, a yawn escaping her mouth, she seems like she had been up some time. 

“All good, long day.” You say with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“Ok hon, get some sleep, remember we’re always here.” Connie said with a hollow chuckle and you try and understand why she sounds sad, but you’re exhausted, so heavy with the weight of sleep that it took you reaching your front door, the snapping sound of you turning the key in the lock, before you heard it. A woman’s voice, calling out in Spanish from across the hall, the words obvious enough that you don’t need to speak Spanish to hear what was going on. 

“Oh Javier, fuck, Javier.” 

Your hand hovers over the doorknob, you try to ignore it but the lewd sounds of Javi and the woman he’s with are deafening. You stumble into your apartment in a daze, you try not to feel jealous. You and Javi hooked up, big deal, but a naïve part of you hoped that it was just the beginning of something. The stale air of your apartment is cloying, heavy in your lungs as you let your hands ball into fists. 

Idiot, you’re so, stupid. Stupid, stupid. 

You berate yourself as you throw your camera bag and envelope of photos onto the tired sofa in the middle of the open plan room that serves as your kitchen, diner, and living room. The dusty apartment needs some TLC and you decide that right now is the perfect time to do so. You rip open the packaging on the rubber gloves you had bought the other day at the market, and crack a sad smile at how ridiculously domestic you had been. You’d bought all kinds of cleaners and detergents, a mop, a broom, dustpan and brush. The works. 

You clean for hours, Pat Benatar and Kate Bush switched out on your Walkman once they reached their end. You grab a pencil and rewind the spent Hounds of Love cassette as you load Crimes of Passion into the tape deck. It’s a thoughtless, mundane task, taking a few minutes to make sure you don’t jam the cassette. It was both a break from the cleaning, and a tactile task that you could just focus on for a short while so your mind didn’t wander back to Javi. You re-attach the foam padded headphones and clip the Walkman back onto your belt. 

***

You check your watch as you finish scrubbing the grouting in the bathroom, the deep mould stains refusing to budge after your valiant attempts. It’s three in the morning, your house smells like a deep cleaned crime scene, and you’re still not settled enough for bed. 

You shower quickly before grabbing a beer from the fridge, you slump down on the sofa next to your camera bag and pick up the folder of photos you had developed earlier. A few are a little shaky in their framing, the DEA’s equipment was older than the College’s so some of the process was guess work. 

You smile at the photograph of the teenagers you caught graffitiing the side of a government building, they had smiled and posed with their work before running off. It’s a shame you only had black and white stock, you remember the bright hues of the street art being bold, a little garish but striking nonetheless. Your gaze falls to the photo of Javi and the woman, you assume, is in bed with now and you smile despite it all. The depth of field effect you had tried to create was perfect. The woman’s long, dark waves in perfect focus, the strong hand on her hip wrinkling her dress captured in minute detail. Javi’s dark curls and strong shoulders framing her against the soft blur of the world behind them. 

As much as it pains you to see him with someone else, you love the photo, it’s exactly the kind of artsy photography your professor always thought pointless. But there was something beautiful about soloing out a couple in the throes of passion, or a single pristine rose, with nothing but the blur of the world behind them. And this one was one of your best attempts at capturing it.  

The slam of a door startles you and you look up, eye on your front door as you try to remember if you locked it. Your hand reaches into the concealed pocket in your camera bag and you pull the revolver out slowly. You’re sure it’s Javier’s door, but you can’t help feeling on edge. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the long day, or the fact that you were still simmering away with jealousy. No matter the reason, you are wired. You hear high-heeled footsteps fade down the hall and you breathe a sigh of relief.

The knock at your door startles you more than anything else this evening and you feel your heart smashing against your rib cage like you had just run a marathon. You don’t move, you know it’s going to be him. 

Here to apologise pendejo?

You think to yourself, as you implore every fibre of your being to be strong, to not get up and open the door. You have more self-respect than that, you aren’t going to be toyed with, no matter how much you want to see him. He calls your name through the door and you wince, you love the way he says your name, it fans the pilot light of desire in your chest just enough that you almost get up but you take a deep breath and steel yourself. 

“Seriously, open the fucking door.” He growls as he tries the doorknob. Desire is snubbed out by the blunt, heavy weight of anger that bears down on you. You march up to the door, furious that this man, who had the audacity to loudly fuck another woman across the hall, is now trying to force himself into your apartment. 

“Fuck you Peña.” You bark at the closed door, your keys in the lock as you focus on them dangling from the aggressive jostling at the doorknob. 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too, this is about work, let me in or I’m breaking in.” He snaps back and you grit your teeth, you wonder if he’s just saying that, if he’s just trying to get into your apartment, but you realise that you have to be objective. You know how to throw a good punch, so if he’s lying to you, you’ll make him regret it. 

“Fine.” You concede defeat and open the door. You meet his hard eyes with a glare, he tries to push past you to enter the apartment but you strike his sternum with the flat of your palm, holding it there in protest. 

“Say what you need to say asshole, then fuck off.” You hiss as you channel all of your hatred, scorn, jealousy into a withering look that makes him raise his eyebrows in surprise. His hand comes up to grab your wrist but instead of letting him touch the soft, sensitive skin where you knew your pulse was hammering like a bass drum, you shove him with a second hand, pushing him back into the hallway. 

“Calm down, you’re acting like a child.” He says with an exasperated sigh, and that tips you over the edge.

How dare he be the one to accuse you of poor behaviour. 

“Me? Childish? I’m not the one whose breath smells like pussy.” You hiss, the cheap whiskey, and cigarettes almost cover it but you could smell her. The heady, pleasantly musky smell of her arousal couldn’t be doused in whiskey or cigarettes. 

He growls at you deep in his chest as he tries to push past you again but you simply won’t let him push you around like this. You adjust your footing and twist your hips slightly before swinging a right hook into his smug, beautiful jaw. He doesn’t see it coming until it’s too late and you see the shock in his eyes as your first two knuckles collide with his face, the crack is deafening in the enclosed hallway. 

Javier stumbles back, stunned at how hard you punch. You wince as the pain shoots through your hand, you know a slap would have been the sensible choice, but you were willing to risk the pain that every punch brought, no matter how well landed. 

“¡Maldita puta!.” He snarls as he regains his balance but he keeps his distance this time, finally getting it through his thick skull that you weren’t fucking around. 

“Yep, that’s me, a fucking bitch,” You see Javier seethe as you use his words agains him, “Now what do you want Javi, it’s late.” You cross your arms over your chest, feet planted defensively across the doorway so he couldn’t easily try to push past you again. Your hand is throbbing and you notice the blood seeping from the broken skin already.

“I don’t want to do this in the hall, please just let me in.” Javier bargains, his voice strained as he rubs his jaw as it starts to swell.

“No.” You stare him down as you watch the curve of his jaw begin to discolour to a nasty mauve. 

“Then come into my apartment, stop being so fucking stubborn.” He runs his one hand along the line of his jaw once more, wincing as he presses gingerly against the bruising flesh. You feel your knuckles weeping freely where the hard line of his jaw had split your skin. 

“Yes, because that’s a good idea.” You retort, you know how the apartment will smell, how it will feel, because it was how your apartment was last night. 

“Fine we’re going to Murphy’s then, Connie will hate me for this but Steve needs to hear this too.” Javi concedes defeat and turns towards the stairs without another word. You follow behind him, locking your door before anything else. You clench and unclench your fist as you feel the swelling on the knuckles, you needed ice, or a bag of peas. 

Javi was at the Murphy’s door by the time you got to the bottom of the stairs, Connie was furious, until she saw the bruising and swelling and tenderly touched the skin, examining it in a soft, yet no-nonsense way that only a nurse could make look both caring and judgemental at the same time. 

“Come in, you too hon, I can’t say I didn’t anticipate this.” Connie calls to you and you can’t help but smile at her tone. She isn’t mad at you, that much you could tell. You follow Javier through into the Murphy’s living room and can’t help but let a melancholy smile spread across your lips. Only last night had you entered this room, nervous and fawning. Tonight you were simply bitter. 

“So you met his CI then?” Steve asks you as he yawns, padding into the room in just a pair of sweatpants. You avert your gaze form his sculpted abs, he and Connie made a handsome couple, you think, not for the first time. 

“Nope, but I can smell her all over him.” You growl as you take a seat on a sofa at Connie’s insistence. You would have preferred to stand but you didn’t argue. 

“Ah, probably heard her too then?” Steve says with the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“Shut up Murphy.” Javier barks as he glares at his partner. 

“We all heard her.” Connie chimes in as she comes back from the kitchen with a first aid kit. 

“Anyway,” You take command of the conversation, eager to keep this interaction short and sweet, “Peña said he had something to talk about, work stuff.” He shoots you a look, yet again having the gall to be annoyed at you. 

“I know where Escobar is going to be tomorrow, we need to get there, she needs to take photos.” He rattles off as Connie hands him a bag of peas after wiping down the swollen area with a warm towel. 

“Let’s see your hand.” She ordered you and you see the wicked grin on her face as she turns away from Javier. She mouths “Impressive.” At you and you try and stifle your grin as she holds up your hand. She cleans the split skin with antiseptic and applies a tight bandage over your knuckles before looking you over, checking to see if there were any other injuries to attend to. No peas or ice for you.

“Glad you didn’t hit her back Javi, I’d have your balls if you did.” Connie says flatly but she winks at you as she turns to Steve, “My work here is done, I’m going back to bed, make sure they don’t start swinging for each other again yeah?” Connie asks Steve with a playful tone but Javier huffs. 

“I didn’t swing at all, she’s just feral.” He argues but both Steve and Connie shoot him a look that silences him.

“Night Javi, behave, night hon, don’t kill him please.” Connie calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the bedroom. You allow yourself to smile at her words but reluctantly turn to Javier who is pouting like a child.

“So, what was so important you were ready to break into my apartment agent Peña?” You ask, trying to calm yourself to deal with the task at hand. Your fist is throbbing as the adrenaline leaves your system, you’re grateful for the remote shutter release you’d been given as your hand won’t be stable enough to snap photos for a few days without irritating the broken skin. If you could move them at all with all the swelling. 

“There’s a big party going on in Medellín tomorrow night, all of the cartel bosses are going to be there, they’ve pulled every prostitute in Bogotá for it, something big is going down.” Javier explains to Steve, not addressing you. 

“Shit, that’s big,” Steve nods, “Alright, both of you get in the truck, we’re taking this to Noonan now, we don’t have time to waste.” 

The ride to the Embassy is thick with tension, no-one speaks, the smell of chemicals, cigarettes, and pussy still burning in your nostrils like a taunt. You close your eyes and try and relax, knowing that this was a big deal, Steve insisted you come, for some reason, but you’re too tired to care. Soon you’re escorted into the Ambassador’s office, standing awkwardly behind Steve and Javier as there are only two seats on this side of the desk . 

“What the hell is so damned important this couldn’t wait until the morning, and why is your jaw busted?” Noonan asks Javier bitingly but her eyes flick to your bandaged hand and she allows her stern face to soften a fraction as she connects the dots, “Never mind, just get to the point.” 

Javier pleads with Noonan and eventually she concedes to allow them to stake out the hotel, she then turns her gaze to you and she tuts. 

“But why her?” She looks you up and down, still in your clothes from the day before, your hair a mess, and a busted hand to boot. You would have cared any other day about your appearance but right now you just want to sleep. 

“She’s an incredible photographer, and she’ll be able to slip under the radar a little more easily in the hotel, get another angle on the Narcos as Steve gets some snaps from our vantage point.” Javi vouches for you and you stifle a scoff at how easy he can call you feral in one breath, and incredible in another. 

“Alright fine, here’s the paperwork.” She sighs as she scrawls her signature on a few different pieces of paper, “Now fuck off, I’m going back to bed.”

“One last thing, my informant is trying to get a US visa, can you help her?” Javier asks and you feel a little twinge of guilt as you see the look on his face. There’s desperation in his voice. 

“You’re bothering me.” Is all Noonan says before walking out of her office. The defeat on Javier’s face further quells some of the rage you had been harbouring for the last few hours. The three of you leave the office together, you trail behind as Steve and Javier talk. 

“So is your informant, Helena, really a prostitute?” Steve asks teasingly. “Everybody’s got to work for somebody.” Peña replies with a shrug as he turns to watch a secretary walk by, checking out her ass unashamedly until his gaze meets yours and he falters. You shrug at him, too tired to care who he was fucking with his eyes. It certainly wasn’t you anymore. 

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