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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒈𝒐𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔

ONESHOT | DoucheBag!FrankieAU | Francisco (Frankie) Morales x F!Reader Pt 3 of "So Needy" and Don Julio. Can also be read as a stand alone. ***Smut Warning (NSFW -Minors DNI- Read at your own risk) | Angst*** (Enemies-Lovers Trope if you squint) Word Count: 3.8k Summary: You've been flirting with Frankie over text for a week since you f*cked him in the club. During a girls night, you have the h*rny idea to invite him over for a quickie. Things do not go as you plan. Notes: Readers nickname is 'LC'. Readers bestfriend is nicknamed 'T'. Frankie, LC, and T all took their Pilots Licensing Class together. Douchebag!FrankieAU. Ghosting!Frankie. Hateful attraction. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. (Explicit Content: Fingering. Oral(M!receiving). Stimulation. Orgasms. Lots and lots of dirty talk).

A/N: Out here hammering these out to up my engagement so plssss comment and reblog if you enjoy hehehehe. Next one will be the prologue. Uncovering how LC got her nickname so stay tuned. Again, @pedritos-pumpkin has helped me with ideas for the next 3 fics in this AU. There will definitely be more problematic Frankie and confused LC. As always, I appreciate you all sm <3 Enjoy xx Theme Song: DFMU - Ella Mai (LC's point of view obvi)

You’re left baffled by the text message.

Scanning over it repeatedly.

‘I love the little moans that u make when I’m teasing you’

Who does he think he is? Ripping your dress while fucking you in the club like that.

Then leaving you to figure out how to get home without showing the whole place your naked body.

Fuck him.

You really want to, don’t you.

Stop it.

Of course you don’t stop it.

You’ve succumbed to texting him all week. Playfully flirting back and forth multiple hours within each day.

‘You’re a fuckin’ asshole for doing what you did at the club, Fish.’ Not you using his nickname to keep things light even when you’re pissed at him. You chew your lip waiting for a reply.

‘Like I keep saying, I’m a hot asshole.’

You scoff at his arrogance, a smirk still unfolding onto your lips.

Your fingers hover over the keys as you think of a rebuttal.

As you’re about to type, a text message from T drops down the top of your screen.

‘We still on for tonight?’

You click into the message and respond.

Overly excited for some much needed girl time.

You were going to finally tell her about Frankie. Although you feel she wont be pleased, you can’t hide this from your best friend.

‘Definitely!!’ You reply back to her.

Just before you can go back to the conversation with Frankie, he sends another text.

‘When can I see you again, LC?’

You can’t help but grin, your cheeks heating and stomach fluttering.

‘Look who‘s the needy one now’

You smirk at your response, about to close your phone and get some more work done, but another text comes in immediately.

‘What can I say? Need that tight pussy huggin’ my cock.’

You squirm in your office chair, shifting your legs together as arousal drips into your panties. Encouraging them to stick to your fluttering core while your body is encased in your tight leotards and pencil skirt.

You lock your phone and put it in your purse, hoping to drown out your dirty thoughts by diving into your work.

——

Later that night, you sit on the ground in your living room with T.

Telling her absolutely everything while her face molds into multiple different reactions.

“That’s who you disappeared with at the bar last weekend!… wait!” He eyes widen and a cheeky grin spreads onto her lips.

“You ripped your dress, was that from-“ her hand clasps over her mouth before she lets out an overly exaggerated laugh.

“Oh my god!” She squeals as your cheeks get hot again while nodding to her.

She sips from her wine, trying to calm herself.

“You’re a fuckin’ animal! Good for you!” She gives you seductive smirk while squinting.

You feel more relaxed now that she knows the truth.

You both continue the night drinking wine and clawing over every single intimate detail of both your experiences with Frankie.

Of course you couldn’t admit how desperate you were for him during sex.

T had always been the opposite when sharing her personal stories.

Always talking about how she could never beg anyone to dick her down.

How it turned her off when women were too ‘needy’.

If she knew you were a part of those women she referred to, she would combust into flames.

“I still can’t believe you’re fucking the guy who was best friends with the program bully.”

Your face falls, thinking about how Frankie and his best friend humiliated you and T in your flight licensing program.

T had initially got it worse than you.

Her altercation with Frankie’s best friend and class bully during spring break; was the reason they called you LC.

The meaning being worse than what it actually stood for.

“I know - but,” you start, humming as you swirl the glass of wine.

“It feels kinda good y’know?” You scrunch up your nose while staring at her.

“Like - knowing that they used to say all that shit…and now he can’t stop thinking about me,” you trail off.

Lying to your best friend now? - because it’s you who can’t stop thinking about him.

It doesn’t take long for you both to call it a night.

Curling up in bed next to T who instantly falls asleep.

The wine overflowing her with tiredness.

You however, stay up on your phone.

Hovering over the keyboard while staring at Frankie’s last message.

‘You up?’ You ask.

Half grinning at the simplicity of your message. Giving yourself a pat on the back for giving him a taste of his own medicine, ignoring his explicit comment from earlier.

Also applauding yourself for staying away from him all day.

‘No.’

His response coming in quicker than you expected.

You let out a shallow chuckle, careful not to wake up your best friend.

‘Whatcha doin?’

You stare at the screen in anticipation for a moment before a picture returns instantly.

It’s blurry at first until you click on it.

His painfully hard cock covering your screen. His large, veiny hand holding it still at the base.

Your mouth waters as you stare at it.

Unable to stop the replay of both the times it’s been inside you, splitting you apart with every inch.

You needed him again. The devilish voice in your head ringing through your ears loud and clear.

‘Thinkin’ about you’

Your heart falls into your stomach as you read his text, fluttering all the way down to your core.

You lock your phone quick as T shifts in bed while facing you.

Both of you laying on your side so even if she woke, she wouldn’t be able to see your screen.

You quickly turn your phone back on, hesitating as you stare at the picture and the text that followed.

You start typing, then delete your text.

Biting your lip as you give it another thought.

The arousal between your legs doesn’t subside, only gets worse the more you stare at the picture.

‘What are you doin?’

Another text from him comes in.

You smirk at him potentially getting anxious watching the chat bubble pop up then disappear repeatedly.

You think about it again, weighing out the pros and cons of telling him to come over.

Cons: T could possibly wake up, he’s an asshole who would be getting exactly what he wants.

Pros: T could possibly not wake up, he always makes you come, and you could satiate a craving.

Fuck it.

‘Bring that big dick over here, Fish’

You hit send.

Immediately, he replies back.

‘On my way’

——

It takes some time for him to get to your place.

You managed to slither out of bed without T noticing and freshen up in the bathroom.

Making sure you smell extra good and your hair is just the right kind of bedhead.

You add a bit of blush to your cheeks before the perfume, making you look rosy and flustered, just how Frankie likes.

The nerves in your stomach turn to excitement since this makes the top two of riskiest things you’ve ever done. This and fucking him in that club.

You weren’t all that experienced.

Another thing you wouldn’t admit to anyone, especially Frankie.

Doing anything with T just steps away sleeping in your bedroom, will be a challenge.

You’re pacing in your living room when you get a text from him.

‘You comin to the truck?’

You smirk. As guaranteed and safe as that sounds, you’re craving the risk.

‘No. Come in through the balcony’

Thank god for ground floor apartments.

You’re wait a couple minutes with no response. Walking over to check your balcony multiple times before you see a movement in the dark.

You slide the screen door open and try to stifle a giggle as Frankie swiftly swings over the balcony railing.

He managed okay, dusting himself off when he sees you.

This was so high school of you both, but he looks so fucking good you can’t help yourself.

The week had given his facial hair a chance to grow back.

His hair messy under that trusty cap, like he put it on to cover his bedhead.

Part of you wondered if he was just as giddy to talk to you. If he laid in his bed blushing when you would flirt back with him.

“So? - We gonna’ get on with it or do you want to stand out here all night?”

His words pull you from a fictional ideation. Your half smile falling to disappointment at how he was simply here to fuck around - literally.

You scoff and walk back into the living room, suddenly remembering how much of an asshole he is. How did you expect him to act when you called him over so late after getting a dick pic? You roll your eyes at the complications of your feelings through this entire ordeal.

None the less, you leave the balcony door open for him.

Do you want him to chase you?

Of course you do.

He follows you in, chucking to himself under his breath.

“Come on, LC” his voice low and playful. Like he’s sensed how pissed you are and it has him diving in deeper.

You turn around immediately to shush him. Both of you pausing in the silence with your index finger held in between you.

He looks worried as his eyes follow yours, to the closed bedroom door.

“Shit, is someone here?” His eyes widen before a demonic grin incapsulates his expression.

“You’re a bad gi-“

“It’s just T,” you cut him off, rolling your eyes in disgust.

“Shit…you still hang out with tits?”

You scoff.

Of course that wasn’t her name. Frankie and his best friend the program bully, found a way to label everyone with some sort of sexual meaning.

“We’re best friends, Frankie! - and don’t call her that anymore,” you snap, still pointing a finger at him.

He smirks at how you look in front of him, scolding him like a child while you’re wearing a little silk pj set.

He slowly walks up to you, his hands wrapping around your index finger and giving it a little kiss. Followed by puppy eyes pouting at you through his brows.

His words have a bite that make your stomach twist and knot with arousal.

“So much attitude baby…givin’ me all kinds of headaches,” he hums, almost in a whisper.

His lips still press into your finger and slightly turn up in a sly grin.

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes filling with hateful lust towards him, so you play his game back.

“Yeah?” You ask, with the click of your tongue.

You press your tongue into your cheek as Frankie’s eyes go dark watching you.

“Mhmm,” he shifts his body even closer.

Moving his lips to kiss down your finger, to your palm, then onto your wrist.

“This pussy’s worth every headache you give me,” he breathes, his mouth now on your neck.

His hot kisses have you dripping between your legs, your body internally screaming to be touched by him.

“Please Frankie,” you whisper to him, jaw going slack and eyes rolling.

Soaking in his entire being before you have to go back to lusting over him in the worst way.

A way that makes you completely hate yourself, it feels that good.

“Please what, huh?” He breaths against the soft skin of your collarbone before peppering it with kisses, his hands squeezing into your waist.

“Fuck the attitude outta’ me,” you breathe and he practically growls into your chest.

His lips come back to yours, clasping on tight and working so well against yours that it leaves you dizzy.

If it weren’t for his hands on your hips, you could float away.

While your tongues explore each other, he walks backwards and falls onto your couch, pulling you to straddle his waist.

He pulls back to look at you, your hair messily strewn about, and your silk pj set teasing him with all the things he wants to do to you.

Your heart is racing with him underneath you and your best friend sleeping only feet away.

Frankie gives you a crooked smile as his fingers slowly slip inside your shorts from the bottom. He can’t help but let out a little groan when he feels your bare centre, drenched by your slick.

You cover his mouth quickly and your eyes widen. Both of you pausing except for Frankie’s fingers that still slowly circle your clit while he stares at you, gagged by your palm.

“Mmm, you need to be quiet,” you whisper a moan.

He nods and drags his fingers through your folds to collect the mess at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your pussy.

You feel his hard cock pushing into you through the confines of his jeans and you finally take your hand away from his mouth, placing them both on his shoulders to steady yourself.

You roll your hips into his hand a little more before his thick fingers finally push inside, curling up and tapping that spot he knows too well.

He sits up and you press your front into his, his lips grazing against your neck as you try to hold in your noises.

“You act like I’ve never messed around like this before,” he spits, quietly, through his teeth.

“You need to relax, baby - I know how to be quiet.” Your mouth falls slack as the palm of his hand drags into your clit with the tapping of his fingers inside you.

He lets out a low chuckle before speaking against your neck.

“Anyone ever make you come as good as I do?” He growls into your skin, nipping at it with his teeth as your eyes start to water.

You’re unable to respond as he speeds up his hand. Your fingers gripping tight at the flexing bulge of his bicep.

The feel of his muscular arm working against you, pools even more arousal into his hand. He laughs at you, low and menacing.

“Didn’t think so, baby.”

His hand working on you so aggressively that you can’t hold back anymore.

Arching your back, squeezing your eyes shut, and clenching so hard that you disassociate.

Your hips grind into his hand as his fingers slip out and rub you through your orgasm. You’re completely unaware - at first - that you’ve gushed all over the crotch of his jeans.

“Mmm, needy little thing - soakin’ me so good,” he muses.

Your heavy breathing begins to slow and if your face wasn’t already flustered, it is now.

Your head falls into him as he lays back into the couch, pulling his hand out of your shorts and stroking your face with it. Smirking at the sight of your release smearing against your face.

You cuddle into his chest a little longer than expected and he flinches, prompting you to sit up.

He starts to unbuckle his jeans as you sit half on top of him.

Seeing the stain from yourself on his crotch has your cheeks getting hot and embarrassment floods your stomach. You fold your arms over your stomach and look at your bedroom door that still hasn’t opened.

Thank god.

“Hey,” he coos at you.

You slowly look at him through your lashes and he gives you what seems to be a genuine smile.

“I like it - just as long as I get to return the favour all over your face.”

The last part comes out his usual way, arrogant and selfish.

You’re about to scoff when he pulls his cock from his jeans.

His thick and long length standing at attention for you and leaking with pre cum.

Your mouth waters and you subconsciously lick your lips.

“Whatcha’ waiting for baby…gimme that pretty mouth.”

You don’t hesitate to slip down between his legs, your knees pressing into the soft rug beneath you as you grab onto his cock.

You look up at him, giving your best wide and innocent eyes before kitten licking his tip.

He sighs as he watches you, pulling his tee above his belly button to get a better view of your warm mouth wrapped around him.

You’re impatient, taking as much of his length as possible. Bobbing yourself up and down as you stroke the rest with both hands.

He’s so big that you feel you could use a third.

“Fuckkk,” he hisses, his one hand gripping at the lid of his cap and the other gently resting at the back of your head.

His hips jolt up on accident, immediately making you gag and a grin spreads across his lips. He stares up at your ceiling, head pressed into the couch cushions.

“I wanna fuck that throat,” he tells you in a low throaty groan.

His words have your hips grinding into nothing, already so wet again.

He looks down at you with his chin still tilted up, biting into his bottom lip with a mean look on his face.

Your give him a soft innocent look that has him growling from deep in his gut, his hand finally pushing into the back of your head.

Your mouth sliding down his cock as you look up at him.

Your eyes plead with him to go easy but it only makes his jaw tense and he speaks through gritted teeth.

“You can take it all.”

Your hips roll into the ground again.

“Make me feel good baby - so good, such a good girl,”

The praise sends you farther along his cock, mouth aching and eyes watering as you watch him.

His hips jolt up repeatedly, molding his cock into your throat, and you feel him twitching.

His moans start to get louder with each thrust and your eyes turn to worry.

Darting between him and the closed bedroom door.

You can tell he’s so close so you don’t pull away.

His eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a loud groan, unable to help himself as he’s pushing closer and closer to his release.

You’re really concerned now, trying to push off of him while mumbling onto his length.

Frankie doesn’t budge, only pushes you more aggressively onto him, and moans out to you louder than you want.

“Shhh…just a little bit more.”

A thud followed by your bed creaking has you both freezing for a millisecond.

His eyes widen with yours and he releases you from his grasp.

He pulls his pants up, zipping his red and angry cock back into his jeans and coming to a stance.

You look around, flustered as you hear footsteps along the floor of your bedroom.

“Go!” Is all you tell him, wide and watery eyes begging him in panic.

He’s freaking out too, but not as frantically as you.

He slips out the balcony door and hides around the corner as you fall into the couch and adjust yourself before the door opens.

T calls your name before emerging from the dark room.

She squints at you sitting on the couch, holding your breath and trying to look as relaxed as possible.

“You okay?” She asks, furrowing her brows.

“Yeah, I - uh,” you clear your throat, trying so hard not to give anything away.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

You smirk to yourself a little, at your ability to naturally relax into the couch.

T walks around to where you sit, falling into the couch next to you and grabbing the tv remote.

You watch her before slowly side eyeing the dark balcony door.

“Maybe we can find something that will put you to sleep,” she smiles genuinely, flipping the tv onto a streaming service and searching the shows.

As you sit and watch bad reality tv, your phone that’s face down on the side table next to you keeps lighting up.

With the screen pressed against the surface of the table, you’re still able to see when it radiates a new notification.

Your anxiety spins in your stomach and you finally get up, grabbing it fast and telling T you’re going to the washroom.

As soon as the door closes you open your phone to multiple missed messages.

‘Is she back asleep now?’

‘LC?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘You can’t just leave me out here like this!’

‘If you don’t text me in 5, I’m leaving’

‘I’m takin off. My dick fuckin’ hurts. Not cool LC. Not cool’

You frown into your phone, typing message after message before actually sending one.

‘Im sorry. She probably woke up because she heard you moaning.’

You and T both manage to get back to bed.

She falls asleep instantly but you don’t.

Tossing and turning, and continuously checking your phone.

Your emotions flood between affliction and anger.

You felt bad for leaving him without a release, but you also hated how selfish he was.

Making you feel worse by rubbing it in with those texts.

You hated how badly you wanted to make it up to him. Fighting with the demons in your head who take his side, wanting you to tell him everything he wants to hear.

Yeah right… he’s only mean because you allow him to be.

He knows you like it.

You stew in your anger for a bit before frowning some more.

Your fingers find the keyboard again, mindlessly sending another message.

‘Fish, i’m really sorry.’

Stupid.

Why are you apologizing? He’s the asshole here.

A speech bubble pops up and your heart hammers into your throat.

Swallowing thickly while waiting for his response, shutting the entire world out in anticipation.

Then it disappears and doesn’t come back.

You hover over the keyboard multiple times that night, even going as far as scouring your texts from the entire week.

It was as though you were mindlessly searching for evidence that he wouldn’t ghost you from here on out.

But that’s exactly what happened. Two weeks go by with not a word from him.

Eventually you get sick of checking your phone.

That is until you see a notification while having a glass of wine in the evening, on the very couch that you and Frankie had messed around on.

Your stomach twists with anxiety as you read it.

‘@fishmorales posted for the first time in a while’

‘Click to view’

So, of course you click it.

The picture reveals Frankie, an unfamiliar friend of his, and a woman.

Frankie’s strong hand grips the girls jaw as his lips are pressed to hers. He’s holding her jaw exactly how he holds yours. Held.

His friend is standing beside them with a beer in one hand and pointing at them with his other.

You feel your stomach knotting, accompanied by a bubble in your throat.

Tears threaten to breach your water line but you blink fast and sniff them away.

Your thumb scrolls to bottom to read the caption.

‘Santi‘s always gettin’ in the way of me and my girl’

My girl

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry that night, while drinking an entire box of wine. _____________ Join the Taglist: @bimbofairynextdoor @fallenfairydust @queerponcho @milla-frenchy @leeeesahhh @beboldbebravethings @girlbossnancy @sarah-10 @jaded222 @ievutebebe @spookyxsam @aestheticangel612 @sagggy @lordvelma @fatimaisabelpascal @cordycepcowboy @fhatbhabie @caatheeriinee07 @harriedandharassed @manuymesut @boobsbeesbongos @theclassicvinyldragon @drewharrisonwriter @pedroholicx @iheartdilfs01 @pastelnap @mswarriorbabe80 @meanderingcaptainswanmusings @misspascaliverse @pedrosaidsheispunk @2pacacabra @pedritosgfreal @girlofchaos @wayfaringhoax @laughcryreadsmutrepeat @pawnshopbluess222 @love-the-abyss @afterglowsb-tch13 @sanriowhorelol @kirsteng42 @milly-louise @okyeeaaahhhh @cowboychickenlittle @littlevenicebitch69 @pedr0swh0r3 @hiddenbabynyc

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#fic rec #frankie morales x fem!reader

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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

Text

OMG 😮

𝑫𝒐𝒏 𝑱𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒐

Francisco (Frankie) Morales x F!Reader ***SMUT WARNING*** (NSFW - Minors DNI - Read at your own risk, as I am not responsible for what you consume on the internet). (A spec of fluff if you really squint.)

ONESHOT. Part 2. of "So Needy" in this AU Can also be read alone. (Enemies-Lovers Trope if you squint)

Word Count: 3.1K Summary: After drunk car$ex with Frankie outside a bar, weeks go by without a word. That is until you run into him at a night club, unable to keep your hands off each other. Notes: Readers best friend is nicknamed 'T'. Reader and Frankie took their Pilots Licensing Class together. Douchebag!Frankie AU. Hateful attraction. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Semi-Public $ex. (Explicit content: Unprotected PIV, fingering, stimulation and lots of teasing, edging, orgasms, dirty talk.)

A/N: Putting this out to keep the slut babies fed while I work on my slow burner Joel fic. This idea was sparked by my bestie @fallenfairydust and her love for Kehlani's song 'Toxic'. Also, thank you to @pedritos-pumpkin for the ideas leading up to the smut. The comments and rebloggs are the reason I continue to be a horny mother troll putting out more fics. As always, feel free to send me prompts for this AU and I will try to fit them in. Enjoy xx Theme Song: Toxic - Kehlani (obviously)

You blame the Don Julio for making you a fucking fool for Francisco Morales.

After not hearing from him for days turned to weeks, you find yourself at a nightclub with T, dancing away all the memories of what it felt like to have him inside you.

With every flicker of the coloured lights and every slam of the bass, you blink to reveal snapshots of that memory.

How his body looked under yours in the drivers seat of his truck, wet from the rain that had pelted you both.

His hat on backwards to remind you of the douchebag he was.

It was so fucking hot, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about it every time your hand trailed down between your legs.

“I’m going to get another drink,” T yells to you over the music.

You nod to acknowledge her words and she drifts off between the large group of people on the dance floor.

You can’t help but pull out your phone, sighing as you click between apps and try not to stare too long at the messages icon that remains vacant.

You had tried so hard not to wish for a little red ‘1’ that may just be a message from the man, the myth, the legend.

But you fail.

Letting a small pout play onto your lips as you hit the lock button, letting the screen fall black.

As soon as you turn around, you barely walk into a big broad chest.

The smell of his cologne floods you with anger and unfortunately; excitement.

He’s looking down on you, his face shaved completely, hat missing, and his hair well combed.

He’s almost unrecognizable and your mouth parts in fascination at the sight of him.

“Missin’ me?” He gives you a cheeky grin, his eyes falling to your phone at the same time that his head nods to it.

He had caught you pouting with your finger hovering over the message icon.

Your mind spins with thoughts from ‘what the fuck are you doing here,’ to ‘why haven’t you texted me,’ but you don’t say anything.

Unable to form a coherent sentence that won’t make you seem too desperate at this point.

Despite your anger, arousal drips onto your inner thighs as you’ve gone commando in your dress.

The red fabric clings tightly to your sweat stricken body and the round cutouts running diagonally down the front have made it impossible to wear any undergarments.

He’s still staring at you when you realized you haven’t answered his flirtatious question.

You fix your gawking expression, turning it into annoyance as your hands cross over your chest.

“No.” You answer, blatantly tilting your head in the snobbiest, mean girl type of way.

You’re full of shit.

Of course you missed him and that only made you angrier.

His eyes fall down your body, a smirk creeping onto his lips before they climb back up to meet yours again. His expression is subconsciously sexy, emitting ‘he knows he’s hot’ energy that only makes you furious.

How does he just walk around existing with this much sex appeal.

It’s problematic.

Your eyes gloss over in more anger and you turn away from him, trying to walk away but he pulls you back by your wrist.

“Don’t be mad at me Chiquita, I’ve just been busy,” he mumbles into your temple.

Your body is pressed to his and his large, strong hands rest on your hips.

A feeling you missed, regretfully all too much.

You don’t say anything.

Instead you feel the strange urge to cry. Feeling similar to being reunited with someone you had spent years mourning.

The anger flushing through your veins joins the feeling of relief that he still exists.

From all those years of being your flight partner; Frankie knows you well enough to read your disappointment, just from the stillness of your body.

So he speaks again.

“For the record, I missed you too.” He smirks into your warm skin. His lips still speaking against your temple.

You scoff into the shelter of his chest, unable to stop a small smile from pulling at the corner of your lips.

If you stopped drinking that damn tequila an hour ago, he wouldn’t get away with any of this.

You hadn’t even admitted to missing him and he still weaselled his way into getting what he wanted that night.

Taking your hand and leading you through the crowded club; made you feel embarrassingly special.

To be the girl holding Fish’s attention was something you would never admit to liking.

Especially if they knew the asshole he was in front of the other guys in your old licensing class.

Of course, the Don Julio has to chime in.

Claiming that those times were behind you, and Frankie was grown now.

The Done Julio being wildly inaccurate but you don’t try hard to detest the tequila voice in your head.

As Frankie approaches the bar, he pulls you in front of him and wraps his arms around your body in default, resting his hands just below your chest and his chin against your head.

The automatic action of affection makes your stomach flip and flutter.

That sensation mixing with the anxiety of his previous actions, makes you want to live in this moment forever.

Anxious at the impending doom of being forgotten in his phone and maybe also in his mind.

The bartender briskly walks over to you both.

“Don Julio…” he points at you, then points at Frankie.

“And?”

Frankie’s eyes widen at your drink of choice, unable to stop his snicker.

“I’ll get a whiskey, neat.”

You grin at the bartender before he’s on his way to make your drinks.

Frankie tilts his head down, making you look up at him with those big, needy eyes.

“Don Julio?… it’s that kinda night, huh?”

You giggle and bite your bottom lip, nodding as you’re trying your hardest to coax him into needing you as bad as you need him.

His nostrils flare quickly and his eyes move from yours to your lips then back.

His hand slowly coming up to brush your hair from your face and place it behind your ear.

His eyes now staring into you adoringly, as the back of your head rests against his chest, returning that same look.

“You look so Fuckin’ good, baby.”

Sadly, those words are all you need to have you both smushing your lips together.

The drunken kisses are slow and sloppy.

Your mouth latching onto his like it’s your reason for breathing, drinking up as much of him as you can get, before he disappears again.

Frankie is the first to initiate separation at the sound of the bartender clearing his throat.

He looks unimpressed as Frankie slips him money and you both practically run from the bar with your drinks in hand.

You both laugh like excited children as he drags you to a secluded area of an abandoned hallway.

The sound of the club music muffled between the concrete walls that separate you and Frankie, from the rest of the world.

You turn to face him, pressing your back against the wall and biting the straw of your drink as you stare at him teasingly.

He takes a deep inhale.

Walking closer to you, after finishing his drink and placing the empty glass along a table like ledge.

He hovers close to your face, holding intense eye contact with you as he pulls your drink away and places it next to his.

His lips replace the cup, and his tongue replaces the straw, allowing you to wrap your lips around it and suck it, similar to how you would his cock if he let you.

He groans into the kiss, pulling away and leaning over you with his hand pressed above your head against the concrete wall.

The look of him like this mixed with how good he smells, has you practically frothing at the mouth.

You know it’s pathetic to want him this bad but again, you’re blaming the Don.

Frankie’s free hand drags down your body.

The pads of his fingers grazing over the exposed bare skin through the cut outs of your dress.

He watches as you look down, eyes following his dragging finger.

Unable to stop himself from licking his lips at the sight of you.

His eyes hooded in lustful hunger before he speaks.

“I didn’t know you clean up this good,” his voice low and tantalizing.

He’s almost rendered you speechless by the way he smells, mixed with the feel of his fingers reuniting with your skin, and now his voice.

You stare at him with big, innocent eyes.

“I never had a reason, until now.” Your voice purposely sounding shy.

Knowing that your neediness for him, will send him over, and you’re dying for it.

He gives you a crooked smile with a subtle laugh. His breath on your lips creating goosebumps along your bare arms.

With his one hand still braced above your head, his curious fingers stop at the second cut out, the one resting right beside your covered mound.

His fingers hook into that specific hole in your dress.

Pinching the fabric between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, slowly moving them up and down.

The backs of his fingers crazing against your bare skin, painfully close to where you need him.

“Until now, huh?” His head tilted down to watch his wandering hand as he can feel the choppiness of your breathing beneath him.

“That mean this is all for me?”

His eyes glide up your body.

When they meet yours and watch you bite your lip nodding; he gives in.

Dipping his head to meet you in a kiss and your hands move to the one teasing your body, trying to bend it and push it between your legs.

He groans at your demands, pulling away from your lips and bringing his hand out from between your legs.

“Always so fuckin’ needy,” he coos, mockingly.

You nod fast to him, eyebrows curling inwards and whimpering with impatience.

He bites his lip and lets out a soft ‘Mmm’, before bringing that hand to your mouth, positioning his two fingers together and dragging them across your bottom lip.

You watch as his head moves forward in a permissive nod and he parts his own lips, as if to tell you to open yours.

You concede, opening your mouth and taking in his two fingers, eagerly sucking on them while whining, and staring into his lust blown eyes.

He groans at the feeling of you aggressively wetting his fingers.

His hard on now pressing against his light washed jeans, dying to be given the same attention by that pretty little mouth.

“Easy,” he hums with that same laugh, directed at you, making you feel pathetic.

His words have you consenting to letting him take them away.

His hand slipping back between your legs, this time his wet fingers pinch lightly at your inner thighs.

Teasing you more.

“You let anyone else in this pussy besides me?” He growls.

His jealous words sparking a whole new fire you never expected, making you practically cry out in submission to him and only him.

“Mm-mm, no Frankie - just you,” your voice low and teasing, eyes glossing over as you yearn for his fingers.

For anything he’ll give you.

You just need him to touch you for fuck sake.

“I don’t like that answer,” he chuckles onto your lips maniacally and by instinct you shift your hips in hopes your sensitive centre will make contact.

“Only -you, Frankie,” you whine. Eyes pleading up at him.

Unfortunately it was true, you hadn’t been with anyone else since him.

Naturally and given your history, you wouldn’t have told him that if it weren’t for Don Julio making you a fucking fool.

He likes your desperate response, making his eyes cloud over in desire, and his fingers finally graze through your slit.

The initial touch completely shocking your system.

You try to look down at the way his flexed forearm looks when his fingers rub steady circles on your clit.

You catch a quick glimpse, your mouth parting and a moan slipping past your lips, when Frankie grabs at the top of your neck.

His large and calloused hand moves to grip your jaw, making you look at him.

You whimper with a lustful stare and grind your hips into his hand, allowing his fingers to brush through your folds and against your entrance.

He huffs out a laugh again, making you move your hips more.

“Makin’ such a mess,” he mumbles into your cheek at the feel of your slick coating his fingers and now your inner thighs.

You’re too far gone to be embarrassed about it.

“Wanna’ fuck my fingers baby?” His low voice sounding the most genuine it has tonight.

You bite your bottom lip slightly, eyes falling closed as you nod.

Your hips titling forwards and voice squeaking, as to try to get him where you need him.

He’s still gripping your jaw, as his fingers finally breach your entrance, tickling that spongey spot that he seems to find immediately.

You can’t help your eyes trying to drift downward, to watch.

Frankie feels the pressure of your chin trying to fight against his hand.

“You like to watch, huh?” He questions, knowing you’re unable to provide a sensible answer.

The feeling of his touch after weeks of absolutely nothing, is like a drug.

You moan ‘Mhmm,’ and your hips grind into his hand again in response.

Frankie lets your jaw go as his lips hit yours, sucking the air from your lungs in a messy open mouthed kiss.

He pulls back, just enough for you to tilt your head down and watch as his veins show in his forearm, while he works on you.

“So Fuckin’ spoiled - need me inside you - around all these people.”

Your cheeks get hot as you can feel your orgasm approaching, your hole clenching around his fingers repeatedly.

“Mhmm baby, how bad you want it?” He mumbles, his fingers slowing down to tease you.

“Frankie!” You cry out, unable to control the volume of your voice.

“So b-bad,” you stutter, squinting your eyes as your jaw falls slack.

“You gonna beg me to make you come?” He asks, a devilish smirk spreading onto those plush lips you wish you could hate.

Of course he was going to edge you until you begged.

He had too much control over you which made him extremely problematic.

Though, you couldn’t help needing your fix right now.

“Please, please Frankie, I wanna come, please,” you’re half embarrassed at how ridiculous you sound and how pathetic this looks.

Before now, you thought people who fucked in public, in a club like this, were trashy and unsophisticated.

Now you had become those very people.

So high off just Frankie’s fingers that you were begging for your own release in a public setting.

He growls before succumbing to your pleads.

His face diving into the nook of your neck. Licking, kissing and sucking along your sensitive skin.

Without you even noticing, he’s managed to undo his jeans, releasing his rock hard length.

Your eyes widen by surprise when his strong hands pull at your ass, using the wall and his body to hold you up.

You wrap your legs around him subconsciously and his lips meet yours again.

Working tirelessly at your mouth as he pushes his hips against your body. His cock running through your folds, making you whimper and squirm.

As he pushes your legs open wider, the fabric of your dress rips.

Your eyes widen for a minute and you go to reject his efforts. The anxiety of having to try and leave this club with a ripped dress, flooding your mind.

But in the midst of mental panic, Frankie pushes inside of you fully.

Completely wiping away all your worries the minute his cock bottoms out, brushing that spot deep inside you.

“Pussy so needy baby…suckin’ me right in,” he breathes into your neck.

Your eyes roll shut and your head falls back against the cold brick wall.

All the teasing had pushed Frankie so close already.

Seeing you in this dress, feeling how wet you are for him, and the little sounds you make when he teases you.

All of this having the ability to get him off in about a dozen strokes.

His arrogance never letting him admit this, even if he was being tortured.

His hands grip your bare ass and he’s unable to stop himself from pounding into you.

Your eyes squinting shut and your forehead falling onto his shoulder.

The smell of your perfume mixed with your nails stretching into his hair, pushes him closer, on top of everything else.

The way you suffocate his cock has him gritting his teeth.

“So Fuckin’ tight…” he spits, his unrelenting pace getting sloppy as he nears his own finish.

His words send you over, your eyes filling with tears as you clench around him so hard he would slip out if he pulled back enough.

The sounds of your whimpers during release, push him over the edge.

Groaning as he empties his balls in you.

Both of you panting as he puts you back on wobbly legs, tucking himself in and straightening himself out.

His hands find the ripped fabric of your dress and try to bring it to its original spot, but it’s no use.

That second hole is ripped open, leaving you completely exposed if you don’t squeeze the fabric together.

You’re dazed.

Your head spinning from the most erotic sex you’ve ever experienced.

He laughs at the fucked out look on your face paired with your ravaged outfit.

After giving a quick peck to your forehead, he goes to walk away.

“What am I supposed to do about this?” You ask, somewhat sheepishly.

He stops near the door in the empty hallway, turning to look back at you with heavy lids and a smirk.

“You’re the one who just got fucked in a public place…I guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

He disappears through that door. Leaving you dumbfounded and half exposed in a building that requires you to walk through a bunch of people to leave.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” you mutter.

Trying to hold your dress together and pull out your phone to text T.

An aggressive and suffocating rage takes over your entire body until your phone vibrates.

A little red notification appearing on your messages icon.

Your heart thumps fast and you click onto it with no hesitation.

‘I love the little moans that u make when I’m teasing you.’ _________

A quickie with Frankie during a girls night? -> click here Join my Taglist: @bimbofairynextdoor@queerponcho@milla-frenchy@leeeesahhh@beboldbebravethings@girlbossnancy@sarah-10@jaded222@ievutebebe@spookyxsam@aestheticangel612@sagggy@lordvelma@fatimaisabelpascal@cordycepcowboy@fhatbhabie@caatheeriinee07@harriedandharassed@manuymesut@boobsbeesbongos@theclassicvinyldragon@drewharrisonwriter@pedroholicx@iheartdilfs01@pastelnap@mswarriorbabe80@meanderingcaptainswanmusings@misspascaliverse@pedrosaidsheispunk@2pacacabra@pedritosgfreal@girlofchaos@wayfaringhoax@laughcryreadsmutrepeat@pawnshopbluess222@love-the-abyss@afterglowsb-tch13@sanriowhorelol@kirsteng42@milly-louise@okyeeaaahhhh @cowboychickenlittle Those I am unable to tag: @anglnumbr111 & @brittmb115

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#fic rec #bestie writes so well

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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

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REBLOG IF ITS OKAY TO TALK TO YOU.

Please.

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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

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Omg … she’s done it again!!! Love, love, LOVE this.

The dynamic, the teasing, the subtle tenderness underneath Frankie’s attitude !! 😦🤩

“𝑺𝒐 𝑵𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒚”

Francisco (Frankie) Morales x F!Reader ***SMUT WARNING*** (NSFW - Minors DNI - Read at your own risk, as I am not responsible for what you consume on the internet). You can call Frankie's shameless flirting fluff? First fic within my DoucheBag!Frankie AU Enemies-Lovers Trope if you squint Word Count: 5K Summary: Years after hating each other, Frankie runs into an old classmate and offers her a ride home. Note: Readers nickname is 'LC' (will be revealed in later fics). Readers best friend is nicknamed 'T'. Reader and Frankie took their Pilots Licensing class together. Frankie's an arrogant dickhead/liar. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Car$ex (Explicit Content: Unprotected PIV. Stimulation, Orgasms. Edging. Dom!Frankie. Dirty Talk. Mentions of Oral - f!receiving.) Pining (squint).

A/N: I'm so excited to be putting out works more frequently because of this AU. Pieces will be shorter than what you've gotten from me so far. Anything within this AU can be read solo or in conjunction with this first release. If the Frankie lovers have any prompts they would like to see - please send them my way. I can't promise ill be quick to use but it just may inspire me to create something and post it on the spot. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy xx -g<33 Theme Song: Go Fuck Yourself - Two Feet (I picture them f*ckin to this song hehehehe)

“Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales…went by Frankie?”

You hold out your phone to face your best friend T.

“Don’t you remember him?” You ask her, leaning over the small table in the crowed restaurant.

Her eyes widen as she stares at the black and white picture from an article on your phone.

“I do! He was friends with those assholes that used to cat call us!” She exclaims, before it registers

“Wait,” a smile creeping along her face.

“This is the guy you fucked in the back of his truck?”

You nod in confirmation and she hums, finally sitting back in her chair with defeat.

“I don’t remember him being that hot?” She laughs, pointing down at the photo and taking a sip of wine.

“Because that, I would definitely remember.”

You both laugh more and your face becomes serious with wide eyes.

“Honestly T, I was so drunk…I barely remember”

You’re lying. Of course you remember fucking the Frankie Morales in the back of his truck.

In so much detail that you can’t stop replaying it every time you blink.

“And you haven’t heard anything from him since?” She stares at you as her lips graze the edge of her glass.

“Nope. It’s been days and nothing.” You flatten your lips and raising your eyebrows, taking your phone back and exiting out of the article.

“Wow, in true toxic fashion, what a fucking asshole” she huffs.

“This is why we hate all men, him included.”

You both clink your wine glasses in cheers.

Unable to get your mind off of drunk sex in the back of Frankie’s truck; your memory transports you back to that night.

What transpired after your car got towed, and it started to down pour.

——

“No fuckin way!” You hear his voice break through the crowdedness of the bar.

You have been out with some of your work friends at a local pub, celebrating a promotion.

“LC, in the flesh.”

As soon as you hear that nickname ring through your ears, you become nauseous.

You turn around to face him.

Frankie Morales but you know him as ‘Fish’.

You’re not really sure why that was his nickname but if it was because he was slimy - it fit.

“Francisco,” you greet him back.

Asserting your dominance in the way you call him by his full name, unlike how he’s greeted you.

“Geez, how longs’ it been?” He grins at you as he leans over the bar. His eyes becoming hooded as he holds his glass lazily and looks you up.

His eyes lingering a little too long on your chest.

“Oh I don’t know,” you hum, squinting as you shift on your barstool.

“Not long enough,” you snap at him.

Looking at him brought back way too many memories of him and his friends always having shit to say about you and T.

This was back before you had confidence. You were weak then but not now.

You kept yourself together although the drunken look on his face solidifies the real reason he was paying such close attention to you.

“You look,” he stops, his eyes doing another sweep of your body.

“Incredible.”

You scoff at his failed attempt at flattery, fighting off the strange feeling bubbling up in your stomach.

“Don’t do that,” you groan at him, shaking your head and turning to look back at your friends.

The table is preoccupied, no one noticing that you had been gone for a while already.

“Do what?” He huffs out a laugh, eyes wide and his hands coming up in defence.

Your eyes drift back to his and you squint at him in silence. Your eyes roaming his entire face as he watches you, amused.

“You haven’t changed,” he laughs, swiping a thumb over his moustache.

He knows that look of concentration all too well. It’s exactly how you know his.

The way his mouth parts and his tongue peeks out. How his eyebrows scrunch together.

The way his strong hands grip that fucking control stick.

Stop it

“What are you even doing here?” You ask, annoyed.

You slow blink at him after finishing your fourth drink of the evening and motioning to the bartender again.

Frankie is all too eager to answer your question. So much that you almost feel bad for him, looking like a little golden retriever. So different from the cocky, arrogant, douchebag he used to be.

He points over his shoulder with his thumb as he slouches against the bar top.

“With some of the guys,”

This is the first time you seem tense and Frankie can tell. Your body pushing slightly off the stool to look over his shoulder at the group of obnoxiously loud men. Your eyes scan them carefully but you don’t recognize any of them.

Thank god

Frankie’s eyes fall over your frame again and his mouth comes to an inaudible ‘o’ when he sees your bare legs.

You would be lying if your stomach didn’t flip catching the end of his reaction.

You curse your insides and suffocate the feeling.

“Checkin’ for familiar faces?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow at you.

During the entire interaction, he stands with his body completely turned to you.

A smirk now on his face when you see it again - the same old arrogant Fish.

You roll your eyes, turning yourself in the stool to face the bartender.

Before you can speak, Frankie interrupts you.

“I’ll get another whiskey, neat…and we’ll get two of whatever she’s havin’.”

With your mouth slightly agape, you turn to face him, again.

He’s waiting for it. An insult, a form of rejection like always, but instead the liquor in your system is slowly taking over your brain and leaving your rational inhibitions like a breadcrumb trail.

“Two?” You ask, baffled.

His body relaxes and he leans his elbows against the bar now, his head turning to look at you in a side eye.

His eyes falling down your body for what feels like the billionth time that night.

“You seem like you need ‘em.”

You scoff just in time for the two drinks to be placed in front of you and Frankie hands the man cash.

You grab one, putting the straw against your lips and Frankie watches as they purse and your cheeks hollow while you suck down the liquid.

He stops himself before you notice the way he’s looking at you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you bite your straw.

It’s truly unintentional how attractive you look.

“Yeah well,” he starts, now staring straight at the bar shelf full of liquor bottles.

“Thought I’d buy them for ya…for all the bullshit we went through.”

“You mean for all the bullshit you and that asshole put me through?” You cut him off, swallowing almost half the drink.

Your eyes roam back over to your friends. You’re still not being missed as the liquor burns down your throat and into your stomach.

“Will your friends live without you?” He asks, his attitude noting on the way you keep looking back at them.

Your cheeks warm at him being so observant.

You had hours of partnered flight training to thank for this.

“I suppose,” you sigh, after hesitating long enough to weigh the pros and cons of continuing this conversation with your old partner.

Frankie looks different now. More rugged and worn. His facial hair starting to grey and his hair under his cap long and unkept. How dare you say it was kinda sexy?

You’re definitely drunk now

Your words being the deciding factor for Frankie to order you two more drinks on top of the ones you’re still working on.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Fish?” You half laugh. You don’t mean it flirty, although it certainly comes out that way.

His eyes light up at the use of his nickname - finally.

“Ah, so now it’s fish?” He asks, raising his eyebrow as his bottom lip cradles his cup.

“You’re 10% Fish, and 90% douchebag,” your mouth curving into a smirk after letting that slip.

Liquid courage

His mouth now dropping open and his eyes seem to twinkle in playful shock.

It makes both of you laugh some more.

“Wow,” he hesitates, his eyelids drooping lower with what looks to be desire.

“I guess I deserved that one.”

You shrug as you stare into each others eyes. Frankie notices your strangely lustful expression before he speaks.

“Entertain me for a sec,”

He finally sits on the bar stool and turns himself to face you, his big muscular legs spreading open and his arms crossing over his chest.

You look at him with wide, wondering eyes, unable to help yourself from smirking in your drunken state.

You hate how good his attention makes you feel.

It’s deep down and you’re too hammered to let it fester for too long.

“Spit it out then,” you tease him.

He can’t help but chuckle and reach for another sip of his drink.

“You didn’t enjoy any of it?”

You look at him confused, so he continues.

“I mean, sure we were assholes… but did you ever enjoy when it was you know?” His voice trails off and his eyes become softer for a short moment.

“You and I?”

Your playful expression falls and you look away from him.

Tying your eyes to a vintage sign on the wall, to take away from the pain in your expression.

Of course you enjoyed it. The only time you could actually stand Frankie was in the cabin, when you had both been paired to fly testing drills together.

When he wasn’t around everyone else, he was actually nice

Would you ever tell him this? No.

You couldn’t possiblylet him have that.

You harden your expression and turn back to face him.

He’s still hopeful, unfortunately.

“It was just drills Frankie,” you respond, sternly.

His face turning away from yours so you can’t see his fallen expression.

“Are you seriously bothered that I don’t think it was special?” You ask, laughing again.

He seems so pathetic all of a sudden.

If he hadn’t joined his best friend in absolutely humiliating you years ago, you would almost feel bad for him.

He pauses for a second before turning to face you again. His expression looking as though he’s been met with some sort of challenge. “Special?” He hums at you, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I asked if you enjoyed it… I don’t know where you got special from but hey” he throws his arms up in defence again. “If that’s how you really feel.”

He winks at you playfully and you give his shoulder a quick shove. The action eliciting a genuine smile from him that you’ve only ever seen in the cabin of the helicopters, when it was just you and him.

“Shut up!” you laugh. The alcohol in your system unable to keep up with all the banter.

“I mean, those drills with you were the only reason I was that well liked by the guys.”

The way he looks at you sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes taking off each layer of protection you’ve created against him.

You’re in shock at his revelation. Your mind not able to comprehend exactly what he means.

The look of your brows scrunching together in confusion, pushes him further.

“You know you could have gotten with any one of us right?” His tongue reaches out across his lips before he sips his drink again.

You’re still quiet, blinking and squinting at him in disbelief. Your face starts to relax as you search his for any sign of bullshit. His lips curl into a grin as his mouth hovers at his glass. “Im serious,” He chuckles, keeping eye contact as the amber liquid enters his mouth. You look him up and down, assessing your odds with what you’re about to say. “Oh yeah?” you ask and he nods quick in confirmation. “Yes’mam,” he finishes his drink. “Even you?” Your words come out seductive and confident. You’ve given him the opportunity to continue this interaction when the old/sober you would have never let it get this far. He raises an eyebrow and his eyes slowly drag down your body again, in silence. He doesn’t say anything so you speak again, still confident through all the nervousness pooling in your stomach. “It’s a good thing I didn’t, ‘cause I can imagine everyone would have found out.” You’re now working on the last drink that he ordered you, your head spinning with memories of licensing school, Frankie, all the drama that related. “Nah, I would have kept my mouth shut…I’m not that much of an asshole.”

He know’s he’s lying.

Back then he wouldn’t have been able to shut up about getting with you. He would have told his buddies every single detail. From how it feels to be inside you - to how you taste when you come undone on his face.

“You’re the reason they started calling me LC!” you scoff, unable to help yourself from laughing at the irony. Frankie looks down into his lap and his hands run down his strong thighs in his dark wash jeans. “Alright, alright,” he surrenders. “I might be a bit of an asshole.”

You giggle and tilt your head, unable to argue with that. “But I’m a hot asshole.” He bites the inside of his lip as those chocolatey brown eyes look at you through his brows. “Plus, I had to do something to get your attention.” His flattery works for a short second, making your stomach flip as you try to suppress it. Considering the amount of alcohol in your system, you know you should be leaving.

You both burn holes into each other for a couple moments before you stand.

“Well, this has been fun-”

Frankie cuts you off by standing up too, his whole body only centimetres from you. “At least let me get your number?” His eyes are wide and innocent like. You watch his face again, trying to sense any sarcasm but he only waits while holding out his phone to you. You take it from him slowly and hesitantly. The way you bat your lashes has him spinning and he’s not even drunk. After you give his phone back with your number, you say goodbye to your friends and head for the door.

Unable to stop yourself from looking over your shoulder at Frankie who’s now joined his friends again. He turns to look at you too, so you look away. Hoping it wasn’t too quick for him to notice.

As you’re looking for your keys outside, you hear the door open and close behind you. The noise from the bar flooding through the humidity outside, before it muffles out. “Oh shit,” you hear Frankie say. Before you can even react to him following you outside, you follow his gaze to the tow truck that’s driving your vehicle off the crowed street. “Fuck! That’s my car!” you exclaim, eyes widening as you watch it disappear into the distance. As if the night can’t get any worse, thunder claps above you and it starts to down pour immediately.

The hard water pelting you and Frankie as you stand in the parking lot. “You must be kidding,” you sigh through the shower.

“My trucks over here,” Frankie yells through the storm. You don’t hesitate to follow him, trying not to let the rain wash away your buzzed state and make you nervous. You both slide in on either side, shivering and trying to shake the water off. So much rain in so little time has left you both absolutely soaked. “I can drive you home,” he offers, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his hair. He places it back on his head backwards and looks over at you. Your mouth is slightly open from watching him with enough arousal to temporarily deplete your hatred towards him.

It’s quite annoying how attractive he is - the hat making it worse. He pushes his button up long sleeves to his forearms as he waits for your response, his eyes unable to stop themselves from trailing down to your chest again. His cock hardening at the way the wet fabric has molded to your body and drops of rain trickle from the base of your neck, down into your cleavage. You look even better than you did back in licensing, if that was even possible.

“Are you sure you’re alright to drive?” you ask, genuinely, with your eyebrows pulled together in concern.

He starts the truck, happy that you haven’t rejected him.

Although he knows you would have if it weren’t for the rain. “Of course…you did all the drinking tonight.”

The rain hitting his window drowning out his laughter. You sit with your hands in your lap, one holding the other tightly, to avoid fidgeting. Your eyes watch Frankie from the side, as his one hand grips the steering wheel and the other holds onto the gear shift between you. Even after the car is in drive, he’s still gripping the stick like he knows how it affects you. You watch the veins in his arms as his whole hand tenses around the top of it. His thumb tapping the edge and his other hand choking the wheel.

He’s making sounds with his mouth through the awkward silence of the entire drive.

If it weren’t for you telling him directions to get you home; the only sound would be his windshield wipers steadily clearing the rain. You finally pull into the dark parking lot of your apartment complex and Frankie’s strong hand pushes the gear into park. The whole drive you’ve been side eyeing him, uncomfortable with the way he makes you feel for simply just existing. “Well, this was fun?” he asks, giving you a crooked smile as you gently turn to finally look at him. “We should uh,” his eyes roam your face and trail back down your body. Assessing how timidly you sit in his passenger seat, water still pelting the vehicle through his hesitation.

He can’t help but lick his lips as his eyes burn into your exposed thighs.

The goosebumps running along your skin has Frankie wanting to graze the pads of his fingers down your leg. He can already tell how soft your skin must be, making him extremely hungry to feel you. “Do this again sometime…” He mumbles, letting his words trail off as he catches you giving him a look similar to desire. “Fuck it,” he huffs and you both collide over the middle console.

Your lips moving together messily as you inhale into his kiss. His lips feel warm and soft despite everything else being so cold and damp.

Your upper lip starts to burn from his moustache rubbing so aggressively in the steady rapidness of your movements.

His teeth nip at your bottom lip, pulling on it before soothing it with his tongue that has now slipped into your mouth. You moan as it twists with yours and his lips repeatedly seal to you in starvation.

His big hands hold your face, cradling your cheeks as you grab at the tops of his shoulders, trying to get him as close to you as possible.

You sigh as his lips trail along your cheek and jaw, all the way down your neck.

The position is incredibly uncomfortable so he stops.

You whine at the loss of his warm contact but you gasp as he aggressively yanks the middle console back to make more room for you.

His arm grabbing at it and flexing so hard to yank it back that he grits his teeth.

The sight of him floods your core with arousal, heat pooling in your lower stomach as your walls flutter around nothing.

It makes you crave his touch even more.

Before you can even say anything he has his lips on yours again and his large hands hook under your arms to help you crawl over the console and onto his lap.

The whole motion not as awkward as you thought it would be, due to the fact that his impatience to have you has made him extremely strong.

He extends his seat farther from the steering wheel and reclines it only a smidge, so skilled as if he’s done this before.

You don’t question him because it feels too good to keep your lips on his and your body’s pressed together.

You let out a low moan as his hands grab roughly at your ass and guide your hips to grind against his clothed cock.

He continues to kiss your neck as you fumble with his shirt buttons, undoing the top three and sitting back to look at him.

He pants onto your lips as he watches you eye his throat, the base of his neck between his collarbones.

The pads of your fingertips gently glide against the dip of his skin where you used to watch his sweat bead, wanting to savour the feel.

You’re about to fuck The Francisco Morales.

What would T say if she knew?

His eyes darken as he watches the way your lips curve into a smile. His hand coming to your face and pushing your loose hairs behind your ear in the most sincere of gestures, despite how arrogant he’s been all night.

The simple and soft indication makes you meet his gaze and his lids fall half closed as he looks at your lips, puffy and red from his violent kisses.

“Fuck, you have no idea how bad I’ve wanted this,” he croaks, his thumb grazing against your cheek bone as he holds your face.

Your stomach does more fluttering and this time, you don’t suppress it.

Only slowly lay your lips to Frankie’s again, hoping to drink up as much of him as possible.

His hands glide down from your ass to your bare legs as you both tie your tongues in a knot, his palms dragging up your skirt and grazing the waistband of your thong.

He groans into your mouth as you can’t help but grind your hips onto his again.

His hands then trail up under your blouse and to your back where it’s clasped together by multiple buttons.

His hands slip through from the inside of the shirt and he bawls his fists, pulling his wrists apart and ripping the fabric.

You pull from his lips to look at him, your forehead laying on his with shaky breathes.

“I hate this fuckin top,” he growls, slipping the fabric off your body and throwing it into his backseat.

“You shouldn’t be covering all this.”

His hands glide down from your chest in your bra, to the bare skin of your ribs, as he leans further into his reclined seat.

Staring hungrily at your upper body as you try to steady your breathing.

His hands clasp onto the supple skin of your bare hips and he guides you to rock into his hard on that remains locked away in his jeans.

“Fuckkk,” he groans as your hands rest on his shoulders to steady yourself.

Your head falls back as your eyes roll. The rocking of your body getting faster and faster.

Moans falling from your lips repeatedly, as your fingers dig into the warm skin of where his neck meets his shoulders.

“Gonna’ come just from grindin’?” He huffs out a laugh.

Your face becomes warm as you look to the side in embarrassment, your hips coming slowly to a stop.

Frankie immediately regrets his words.

“No, baby,” he whimpers, making you look back down at him.

He watches his hands trail all over your body as he looks at you with pleading eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that I just,” his hands now coming to his own shirt and peeling it off.

His tan skin making your lips slightly part and your mouth water.

“I rather you come on my cock,” he gives you a crooked smile before staring down at where you’re seated.

He looks back up at you as his hands lift your skirt above your hips to reveal your panties.

“Oh my god,” he breath hitches, his eyes constantly checking in on you as his fingers hook into the thin fabric covering your mound and pulling it to the side.

You let out an almost inaudible gasp as the back of his finger grazes against your sensitive heat.

You whine as he licks his index and middle finger, his eyes still locked on yours before he brings his wet fingers between you two and rubs your bare clit.

“Ugh-Frankie,” you moan, eyebrows scrunching together as he teases you in slow circles.

You lift your hips up and lean back to give him a better view and he groans

“So Fuckin’ wet baby - can you hear it?” He asks, before pushing his fingers inside you.

The rain has finally slowed, allowing you to hear the sound of your pussy squelching around him.

Both of you moaning as your walls tighten against his thick digits.

He speeds up the pace, only producing more of your slick.

“So needy,” he coos at you, giving you another crooked smile.

“Acting a little bitchy back there baby-” he grits his teeth as his fingers move faster inside you.

“But your pussy’s just begging for it - isn’t it?”

“Mhmm,” you sigh, eyes closed and head nodding yes.

“You want my cock?”

You nod again, vigorously, absolutely furious that he’s made you wait this long.

“Take it out then,” he orders, lifting his chin to motion his permission.

You almost cry out as he continues to finger fuck you hard, as you struggle with his jean zipper.

Your fingers tremble and he laughs at your inability to accomplish such a simple task.

“You can do it baby, you’re almost there,” he taunts, his mouth parting as his fingers speed tap against your g-spot.

Tears pool into your eyes as you inch closer to your release, trying to hold it so you don’t come just from his fingers.

You finally free his cock and take it into your palm, stroking him fast in hopes he will let up his fingers inside you but he persists, groaning at the feeling of your hand wrapping around his length.

You try to move his hand away from you, whimpering as he inches you closer and closer.

“Don’t worry,” he huffs out a pathetic laugh at you.

“You’re not coming unless I’m inside - I just want you close, first” he breaths.

Your walls shudder at his words with your legs now trembling, his name repeatedly tumbling out of your mouth in hopes he will just let you finally put it in.

Your eyes squint shut, unable to hold on much longer when he pulls his hands away, your hips rocking into his stiff cock, letting it tickle your clit as you whine.

“Now you sit on it,” he tells you, similar to how he used to tell your which buttons to press on the control panel in the helicopter; sure of himself.

You don’t waste time pushing him inside, more than ready to take every single inch of him.

“Mmm, so now she listens,” he hisses at the feeling of you covering him with your slick.

His hands are back on your hips, bottoming himself out completely and groaning.

“Want it so bad Frankie,” you whine, desperately trying to rock your hips.

“Yeah?” He huffs, helping you grind against him.

Your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back into your head again, at the feeling of him filling you completely.

He’s enjoying you struggle to move against him. He can’t help but let out breathy laughs every time your legs shake from exhaustion at how bad he’s edged you.

Your orgasm looms over you again and he notices.

Your walls squeezing against him, suffocating his cock.

“You wanna come baby?”

His voice so low and tantalizing.

You flatten your lips and close your eyes with your hands on his shoulders, trying to keep a rhythm to help yourself get there.

Your legs are sore but you keep going, all because of the way he looks under you.

His cap is still on backwards and his tanned, thick body is glistening with sweat and remnants of the storm.

The hairline below his belly button rubbing against your clit each time you take him completely.

You whine as your one leg starts to shake uncontrollably.

“You need my help?” He asks, devilishly sympathetic.

“Mhmm,” your eyes pleading with him as you bite your lip.

“Ask me nicely, first.” He toys with you, a smirk pulling at his lips as your mouth drops open again.

“Please Frankie, help me!” you beg, loud and serious.

“Mmm, so hot when you beg for it baby -“ his fingers find your clit again, drawing hard and slow circles.

“Need to hear you say you need it now…”

“Ugh - Fuckk - need it - Frankie please!” you cry out in one last effort. You feel as though you will be left edged and unfinished, all due to your leg strength abandoning you.

If anything, it might be better to be left disappointed.

If that’s the case you’ll be able to forget about Francisco once and for all.

Just as rational thoughts begin to cloud your mind, he reels you in.

His body sitting up straighter with his back off the seat.

His big hands grab yours, securing your wrists in his one hand pressed at your tailbone.

His other going to the front of your neck, gripping your jaw to make you look at him.

He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he hammers his length into you so roughly that your eyes spill tears.

Your eyes try to squint shut but his grip gets tighter around your jaw, to make them open again.

“Nuh-uh,” he spits.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me when you come or I won’t let ya’”

You squeal at his words, as his cock pushes into you one final time before you come undone.

Regardless of your vision going blurry, your eyes remain focused on Frankie as he too unravels.

Watching his face as he comes inside you is something you never thought you needed to see.

Not realizing it would slowly become the only image taunting you for weeks to come.

You needed him again.

______ Taglist for Anything Written: @bimbofairynextdoor @fallenfairydust @pedritos-pumpkin @queerponcho @milla-frenchy @leeeesahhh @beboldbebravethings @girlbossnancy @sarah-10 @jaded222 @ievutebebe @spookyxsam @aestheticangel612 @sagggy @lordvelma @fatimaisabelpascal @cordycepcowboy @fhatbhabie @caatheeriinee07 @harriedandharassed @manuymesut @boobsbeesbongos @theclassicvinyldragon @drewharrisonwriter @pedroholicx @iheartdilfs01 @pastelnap @mswarriorbabe80 @meanderingcaptainswanmusings @misspascaliverse @pedrosaidsheispunk @2pacacabra @littlevenicebitch69 @cowboychickenlittle @wayfaringhoax

#fic rec #frankie morales x f!reader

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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

Text

Plans

Summary: Javier Peña is slowly but surely becoming a thorn in your side. He just can't seem to leave you alone at work, and you're coming to realise that dismantling your plans is his top priority.

Word Count: 15k

SLOW BURN! You have been warned ...

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Trope: Opposites Attract (work acquaintances that bicker like crazy)

Rating: Explicit. 18+ MDNI

Warnings: explicit sexual content (dirty talk, oral sex f-receiving, p in v), swearing, consumption of alcohol, mention of drug-related violence and death, angst, mention of overworking, bickering at work, bribing/trading favours at work, discussion of insecurities, talk of previous sexual partners. Slight dub-con with an unexpected kiss (on the cheek).

Author’s Note: This fic features a reader/OFC blend. She has a defined job and a particular personality, but she has no pre-assigned physical appearance.

I really hope you enjoy this! Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you liked this fic. It would mean the world to me !!

You have a method for these types of calls. The ones where an embassy associate or some other government official refused to accept what you were trying to tell them. It’s all about the tone of voice used; you must appear agreeable with a hint of ditsiness, just enough to remind whatever balding senior on the opposite end of the phone that you were a woman, and so, it was expected that things weren’t getting done properly. If it weren’t for misogyny, you’d have been yelled at more times than you could count.

God, and the pet names. It was as though these men believed sweet talking had the power to override all scheduling conflicts and put their names at the top of the list. You swear they are the reason why you never like when men call you “baby”, or “sweetheart”. The only thing it aroused in you was disgust.

As the American Ambassador to Colombia, your boss was in high demand, and as his personal assistant, you were extremely protective of his diary. And well, Crosby was revered for his expertise and military history, which caused all the other WASPs in your sector to swarm to him; eager to share a drink and talk politics with an American hero.

Despite the fact your boss had no time to indulge them, having his hands full with more pressing matters - such as the alarming rise of drug-related violence in South America - they still blew up his phone constantly. Did these men not have wives to annoy, instead of you?

You lift your head at the sound of someone entering your office.

“Need your old man to sign this paperwork.”

Not now.

Javier. The man lives in his own little world, it seems. Can he not tell you’re currently occupied?

You raise a finger to your lips to shush him, before pointing at the phone pressed to your ear.

“What?” He mouths, moving closer to you.

Rolling your eyes, you make a shooing motion with your hands.

It doesn’t work, as he places the forms down in front of you, and when you think that’ll be it, you notice he’s leaning over your desk; eyes looking at you expectantly.

You look up at him in disbelief. He’s grown far too accustomed to getting his own way with the women around here. You’ve seen the way he smolders; dipping his head down so his eyes appear irresistible when he gazes up at them, and of course, you couldn’t help but scoff at how he’d undo a few more buttons of his shirt, too. Sometimes, if he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, he’d even resort to the sluttiest thing a guy could do: rolling the sleeves up. But, it hasn’t failed him yet.

Poor Colleen. She was about ready to hand over the embassy’s entire criminal database when Javier held her hand to admire her manicure. But it’s not going to work on you.

You pull the phone away from your ear and press it to your chest, giving him a look that could kill.

“Javier, I’m on the phone.” You hiss. “You’ll have to wait.”

He huffs in annoyance before sinking back into the chair opposite you. You’re doing your best to stay focused as you rattle off a list of alternative dates, but Javier’s taken to toying with your belongings that are laid out on your desk. When you notice him holding a frame next to his face, raising his eyebrows as he points to the photo of your cat, you’ve just about had enough of his impatience.

You attempt to snatch the object away from him, but he’s too quick for you; putting it back in its place before seizing your planner.

“Mr. Cassidy, I can assure you. As soon as your funding is cleared, the ambassador will be in touch to discuss moving forward with the project.” You say whilst frantically making grabby hands at the man sitting across from you, hoping it will entice him into returning your most prized possession.

You have no such luck, as Javier appears perfectly content to browse the pages outlining your meticulous schedule, stopping every so often to nod his head or hum in amusement. You feel your ire rise at the country attache’s brazen presumption, but somehow, it doesn’t reach your voice, allowing you to continue the call as normal.

Javier’s taken aback at how unaffected you seem, so he decides to ramp up his efforts.

Reaching into the pocket of his sand-coloured blazer, he pulls out a cigarette, and when he lights it, he observes how your eyes flash with a hint of something. Something he doesn’t see often.

Could it be quiet rage simmering beneath those doe eyes?

You were a people-pleaser; always pleasant and professional. So Javier’s surprised at the way you’re glaring at him. Proud even. Knowing he’s the one to bring it out of you.

As he makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other and reclining back into the chair, you flash him an exaggerated smile. But Javier knows that it’s not meant for him, rather, it’s directed at whatever schmuck has been hoarding your attention for the past five minutes.

“Thank you for your patience, I’ll be in touch shortly. Alright, take care now.”

Finally. You end the call and immediately lean forward to retrieve your planner.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask. “Are there no drug kingpins that need incarcerating?”

He stares you down with a slight pout on his lips before repeating his earlier request; as though he didn’t even hear what you just said.

“I need this signing. It’s urgent, is he around?”

“Everything’s always urgent with you, huh?” You grumble.

“It’s not like there are lives at stake or anything.”

You don’t appreciate his sarcasm, especially after how he barged in and disrupted your work.

The smirk he’s masking is beyond infuriating, and you’re sure he’s exhaling the smoke from his lips in slow motion, purely to rile you up further.

Every little thing he’s doing seems to annoy you, though you’re not entirely sure why. You put it down to the fact that you know you can’t get rid of him. Not easily, anyway. And not until you give him what he wants.

“The ambassador’s engaged all day, I’m afraid. Try again tomorrow, perhaps?” You tell him with a sickly-sweet smile, holding his forms out towards him.

Javier realises he may have pushed you too far, so he quickly scrambles to sit up straight; hoping a different approach will work on you.

“Sweetheart-” He begins, leaning closer to you. Cigarette now forgotten in favour of working you over.

You cut him off. “Don’t call me that. I’m not one of your girls, Javier.”

He sighs, retreating back in defeat. It’s hard to believe that you didn’t even look at him when you spoke those words, but your tone alone suggested it would be wise to back off. And so, Javier does just that, whilst he scratches his head for a new strategy.

“How about you fast-track these...” He suggests, holding the papers up again. “And in exchange, I’ll buy you a drink.”

You can’t help but scoff.

“Yeah, that seems fair.” You jest. “That would also require me going to a bar with you, outside of working hours.”

You don’t need to elaborate. He knows you’d never willingly do such a thing.

“You see.” He drawls. “That’s where you’re wrong. A few little birdies on the third floor told me you’ve got plans this evening. If I just happen to be in the area…well, I think our arrangement can still be fulfilled.”

Your ears heat up in embarrassment. You didn’t like the thought that this man knew what you got up to outside of work. In your head, colleagues were colleagues, not friends. You liked to keep your work life completely separate from your personal life, and frankly, you didn’t want him trying to weasel his way in there. But something told you he wasn’t going to let this go.

It wasn’t like you’d advertised your plans. The women from communications had hounded you in the break room when they noticed you’d had your hair done. It would’ve been unprofessional to ignore them, so eventually, you’d let it slip that a few of your friends from home were visiting, and you all planned to head into town for some drinks.

They had fussed over you like you were a newborn. Of course, you assumed it was because you typically kept to yourself at work, and it simply gave them something to gossip about; someone’s life to pry into where they could.

When did you get so cynical?

Snapping out of the memory, you busy yourself with organising your desk drawer.

“Let me guess.” You say dryly, preoccupied with the task at hand. “You’ll be drinking alone?”

He raises his eyebrows in good humour. “Not if you’re there.”

“Fast-track’s gonna cost you more than one drink, Peña.” You tell him, your voice taking on a singsong quality as you avoid making eye contact.

“And I’m not drinking with you. I have friends, believe it or not.”

“What will it take?” He asks, looking somewhat intrigued; he didn’t think you’d budge.

“Well, there’s six of us. So three bottles of something should be about right.”

Javier sighs. Why does it cost money to get anything done around here?

“Wine?” He asks you.

“Am I that easy to read?” You say incredulously. There goes yet another thing he now knows about you.

Yes, he thinks. But he wouldn’t dare tell you that, too scared to poke the bear since you were so close to giving him what he wants. Javier stays silent, opting to give you a knowing look instead.

Finally, you look his way, and your eyes pierce into him. He’s not quite sure if he’s turned on or scared shitless. Or perhaps he’s both?

Taking the papers from his grasp, you dangle them over the tray marked as “priority”, and his eyes lock on the movement of your hands like a cat chasing a laser.

“If this means you’ll leave me to work in peace …” You say, looking to him for confirmation of your agreement.

Javier raises both of his hands at that, holding his palms out in surrender. You squint at him in apprehension, before dropping the forms into the tray.

As he makes his way out of your office, he turns back to address you, and you’re not at all surprised when the DEA’s country attaché winks at you.

“I’ll see you there.” He tells you.

“Unfortunately.”

***

The bar isn’t as crowded as you hoped it would be. Which means you spot him as soon as he enters. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, but he’s slipped his signature leather jacket over the top, and as cliché as it sounds, it screams bad boy; giving you yet another good reason as to why you should stay away from Javier Peña.

Javier, however, is pleased by the lack of patrons this evening. There’s enough empty space for him to have the perfect view of you from where he’s perched at the bar, nursing his whiskey neat. It’s an intriguing view, he thinks, as his eyes soak up the sight of you, very much out of your element, as you leave your circle of friends to get a drink.

Your pristine black mary-janes have been swapped out for a pair of electric-blue strappy heels, and your modest silver stud earrings are nowhere to be seen. Instead, your ears are adorned with an elaborate, colourful pair of drop earrings, and Javier can’t help but want to pull your hair back so he can get a better look at them. Not that you’d ever let him that close to you. At least not before you tore him a new one, that’s for certain.

And the dress. His eyes can’t decide where to settle, as his gaze darts between each visual spectacle you’ve curated for him.

Well, he knows you most likely didn’t dress up for him, but he doesn’t stop himself from indulging in the thought for a brief moment. The knowledge that you’ve been hiding all this underneath those pencil skirts and stockings is a pleasant surprise to him. One his brain can’t seem to compute just yet.

Sure, he thought you were beautiful. After all, Javier wasn’t blind; he could spot a pretty woman from a mile away. But you always dressed so modestly. So he’s not quite sure what to think when he sets his eyes on the exposed skin of your shoulders in that halter neck, as well as the way the glittery fabric hugs your curves just right before it flares out slightly when it reaches the top of your thighs; giving your ensemble a flirty, playful touch.

He also can’t help himself from staring at the supple skin of your legs as they draw his eyes down, feeling as though he’s been hypnotised. Besides, you’d made an effort tonight, and it would be criminal to let all your hard work go unnoticed.

Was there someone you were trying to impress? Surely not.

Javier knew you weren’t the type to give any man who didn’t meet your exceptionally high, and oddly specific standards the time of day. If they weren’t going to play into your five-year plan, then they were of no use to you.

Perhaps you have yet to notice him, he wonders. Stubbing out his cigarette, he heads to the bar, ignoring the bartender’s sceptical look when he orders three bottles of red wine for the table of young, attractive women over in the corner. Women who look like the last thing they need is to be bothered by this man, drinking his sorrows, alone on a bar stool.

Amused, he watches you all fuss over the complimentary booze, chuckling to himself when he sees your friends dive right in to fill their glasses. But you don’t seem to be drinking any of the wine you haggled for back at the office. Instead, you stay sipping your margarita in the corner of the booth, seeming perfectly content to sit this one out.

Javier’s perplexed, and slightly exasperated at your cheek. His wallet is feeling significantly lighter in his jacket pocket as of right now, and here you are; shunning his generous offering.

He walks over to you, preparing to turn on the charm.

Wearing a winning smile, he approaches tentatively. He's playing the part of the handsome gentleman with nothing but pure intentions, and he doesn’t miss the way your friends’ eyes light up at his arrival. You, however, don’t seem so impressed.

He hunches over slightly, holding himself with a cocky air and chewing his gum as he catches the attention of the rest of the table.

“Ladies…” He begins. “Apologies for the interruption, but I need to borrow your friend here. It’ll just be for a few minutes, then I promise, you can have her back.”

You take a moment to consider what he might want, but nothing sensible comes to mind. Therefore, you conclude that he must’ve come over here for the sole purpose of vexing you.

“What’s the matter?” You ask him warily.

“Embassy business.” He tears his gaze away to wink at your friend. “It’s confidential, of course, so I can’t say any more.”

“Who’s this?” Your friend asks excitedly, and the rest of the group appears to share her enthusiasm, judging by their wide eyes and straightened backs. You couldn’t fault them, as the men back home were nowhere near as handsome as him. Javier had that whole rugged cowboy appeal; wild and headstrong, a little rough around the edges, with just enough charm and chivalry to make the panties drop.

Did you really just acknowledge that you find this infuriating man attractive?

You’d asked the bartender to go easy on the tequila, but perhaps he’d done the opposite. As there could be no other reason as to why you’re currently indulging in such absurd thoughts.

Of course, Javier’s thrilled at the prospect of flashing his badge to the group of beautiful women currently looking up at him like he’s some kind of god.

He holds it up to them. “Javier Peña, DEA.”

“Again, I apologise, but it really is urgent.” He says, looking at you expectantly.

You sulk out of your seat before you walk straight past him to a more secluded section of the bar.

He gets a little too close to you, as when you abruptly turn to face him, he’s hit with a mouthful of your hair. “What is it?” You grit out.

Meanwhile, Javier’s taken aback at how sexy you are when you’re mad like this. At the embassy, you kept it subdued; hiding behind your persona of professionalism with pleasant smiles and jovial handshakes. But right now, you look as though you might actually slap him.

“Bonita-”

Again, you cut him off at the use of another pet name. Holding your hand up as you roll your eyes in frustration.

He tries again. “You clean up nice…” And at that remark, you turn your body to face the bar, not wanting to give him another opportunity to check you out.

“You’re not drinking?”

You gesture to your margarita whilst you take a healthy sip.

“You know what I mean.” He says. “What? You rinse me out for nothing?”

Taking advantage of your apparent shyness, he’d managed to slip in closer, so you’re surprised when his next words are spoken into your ear.

“You waiting on someone else, huh? Got a better offer or something?”

“God…” You groan. “I just don’t like the idea of you buying me a drink, okay?”

“You’re from work.” You tell him as a matter of fact.

He raises his eyebrows in confusion.

“The problem is … ?” His words trail off, searching for your reasoning.

“The problem is.” You say. “Is that it’s not appropriate.”

Javier watches your eyes fix on something behind him, ultimately giving you away. He turns his head to see what’s caught your eye, finding what he could only describe as a rather gormless American tourist, sharing a beer with another fellow statesman, as they stick out like a sore thumb. A pair of gringos, if he wanted to be particular.

He can feel the mirth rising in his throat as it hits him. You had eyes for this plain-looking man.

And he liked the look of you, too, it seems, as Javier notices him rise from his seat, clearly heading in your direction.

“Oh, it’s funny is it?” You ask, your tone low.

He’s taken to ignoring you now; staring straight ahead at the bottles of liquor lined up behind the bar, finding your irritation to be quite the source of entertainment.

The sight that greets you next is Javier, taking a swig from his drink whilst his eyes peer at you over the rim of his glass, inciting you to do something. You ball your hands into tight fists, before shuffling down the bar slightly to put some distance between the two of you.

The tourist is now in front of you. He fluffs his hair as he leans against the bar and greets you, and Javier silently sniggers at the man’s mediocre efforts to flirt with you. You, however, don’t seem to mind it, judging by the genuine smile on your face. Oh, so this is your type. Meek, predictable and incredibly dry. Each to their own, he thinks.

He knows he should probably leave soon, not wanting to spend another weeknight wasted for no good reason, but he can’t tear himself away from eavesdropping on what might be the most boring conversation he’s ever heard. He’s listened to hundreds of wiretaps on sicarios’ phone conversations, and although he wishes those shitbags were dead, their chats were far more engaging than the one he’s currently privy to.

“So, what’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple.” You tell your admirer, overjoyed at the mundane nature of your conversation.

Mundane is safe, and safe is good. Good is what you need in a husband and potential father of your future children. Good pays the bills. Good doesn’t spin your world off its axis and force you to question everything you thought you knew about yourself. Good, was good. And this man had all the right qualities, so far.

Another question. “What do you think of lasagne?”

“Yeah, I like it.” You reply, and Javier can’t actually believe how into this you are.

Well, perhaps he could believe it, actually, if your planner was anything to go off. You even penciled in when you planned to consume alcohol.

He had nothing against your love of a routine. But he most definitely wanted to see how far he could push you; see how you’d react to spontaneity.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you place your hand on the American’s arm and lean in closer.

And for Javier, it’s the final straw.

His resolve snaps. Unable to tolerate any more of the painful scene unfolding right beside him, he makes his way over to where the two of you are standing, and in typical asshole fashion, he makes sure to accidentally bump his shoulder against the other man when he reaches you.

“Pérdon, amigo.” He says, hand on your date’s shoulder in a faux apology, before he mutters something else in Spanish. His voice low enough that you didn’t catch what it was.

You hazard a look up at him, and …

Fuck. You realise he’s only just getting started.

The tourist had been so kind as to order you both another drink, but before either of you could get your hands on them…

“Thanks, baby.” Javier coos, looking right at you as he takes a sip from one of the drinks; specifically, the one your date had been reaching for.

Stunned at his bold use of yet another pet name, it’s a few seconds later when you react. You turn your head so fast, that if he wasn’t a government agent, he would’ve missed it, but luckily for Javier, he senses you’re about to call him out when he sees your eyebrows raise, mouth open and hand poised, ready to point a finger in his direction.

So, naturally, he shuts you up before you can ruin his fun. And he does this in the way he knows best.

He kisses you.

Or at least he tries to, but you somehow manage to swerve him just before his lips meet your own, causing it to land on your cheek.

It’s only a peck, but it does the trick, as you are well and truly dumbfounded.

If the eyes are the window to the soul, then you hoped Javier could gauge just how close you were to throttling him by looking into yours. What the fuck was he doing?

Your ‘date’, though you weren’t sure you could call him that anymore, is just as shocked as you are, backing away from you slightly. You sense he’s not wanting to step on any toes, but he can tap-dance all over Javier Peña’s toes if he likes. In steel boots. You’d most definitely find joy in that.

You size him up, trying to work out how to get yourself out of this situation before this asshole escalates it. Conflict was the last thing you wanted; it didn’t fit into your schedule for the evening.

“Javie-” You try.

“Sweetheart…I think you’ve bored this man for long enough, don’t you think?” His arm snakes around your waist, pulling your body into his as he stares blankly at the other man, waiting for him to scurry.

And, well, you were also hoping he’d leave. However, your reasons were different from those of Javier’s. Whatever they may be.

You simply didn’t think you’d be able to contain your anger at the agent’s shenanigans for much longer, and you didn’t want to flip your lid in front of the stranger.

Cutting his losses, your tourist sees himself back to his table, and you notice he’s quick to grab his jacket and tuck in his chair. Javier’s getting comfortable on the stool next to you when you see your admirer leave, and the tight-lipped smile he gives you on his way out has you cringing; mortified at the example that’s been made of you tonight.

When you’re sure he’s gone, you let some of the facade drop.

“What was that?” You ask Javier, voice as sharp as a thousand knives.

He simply twirls the glass around in his hand, not taking his eyes off the amber liquid for a second.

You push again. “What could you possibly have gained from that?”

But still, no answer from the DEA Country Attaché.

“You know what…nevermind.” You exclaim before attempting to return to your friends over in the booth.

Before you make it past him, Javier holds his arm out to stop you in your tracks. Offering you the second of the two drinks, he gestures for you to take it.

“Sit down.” He tells you. “At least until you’ve finished your drink.”

Simmering is no longer the most apt word to describe how you’re feeling right now. You are boiling; the heat in your veins ready to spill over at any moment.

Yet somehow, you are so overcome with outrage that your body feels stiff, and you’re unable to move, or even get more than a few words out. So, not quite able to comprehend what’s just transpired, you sit down, waiting for him to offer up some kind of explanation.

After a few more swirls of his drink around the glass, Javier breaks the silence.

“I was doing you a favour. Trust me, he was dull. You don’t want that.”

You deserve better than that, is what runs through his head, but that’s a whole other emotion, so he squashes it before it can fester into something more potent.

He continues. “Your kids would’ve been called Randy and Bob or some shit like that.”

“Yes.” You grate in response. “And we could’ve lived in a cushy house in a nice neighbourhood, bought a couple of cats, and travelled once per year.”

“You want that?” He asks you dubiously.

“And how could you know what I want, Javier?”

Sensing your control isn’t wavering, he turns to humour. “Well, uh…he didn’t seem like much of a cat person, I’m afraid.”

Well, he’s got you there. But you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d successfully picked out one of the man’s flaws. You couldn’t let Javier Peña of all people get the better of you.

“And you don’t seem like much of a diplomat, but here you are … Mr. Attaché.”

That one was a bit too on the nose.

A sullen look grows on his face; telling you it’s time to go.

Tomorrow’s a new day, and if you see him, it will be at work. He can’t get away with this shit there.

Right?

***

Clearly, Javier does not know how to respect your personal space.

The next day, at 12:15 pm precisely, you head to the break room for lunch, and by the time your coffee cup is filled, he’s there too. Loitering behind you like a lost puppy, but not the cute, innocent kind. Javier Peña was the yappy, irritating kind of puppy.

Crosby had often considered him a thorn in his side; always waltzing in with some grand scheme that threatened to derail everything he had been working towards for years. And now, you were beginning to understand just how your boss felt.

He waited for you to acknowledge him, but after seeing you potter about the communal space; tidying, reorganising, anything to look busy, he realised that you were stalling.

And you were. You were hoping he’d get bored of watching you be so mundane, and eventually, he’d leave you alone.

He makes himself a cup too, before leaning against the unit next to where you’re currently refilling the sugar.

“Good night?” He asks, his usual mirth now present again.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Lunch break.” He grins.

“Oh, excuse me. I thought your diet consisted of cigarettes only.” You tease.

So quick, he thinks. And he doesn’t give you a response, hoping this little victory over him would somehow weaken your guard.

“You never come in here. What’s special about today?” You ask.

He shrugs in response before straightening up slightly, subconsciously hoping to get a little closer to you. He’s fascinated. As far as he was concerned, you eat, sleep and breathe work. So seeing you use your break time, like everyone else, feels strange. It feels new.

What would you do? He found himself studying you like you were a rare specimen; your behaviours, motivations and fluctuations a complete mystery to be unravelled.

However, as he readjusts his posture, the collar of his shirt slips a little. Previously, the garment had done well to hide it, but now it’s plain to see.

A hickey.

This man has a hickey, just above his collarbone, and due to your proximity, you can see it as clear as day.

And for some reason unbeknownst to either of you, it incites you.

You’re not jealous.

You’re impressed. He’d spent a good portion of his evening derailing yours, and yet he still had time to secure a hookup. Well, the man was determined; you had to give him that.

“Good night?” You repeat to him, eyes locked on the offending mark.

Javier follows your gaze until he realises what you’re referring to. He looks around the room to check for eavesdroppers, before lowering his voice.

“Yeah, it was actually. It doesn’t compare to sitting at a bar discussing fucking lasagne, or all the different shades of purple that exist… but I’d say it was alright.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I know it wasn’t my finest hour. But at least I ended the night with some dignity.”

“Oh, I had plenty of dignity by the end of the night.” He says. “You should try it sometime. It’s good stress relief.”

Stress relief. God, this man was ignorant if he didn’t realise that the majority of your stress recently has been caused by him.

Him, and his insistence on aggravating you, getting under your skin and sinking in deep, all for some twisted type of power play.

You must’ve been the only woman at the embassy who wasn’t throwing their panties at him as he walked by their station, which made you a challenge. Just like Escobar, you were a target that needed to be worked. He saw you as a conquest, and that’s what brought him to the break room just now: he was doing his reconnaissance.

Moving to the far side of the room, right where the refrigerator stood, you try to put some distance between you before replying to his quip.

“Thanks.” You tell him dryly, your eyes looking at anything but him. “But I’ve got my own form of stress relief that works just fine.”

He holds in a chuckle. You were probably one of the most highly-strung people he’d ever met, so he seriously doubted your words. If this was you with well-managed stress levels, he couldn’t imagine what you’d be like on a bad day. And yet, some part of him wanted to see that. Wanted to be the one that drove you to that place. Not out of malice, of course, but out of curiosity.

Javier wanted to work you up, right up to the point where you’re at the edge of what your body can handle, only to see you spiral down. All your rational thoughts lost to the physical, as you fall over the precipice, into a sea of baser instincts. It would be beautiful to see, he thinks.

But the sound of your heels drags him out of his fantasy, as he sees you heading towards the door. You were on your way back to your office, by the looks of it, and Javier can’t help but follow you, though he kept a safe distance so as to not spook you too soon.

When he sees that you’re at your desk again, comfortable, he quickly sneaks through the door.

You’d anticipated that he wouldn’t leave it alone without getting the last word in, so you weren’t exactly phased by his intrusion. Typing away, you get on with your business as though he’s not there.

Standing beside your desk, to any onlooker it appears as though he’s just running something by you, as he picks up a document from your desk that looks somewhat related to his sector. He rakes his eyes over it sporadically, not at all paying attention to anything it contains. Rather, he’s debating whether to let a certain thought of his loose. Would it be too much?

“What is it that you do then?” He asks. “For stress relief?”

He looks up from the piece of paper he’s holding to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t meant to be sexual, but you couldn’t deny the shift in the atmosphere. Javier felt as though there was something unsaid between you. Something festering in the back of both your minds.

Your ire now subdued, you drop your pen to look up at him. “Organisation. Cleaning, moving things around my apartment, filling out my planner…” You say, tapping your nails against the wooden surface in thought.

Javier feels something light tug at his chest. Fascination, for sure. But could it also be admiration he feels? He can see that you’re getting swept up in a daydream of your own making, drifting towards a sweet fantasy; your eyes lighting up in pleasure, and he wants so badly to call it fascinating, but something tells him it’s a little closer to endearing.

The document long forgotten, he asks you. “Your planner, huh?”

You nod in response. “It’s sacred.”

A delicate smile makes an appearance on your face, and Javier’s trying his hardest not to indulge in the sight.

“I bet. You use it to plan out every part of your life?”

“That’s what it’s for.”

“Even when you fuck?”

That renders you speechless. Javier had expected you to lash out, call him filthy or heatedly demand that he get out of your office. But nothing comes.

It’s at this exact moment when he realises he’s struck a nerve. Your shoulders have dropped, you’re nibbling on your bottom lip, and under the desk, he can see your feet have stopped their usual tapping. You look sheepish, almost.

He knows he can’t take it back, so he figures he might as well push forward. After all, he’s got nothing to lose. Except for his eyes, and any other vital body part, should you go back to being mad at him and claw them out.

“Right.” He drawls, waiting for you to elaborate.

Usually, when Javier Pena provokes you, he expects you to give it back to him. But not this time, it seems.

Laying back into your chair in resignation, you sigh. “Not quite. Let’s leave it at that.”

It’s clearly a lie, you denying that your sex life is dictated by a schedule. Javier knows you’re just the kind of woman that wants to exercise control over every aspect of your existence, even your carnal pleasure. You’re not giving much away, and he wants to crawl deeper; draw out a confession and claim a victory over you.

“Leave it at that...” He parrots.

“DEA interrogation 101, never deflect. Good job you’re not a criminal, huh?” He jests, his laugh seeming shakier this time.

Still unwilling to budge, you give him nothing.

Again, in classic Javier fashion, he leans down, hands planted firmly in front of yours on your desk, crowding your space as his eyes beg yours for contact. “Bonita.” He coos.

That does it, snapping you out of your mildness.

“Javier!” You admonish, voice firmly raised, though not enough to draw the attention of others.

“I know, I know… no pet names. Apologies.”

All he receives in response is your glare. Scathing and defiant.

Straightening up, he exhales whilst flexing his fingers. “Just tell me. Then I’ll leave it alone.”

But you’re not prepared to give this man any ammunition against you, not of your own volition, anyway.

However, he decides to adapt his strategy. He swipes the sacred object. Your planner, and holds it behind his back; beyond the extent of your reach.

You don’t react at first. Not until you hear his next words. “I think I’ll take a quick look-”

Darting out of your seat, you go to stop him, reaching over your desk for the stolen object, before he slams it back down in front of you. His wide palms pressed firm against the fabric cover, holding it down in a show of his dominance. You shouldn’t find that sexy, you think, cursing yourself silently for allowing yourself to become affected by this man.

As this is nothing short of an act of war, leaving you bristling and agitated. Rising to your feet, you gravitate towards where he’s holding your planner hostage. “You’ve had more than enough fun terrorising me over lunch break, I think it’s about time you get back to work.” You say.

“Tell me, and you can have it back.” He affirms, though he doesn’t need to move an inch. He knows, and you most definitely know, that your strength is no match for him. He’s an agent, for crying out loud. You’ve got no chance of getting your planner back without one of two methods: manipulation or seduction.

The latter was certainly off the cards, so you went with the former option. But you couldn’t deny your body’s reaction to Javier’s physicality. The way he stood firm in place, challenging you to come to him, all the while knowing he has the power to wrangle you wherever he sees fit. And to you, that was undeniably sexy.

You would never indulge in such a fantasy, of course, liking your men docile, as they were less likely to cheat and screw up your five-year plan. But you could allow yourself this one forbidden thought. Just for a second longer.

“There’s nothing to tell. Give it to me and I’ll bump your meeting with Crosby to tomorrow instead of Friday. Heard you need a sign-off… urgently.” You try smirking. “Something about a Cali operation and a chicken van.”

His own grin falters. Huh…he must really need the ambassador’s approval.

But he tries to play it off. “It’s alright, these things can’t be rushed. I think I’ll hold onto this a little longer.”

“What do you want, Javier?” You ask, your voice unimpressed and impatient.

“Tell me. Tell me that you actually plan when you get laid. Then you can have this back.” He holds the planner above his head, and when you reach for it again, he snatches it back behind him.

“Come on…” You groan.

He moves closer to the door, daring you to let him leave with your most prized possession. But you’re running out of plays, you’re getting tired, and you remind yourself that Javier’s most likely going to get screwed later on, in some way or another, by the Colombian government, and that thought alone brings you comfort. Enough comfort, that it outweighs the distaste of having to give in to him.

Stepping closer, you huff out. “Okay! Fine! … I follow what Vogue magazine suggests. Orgasms at least every two days, and-”

“And what?” He taunts.

“Eating saffron regularly, a-and drinking red wine, too. Aphrodisiacs … you know?”

Javier’s grin is smug as shit, after drawing out your admission, and you want nothing more than to wipe it off his face. But right now, you just want him gone. Somewhere where he can’t see the blush flourishing in your cheeks.

“Are you done?” You ask, arms crossed against your chest in an attempt to regain the appearance of power. Something you had forfeited whilst chasing the DEA Country Attaché, who held your planner hostage, around your office like a child chasing a butterfly.

The man in front of you softens at your tone, understanding that he’d pushed you quite far, and that he quite possibly got carried away. He couldn’t resist the way it felt; getting swept up in teasing each other, evoking a lightness in his chest that doesn’t come around often.

“Do you ever do anything simply because you want to? When you want to?” He asks you. “Impulsively?”

All you can say to usher him out of your space is his name. “Javier.” You call, until you somehow manage to form a few more words. “Time’s up. Out, please.”

Sensing you’re at the end of your thread, he stalks towards the door. But when he reaches for the handle, he turns back to look at you. And the look on his face is unlike any of the ones he’s sported around you previously. It’s genuine.

He calls out to you, voice almost quiet enough to sound sincere. “Hey, uh- if you ever wanna ditch the planner and let loose sometime, let me know, yeah.”

And with that, he’s gone. Leaving you reeling from the implications of his parting words.

***

The following day, Javier seeks you out on his lunch break, hoping to ask for another favour. But you’re not there.

When he asks around in the break room for you, he finds out that you’d gone out for lunch today. Avoiding him, perhaps?

Now left with twenty-five minutes of free time, and a reluctance to head back upstairs and do some actual work, Javier goes snooping. He already had his excuse, having brought down another form for you to sign off on, so he’s not worried about looking out of place. But still, he’s considered a hero nowadays; a reputation to uphold, so he quickly checks for prying eyes before he pushes open the door to your office.

That’s when he sees it.

Your planner. Sitting pretty, waiting for someone to come along and peek inside. Well, today, that someone was Javier Peña. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s a huge violation of your privacy, and if you found out, you’d surely have Crosby fire him. But as his feet carry him forward, he tells himself it’s harmless.

You work in an embassy, and you weren’t the type of person to have anything incriminating on your person whilst in a building filled with the top brass, not to mention various military and police officials, so there couldn’t be anything too intimate in there.

He picks it up, and as soon as his fingers touch the first page, he becomes frantic; possessed by the need to soak up as much of you as he can through these slightly worn pages, before he gets caught.

Javier studies your schedule like a classified file. He tells himself he’s searching for some dirt on you, something juicy that will become ammunition for his future torment. But that’s not the whole truth. At least, the fondness in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Mondays: no caffeine until 12 pm… Wednesdays: senator’s conference, dinner with Damon, laundry (whites) … Saturdays: allowance of 500ml wine …

The last one causes his eyebrows to raise, though the discipline it showed was certainly true to what he knew about your character.

However, as he’s about to investigate what you had planned for this Saturday night in particular, he hears the click of your heels getting closer, followed by your laughter. There you were, on your way back to the office, Crosby close behind as the two of you partake in light-hearted conversation. Huh, so that’s what you look like when you’re happy.

Luckily, for Javier, the ladies from your floor latch on to you, dragging you into their conversation and buying him some valuable time whilst you discuss last week’s department meeting.

It all happens so fast. He darts out of your office and makes a beeline to the elevator, his shoulders slacking only when he’s back in the sanctuary of his own workspace.

Pulling open his desk drawer on the right side, he shoves your planner inside and almost slams it shut; the closure somewhat symbolic of his hesitancy to confront what he’s just done.

Oops.

***

It was when he saw you working late one evening, on a Friday nonetheless, that Javier considered it might be time for him to return your planner. He hadn’t looked inside again, not since that day in your office when he’d come looking for you during lunch, but there was a reason he didn’t want to give it back just yet.

The planner tied him to you. It gave him a reason to not have to leave you alone. Of course, you weren’t aware that he had it; as far as he could tell, but for as long as he held it, he’d matter to you. This little piece of stationery gave him a place in your world. Just for now, but now was enough for Javier, at least until he could make sense of these incomprehensible feelings you were eliciting from him.

Feelings that were causing his stomach to churn, currently, as he observes the way your hair falls in your face, whilst your hand moves elegantly over the page. However, he notices that the usual swiftness of your writing is absent. It appears as though you’re tired; wrist flexing far too often, and the strokes of your pen somewhat sluggish at this time of night. And to top it all off, there was a cup of coffee beside you; the rim kissed by the pink of your lipstick, teasing him with phantom sensations of what your lips would taste like.

Javier got the sense that for you, drinking coffee after 7 pm was practically illegal, and yet the proof was right in front of him. It must’ve been a tough day if you were willing to disrupt your immaculate sleep schedule.

He steps inside, and you’re not even alarmed by him violating your privacy again. At this point, you’d come to expect his presence, despite how troublesome it always seemed to be for you.

“Sweetheart…”

Devoid of the energy needed to accost him for his choice of words, you settle for a scowl. But it’s a tired scowl, and he can tell you’re most likely not in the mood to bicker with him like you usually are.

You don’t lift your eyes when he sits down in front of you, but you should’ve done. Because if you did, you’d have seen the unmistakable furrow of concern on his face. You would have seen his empathy. Unadulterated, earnest and afflicted. It was the kind of expression one can only offer to another when they’ve experienced it themselves.

After all, Javier had plenty of experience in overworking himself to the point of physical and mental burnout. Unable to ever switch off, even, and rather than fall deeper into his vices, he considered it better to channel the ambivalence he often felt into more work; that way he’d feel like he was doing something good. Even if all he was doing was searching for minor leads; needles in a haystack that Uncle Sam didn’t have the funds to clean up.

Hoping to obtain more of your attention, he lets out a rough cough to stir you from your tired musings.

When that doesn’t work, he asks. “What are you still doing here?”

“It’s fine.” You tell him. “It’s not that unusual.”

“For you, it is. Trust me, I do this often and I never see you here. What is it?” He questions, gesturing to the forms you’re working on.

“Crosby needs all this done. He’s headed back to Oklahoma for the weekend to see his family, and well, there are four networking events next week, and it’s down to me to organise it all. Nothing I can’t handle, but he only dropped this on me when he called earlier, at 4.30 pm.”

Javier knows that by the way you punctuate the time, you’re not a happy bunny for having your schedule thrown into disarray. Like clockwork, you left the office at exactly 5 pm every day, so at 8.53 pm, you’ve had almost four hours off track.

“So what … you’re gonna sleep here for the weekend until it’s done?”

Exasperated, you say his name in a warning. “I’m not in the mood for your-”

“I’m not in the mood for you, right now.” You tell him, wanting it to come across with absolute finality. But there’s no certainty in your voice, and it pains Javier to see you like this.

He knows it’s not his fault - the cause of your stress - but the way you’re trying to exile him sends an anxious quiver through his veins. A part of him longed for you, and hearing that you wanted him to leave caused an uncomfortable urge to fight; to prove to you that he could fix it all for you.

He calls your name in a plea to get you to stop, just for a moment. Perhaps so he can talk you round? Fuck knows. He doesn’t know what to do, but he figures he’ll try to buy himself some more time.

You look up, and he can see the whites of your eyes are tinged red; strained. The way you look so unsure of yourself has him crippled. Never, had he ever anticipated seeing you like this, as you were always so driven, confident in the trajectory you were following for yourself.

He says your name again. And it’s a white flag; a temporary truce whilst he helps you through this stump.

“What?” You ask. You’re not annoyed, however, as there’s a trace of laughter in your voice; the kind of laughter that comes when something slips. It wasn’t exactly a facade, but you’d definitely loosened up now that you had gone past your “working hours”. To Javier, it seemed as though you’d given up on trying to impress others. Trying to please everyone, as you did constantly throughout each day at the embassy. And shit. Javier liked the way it looked on you.

Authenticity.

“You should head home, it’s late. Crosby would never get rid of you if you didn’t finish all this shit.” He says with a soft smile.

“Well…” You huff. “It’s easier said than done. Besides, you said it yourself. You’re always here late.”

Of course, he was the pot calling the kettle black, but this was you. And you didn’t deserve this.

He doesn’t have an answer to that. “Yeah, well …”

“What about this?” He says, picking up your stress ball from your desk. He holds up the squishy cat, before holding it out to you.

“Here. Give it a squeeze … Problem solved.” He jokes.

You take the toy from him before giving it a few good squeezes in your hand, and Javier can see some of the tension in your muscles evaporate at that.

And he’s almost floored when you smile sheepishly at him. Do it again, he begs in his head, wanting - no, needing - to see this purer side of you.

Standing from his chair, he coaxes you up too. “Come on … pack up your shit and you can let me give you a ride home.”

You shake your head almost instantly. “I’m good. I can call a friend.”

Javier sighs and perches on the corner of your desk. Leaning down closer, he tries again. “Well, Brenda left hours ago. You caught a lift in her with her, right? Come on, it will save you and your friend the hassle.”

He’s greeted by your vacant expression. Well, this is going great for him.

After a pause of deliberation, you try to get your words out. “But-” Is all you manage.

Sensing your concern at this new advancement in your working relationship, he tries to reassure you.

“What, huh? Your planner won’t let you?”

And as soon as Javier mentions the planner, he regrets it. Considering it was currently in his possession, and he had planned to return it to you tonight, he probably shouldn’t be putting the thought of it in your head. Thankfully, you’re too exhausted to pick up on it.

“Come on …” He groans. “Be a little spontaneous for a change. Who knows? You might like it.”

“I don’t wanna owe you any favours, Javier.”

“No favours …” He assures you. “I’ll even do you one. If you let me drive you home, I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

You pretend to believe him. “Right. It’s not like you haven’t told me that several times already. I’ll believe it when I see it, Agent.”

Fuck, why does the thought of that hurt him?

“This time I mean it.” He announces.

And in that moment, a pool of unease treads between the two of you.

You should be glad of his promise to leave you be. Perhaps, you are. But you love routines and consistency, so you can’t deny that the thought of such a change unsettles you deeply.

Feeling both anxious and safe with Javier in this moment, you accept his offer.

***

Riding in Javier Peña’s car was not where you thought you’d be on Friday night. And you’re sure he can tell by how strangely you’re acting.

You’ve got your knees locked together tightly, with your hands resting in your lap. Whilst you tense and flex your fingers repeatedly, Javier’s trying his best to keep his eyes on the road. But at the stop lights, he’s able to get a proper read on you, and once again, he’s bemused by what he sees.

It’s awkward. Or at least, you’re behaving awkwardly. There’s no sass, no feisty determination …

Just you, not knowing how to act around him now you’re alone together.

“Lighten up, would you?” He says. “You look like you’re riding in a funeral car.”

And that snaps you out of it. Slightly.

You swallow and unclasp your hands before you speak next. “Sorry, I’m not used to this.”

“What, you don’t take DEA agents home often?” He teases.

Javier predicts your eye roll before it comes. “What do you think?”

He looks away from you then, but you spot his grin in your peripheral vision.

It’s silent for a short while, until the man beside you can’t help but speak his mind.

“Look, I uh- I completely get it, you know. Not trusting people, not wanting to let them in. But it’s not all bad. Having someone to talk to, someone to have fun with, someone to touch. I meant it when I said it’s stress relief. And you deserve to have that.” He says with utter sincerity.

“With whoever you consider worthy, of course. If anyone can even make it that far, right?” He jokes.

And you can’t help but laugh at his teasing this time, but the awkwardness is still very much present in your body.

“Thanks …“ You mutter, voice trailing off in uncertainty.

Javier uses the lull to change the subject. “So how long have you been living at your place?”

“Around two years. Not all of us got upgraded to the premium apartments. We can’t all be heroes, you know.”

Your pitch rises at the end to convey your amusement, and Javier finds himself mirroring your soft smile.

“Don’t know about a hero, Princesa. But I’m El Jefe now … guess they needed to give me a swanky new apartment to distract from the fact I’m pretty fucking useless these days.”

Princesa.

That one was new. But for some reason, it was fitting.

And it doesn’t even bother you, right now. You know Javier Peña is a notorious womanizer. But just for a moment, you let yourself indulge in it. The moment that feels so much like a fantasy; you’re alone with him, in his car, and he’s calling you Princesa. It’s the funniest thing, how exhaustion has completely unravelled all your judgements.

“Wh- what do you mean? Crosby wouldn’t keep you around if you were useless, Javier.”

Fuck. The way you say his name like that, so hopeful, and without a trace of expectation. It makes him want to tell you everything; all of his fears, regrets and deepest insecurities.

Some were rooted so deeply they almost felt physiological, and perhaps, they’re what cause him to say. “Every lead’s always one step ahead of you, and by the time you manage to get somewhere, someone’s already dead. When it matters, the people in charge won’t do shit, not until the narcos embarrass them enough to knock them off their asses.”

Your heart flutters at his raw admission.

“Fuck, and when things are good. When people aren’t getting killed, it’s because the government’s in bed with the fucking bad guys, paying them off with Uncle Sam’s money. Meanwhile, the narcos are raking in more cash than ever before.”

“Javier…” You exhale.

Unsure of what to say, you try to reassure the troubled man beside you.

“It’s enough. What you’re doing is enough. That’s all you can do. The system isn’t changing anytime soon.” You tell him.

The question is on the tip of your tongue. “I’ve heard things, and well … there will always be people like Stechner, pulling the wrong strings. Why put yourself through all the pain, when it’s never going to change? What’s in it for you, Javier?”

Does he even know why?

“One less body. One less overdose. One less finca destroyed … I hope to God that somehow, the scales are tipping. Even if it’s only a little. I hope something good comes out of it all, once in a while.” He says.

Silence soon comes to feel like a friend. At this moment, neither you or Javier know what to say, but you don’t feel the need to fill the quiet just yet. After all, that would mean acknowledging the prominent development in your relationship, and you were both too afraid to call it what it was. Afraid that acknowledgment would cause everything to dissipate all at once.

“Thanks for lending me your ear … uh, I guess it’s a good thing I said I’d leave you alone. Means you won’t have to hear me whine like that again.” Javier tells you, his apprehension somewhat obvious to an outsider. But not to you.

“Yeah … it’s a good thing, huh.”

Nothing else is said for the remainder of the journey. The day had ground the two of you down, and you had collectively reached your limit.

As you enter your apartment, you can’t help but replay the drive over in your head. Dropping your heels on the way to the living room, you curl up on the couch, processing. Would Javier really leave you alone?

Yet the most pressing question remained unanswered. Is that what you wanted?

***

When Javier vowed to leave you alone, you expected it would bring relief.

However, you haven’t seen the man for five days now, and you can’t shake the sense that something is missing.

His daily annoyances had become a part of your routine, and without them, your office felt a little too quiet. Ghastly, almost. It was devoid of the warmth his mirth would bring, as he’d saunter in bargaining for favours with that artful charm of his.

Files he needed you to fast-track. Stationery he’d tamper with on your desk. His legs crossed in your chair. Even the curls of his cigarette smoke filling your office. All these things were simply no more.

To the best of your understanding, you’d always thought you hated him. He was everything you were not. Scared of commitment, brazen and sometimes rogue, Javier was a lone wolf.

Whereas you were reserved, organised, rigid in your ways and a pathological people pleaser. A goody two shoes, to be frank.

He was everything you thought you hated, but perhaps, he reflected everything you were scared to be.

For the longest time, you believed you needed someone just like you. A mirror, to be exact. Someone who validated your existence, because they lived in the same skin as you.

And now, you’re not so sure anymore.

Having somehow misplaced your planner, time had seemed quite blurry, lately. You made a mental note to buy another when you head into town at the weekend, yet part of you wondered what it would be like to be without it. After all, you’d survived the last week. Would it be a disaster? Or would it be freeing?

There was a deep yearning within you to break the monotony and try something new. You longed for the taste of spontaneity and recklessness that Javier had fed you; bit by bit until you’d become addicted to the thought of it.

You weren’t naive. This didn’t mean you wanted to run away with him, ask to go steady, and pray he’ll change his biology. Pray he’ll commit to you, and you only.

No. The thought of that made you feel sick, even. You’d never want to be the sacrificial lamb who tries to change the wolf, all because she thought there was a chance he could love her, in a different life.

Rather, you longed to give up control to him. You longed to have him knock you down a peg, make you question everything you ever knew about yourself. You longed to see the version of you that complimented him; all rough edges and dark clouds.

But a leopard can’t change its spots - not overnight, anyway - and you didn’t possess the courage needed to make a move. So, ultimately, you got back to work, allowing these new desires to fade into the background.

Perhaps, in the need to catch another kingpin, desperation alone would bring him to your desk, and he’d sweet talk you round to get things moving faster. And you’d flirt back with him, or at least try to, and he’d be surprised; eyes wide and smirk strong.

Such a thought sent a shudder through your body. Perhaps.

***

Javier Peña couldn’t remember the last time he went over to a woman’s place, without the intention of sleeping with them.

But here he is, standing outside your door.

He hasn’t seen you in a while, having stood by his word to leave you alone. And although he tells himself he’s just here to return your planner, at last, that doesn’t explain why he decided 9.27 pm would be the best time to come over.

It also doesn’t explain why he wore that same leather jacket from the night at the bar, when he’d ruined your chances with another guy. Or why he made sure to lock all the car doors and windows, as though he expected to stay awhile.

He knows his chances are slim. But Javier wants to test the odds.

His knock startles you, and you scramble to fix your appearance, not having expected any visitors this late in the evening.

When you open the door, you’re met with the last person you expected to find there. He’s uncertain, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous. But Javier Peña doesn’t do shy. Reckless and haphazard, perhaps, but not shy. Not like this.

Why is he here? Did Crosby die, or something? You couldn’t imagine why else he’d be here right now.

“W-What happened? Is he alright?” You ask, stuttering in your panic.

He holds his hand out to steady you, firm fingers clasped firmly around your delicate wrist. “Everything’s fine, don’t worry. I just came to return this. I uh- found it in the break room, beneath a pile of magazines.”

He holds up your planner. But he doesn’t hold it out to you, too scared of you kicking him to the curb once you’ve got it. Before he even has a chance to figure out why he’s here.

“Oh my God! Really? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.” You say, shaking your head in disbelief, still coming down from your earlier panic.

“Yeah.”

He looks up to the ceiling, not quite sure how to handle the fact you’re quite underdressed; the top buttons of your blouse are undone, revealing the way your breasts are barely contained by the thin satin adorning them. And underneath your skirt, your legs are bare too, a sight that had haunted Javier’s dirty dreams since he first saw them that night with your friends.

When you’d opened the door, your sweet little gasp of surprise caused his cock to stir in his jeans, and now he’d set his sights on your body, he wanted to hear it again, as he held your thigh against his chest whilst he fucked you deep into the bed.

Shit. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to feel you; feel what it’s like to hold your attention completely for a while. Feel you clamping down on him as you said fuck expectations and succumbed to the chaos of carnal pleasure. Pleasure that he was desperate to give you.

You weren’t a conquest. Not at all. It was just that Javier knew how much you were holding back and holding out on yourself, and he wanted to be the one to show you what it could be like to let loose. To let go and be a little kinder to yourself.

Leaning in closer, he coerces your eyes to meet his, and the intensity of his stare has slick pooling between your thighs. He didn’t even need to touch you. You’d give him anything he asked for.

“So, uh … what’s on the agenda for tonight, then?” He asks, testing the waters.

“Nothing.”

Your eyes peer up at him. Your want, need and craving staring back at him. It has to be now, he thinks.

“Fuck!” He curses, before his body’s moving yours, walking you back into your apartment with his hands on your hips.

“Javier! W-what?” You ask, but you don’t get the chance to reply when his lips on yours successfully quiets you.

“Javier! We should … We should- shouldn’t be-”

“Shouldn’t be doing what, huh?” He counters, his tone laced with amusement.

You don’t have an answer for him, instead your hand grips the back of his neck to pull his mouth back to yours, and in return, you feel him smile through his kisses.

When you reach your bedroom, you situate yourself on the bed whilst pawing at Javier desperately. His belt. His hair. The leather covering his broad shoulders. Your hands reach for whatever they can get.

“Sweetheart.” He exhales, his voice trying its best to hide his impatience.

His eyes unable to get enough of you like this, you watch as they roam up along your bare legs, taking in the rare sight of you sans stockings as you lay back on the bed, your supple skin the perfect contrast to the crisp white sheets beneath you.

His gaze having soaked up enough of your body to drive himself crazy, he eventually moves it upwards to admire your face; the innocence mixed with pent-up frustration divulging how much you need to be touched. How much you need someone to unravel you from head to toe.

“I need-” You begin. “I need it, Javier.” It being every unspoken desire you harbour for this man. Everything you want him to do to you, but you’re too scared to admit.

“I need more than that. Words, baby. What do you need?”

“I-I need you to show me. Show me what it’s like to let loose … like you said.” Your voice trembles slightly, not used to acting on your wants.

That’s all Javier needs to hear to give him the green light. Then, he’s back on you, mouth latching to any inch of skin he can reach. Trailing kisses down the v of your cleavage, stopping only when your blouse cuts off his access to the heaven below, he moves off the bed to stand beside it.

“Take your clothes off. I need to see you.” He tells you.

“Are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” Your voice is hesitant, worried you’re not going to match up to his other girls if that’s the level of sexy he expected from you. “Is this what it’s always like?” You ask. “With the others?”

“No, fuck I- … I’ll mess up the buttons on your pretty shirt if I try. Maybe you should-”

You cut him off. “Yeah, that’s good.”

He watches you unfasten each button, one by one, and you’re taking too long for his liking. It’s not deliberate on your part, it’s just that you’re wearing satin and the garment had to be handled delicately. By the time he’s removed his leather jacket and his shirt, you haven’t even made it past your tits.

It’s not enough. There are still too many parts of you concealed from him, and Javier decides that messing up the buttons wouldn’t be that bad after all, as he replaces your nimble fingers with his own rough hands, opening your shirt with a few harsh tugs before wrangling it over your head.

When he’s gotten it off, he tosses the somewhat wrecked garment aside before hiking your skirt up to pool around your tummy, and his rough touch has you moaning loudly.

“Javier…” You whine.

“Javi, baby. You call me Javier when I’m getting on your nerves at work.” He gives you a cheeky smile, relaxing you. “This is different.”

You try it out, the name tasting unfamiliar on your tongue. “J-Javi …” You moan, deciding it tastes good in your mouth.

“There you go, baby.” He praises, his face lighting up at your submission, but also at the fact you seem to be enjoying yourself, as that’s all he wants out of this; for you to feel good.

He kisses and nips at the soft skin of your belly whilst he tugs your panties down your legs. They stick to your pussy, at first, due to how much slick has gathered within them, but you lift your hips eagerly to help him, and Javier’s taken aback by just how vocal you’re proving to be. How pretty the sounds you’re making are.

However, he doesn’t know that you’ve already written this off as being a one-time thing. You figured that If you were only going to be able to have him once, you might as well go all in and enjoy yourself. Right?

Having stripped you of your panties, he quickly pockets them in his jeans, but not quick enough for it to escape your notice.

“What are you going to do with those?”

Your expression is guarded, concern causing you to shift back up the bed slightly. Javier’s stomach drops as he sees you slip away from him slightly, and he’s consumed by the need to reassure you.

“Nothing you don’t want me to do.” He says, hand gently working your calf to relax you. “Do you trust me?”

You probably shouldn’t, but you do. “Yes.”

“Good.” He taps his pocket with your underwear inside. “A precaution. You’ll have to speak to me again after this. If you want these back, of course.”

It’s the way that even his filth is somehow laced with sweetness that comforts you, and you settle closer to him on the bed, allowing his hands access to your body again. His experience now blatantly obvious to you, Javier swiftly slips your bra off, mouth instantly latching on to your nipple as he teases it with his tongue.

“Javiiii … “ You whine, writhing under his touch. Hand caught in his soft curls, your fingers press his head closer to you, which is frankly impossible, but still, you try; unable to get enough of him.

“What, baby? What is it, huh?”

Arching your back as his tongue swipes at a particularly sensitive spot, you mewl. “Touch me, please.”

He lifts his mouth from your tit with a wet pop. “What do you mean?” He asks with a smirk. “Looks like I’m already doing that, no?”

Javier’s greeted with a cute, yet frustrated grumble from you. “Touch me there.”

“Where?” He knows you won’t explicitly tell him where, but he continues to tease it out of you.

“You want me to touch your pretty cunt?”

“Oh my God …” You cry out. “You’re so dirty.”

Taking your words as praise, he finds himself needing to prove to you how dirty he can be.

He flips you onto your belly, and as you go to raise yourself up on your forearms, he beats you to it, pulling your ass up and causing your back to arch. Shoving your skirt out of the way, he leans over you for a moment, tangling his hand in your hair as he massages your scalp, subtly pushing your head further into the pillows. It’s a signal. It says relax, I’ve got you. But it also says don’t move, this is exactly how I want you.

You lose it when his mouth latches onto your pussy, tongue licking thick stripes through your folds as you open up for him.

“Fuuuck!” His lips suckle and kiss your hole in a wet frenzy, as you squeal before quietly cursing yourself for being so noisy.

Javier watches you plant your face into the pillow, trying to muffle your sounds of pleasure. He reaches a big hand back into your hair to turn your head sideways, as he urges you. “Don’t hide from me, baby. This sweet little pussy deserves to feel good.”

His words are made even filthier by the sounds of him mouthing kisses on your cunt. You moan for him, louder this time. “It tastes so good, too, just like honey. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” You beg.

Javier stops. He lifts his mouth from your centre, only to spit on it. A mixture of your slick and his spit runs down, past your hole and onto the sheets below you; the lewd sound of his fingers toying with your combined juices has your shoulders digging further into the bed. He’s driving you wild.

His fingers nudging at your entrance, you call out to him. “Javi … m-maybe we should slow down, we’re getting the bed all wet.” Your hands fist the sheets, hoping to draw his attention to the soaked fabric as your eyes plead with him.

Pausing the exploration of his fingers, Javier moves his head to the side to check your expression. You look embarrassed. Ashamed of feeling this good, and he can’t have that. He’s not used to women who are so stubborn in receiving pleasure.

But then again, you weren’t most women, and that’s what drew him to you in the first place.

“Sweetheart, you say the word and we’ll stop.” He reassures you, and you shoot him a grateful, yet timid smile in return.

“But you shouldn’t ever feel embarrassed about this.” His thumb finds a pearl of wetness pooling at your entrance and he drags it up, smearing it everywhere, and you feel it too, as the cool air hits the slick now covering your ass cheeks.

“This, is so fucking sexy, princesa. And it’s going to get messier, still, when you come on my mouth.”

Princess, he calls you again. And the way your pussy clamps down on nothing tells him you like this pet name, after all.

“Ah!”

“You good?” He asks, his concern genuine.

“G-Good.” You squeak in reply, before stretching out on the bed again.

And with your affirmation, he ducks his head down to bury his face in your pussy, again. But this time, he’s increased his force; his tongue darting inside your hole whilst one hand grips your thigh tightly. The other finds its way back into your hair, caressing your scalp and gently tugging to coax you further out of your shell.

“J-Javi!” You moan his name again, liking the way the sound of it moves through your body. Like it was yours to keep, for just one night.

“Yeah, you like that baby?” He goads, mouth never leaving the paradise between your legs as his nose nudges your swollen clit. You feel every syllable vibrate through you. “You like getting your cunt eaten?”

“Javi, please.” You whine, volume no longer a concern of yours.

He knows you’re close, can feel you throb against his tongue, and your thigh shakes underneath his hand. He moves both hands to spread your cheeks, allowing him to dive even deeper and tongue-fuck you even harder.

“That’s it princesa. Sweet girl. I’ve got you. Give it all to me.” He coos, lapping at your clit to draw out your orgasm.

You come in a symphony of whines, mewls and cries. Your pussy soaking his face, as well as the sheets, just as he promised you.

And Javier works you through it, drinking up your nectar and prolonging your orgasm until your body falls flat on the bed in exhaustion. He figures it had been a while for you, so it was no surprise that you looked as though he’d just fucked you to sleep.

Now pliant in his arms, he moves his hand back to your head, petting you as you come down. “That’s it, baby. So fucking good for me. You did so well, huh?”

“Javi … “ You groan, voice hoarse from all the noise you made. His grip on your hair is firm enough that you feel yourself leaking again, already, and you reach behind yourself to feel him.

“Shhhh, baby. I’m right here. What do you want?”

Everything you have.

Such a thought scares you, and so you turn onto your back to tell him. “It’s fine, I-I’m all good now … you should-.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what you want.” So stubborn, he thinks. Can’t you see he needs you just as bad?

The sound that comes out of your mouth is just above a whisper. “You, Javi. I want you.”

You sound so sweet, beckoning him to you like that, and he pushes your legs apart before pushing a finger into your sopping heat, soon adding another when you purr for him.

“Well, you’ve got me, alright. You didn’t even need to ask nicely.” He smirks at you, and you would’ve rolled your eyes had he not been taking you apart with his fingers so good.

Reaching for his belt, you coo to him. “I want to touch you, s’not fair …”

And, well, Javier would be a fool to deny you. He makes quick work of his belt and zipper before pulling his jeans off, and then he’s kneeling on the bed. Right in front of you, where you can see him; throbbing, the tip flushed red, aching for the touch of a woman.

He gives himself a few firm tugs, before groaning out as his strokes get faster. His gaze locks on you. Your eyes blown wide, lips parted and tongue peeking out in thirst, as you arch your hips up towards him.

“Fuck.” He leans forward to capture your lips, but your hand on his chest stops him halfway.

You look up at him in expectation, your eyes unsure of what it is you’re asking for.

“What is it? Are you okay?” He asks in earnest.

“I … I want to see you … touch it.” You say, voice as soft as a kitten.

And Javier groans. He settles his legs on either side of you as his hand returns to his cock. You can see that he’s teasing himself, playing with the tip and smearing his precum down the underside. Is that for your benefit? It’s somehow become more than a little friendly stress relief between colleagues; he’s showing off for you.

“Baby!” You whine, hands grabbing at his forearms to stop him.

Well that was unexpected. But he liked it. Liked the way you were getting into it enough to call him baby. Releasing his cock from his grip, he looks at you. You reach for his soft brown curls again, pulling him down to your lips.

Between kisses, he taunts. “Thought you wanted to watch, princesa. Huh?”

“I’ve seen enough. I need you to … “

“Need me to what?” His expression plays at being serious, but his tone tells you he’s teasing.

He knows you don’t want to say it, but he’s not letting you off that easily.

“I need you to … “ You begin, but you can’t say it. “I need you …” You beg, instead, wrapping a leg around his lower back in an attempt to get his cock inside of you.

Javier chuckles at this. He should’ve known you wouldn’t be willing to admit what you’re about to do. With a wrecked sigh, he grabs your thighs and pulls your sweet cunt onto his cock.

The sounds you both let out excite each other further, and as Javier opens you up on his hardness, you mewl at the stretch. It stings perfectly, reminding you, once again, that your experience is no match for his. You squirm on the bed desperately as he gives you more of himself.

“So tight.” He grits. “Doing so good, princesa. Taking me so well. Look at that … “ He marvels, looking down to where your pussy is stretched out around him. He pulls out slightly to show you how your juices have soaked him. “Already, huh?”

You let out a high pitch, girlish sound at the depraved sight. There couldn’t be any doubt. That was you. Your body taking his, and it fills you with a peculiar sense of pride.

He pulls out again, teasing your clit with the tip; tapping it against your nub until he’s satisfied that you’ll have to throw these sheets out with how wet you’ve gotten them. It catches on the rim of your hole a few times as he pushes it back inside, eventually getting tired of his own teasing and pushing in all the way.

“Fuck, yesss.” You praise, your hand fumbling to hold his. Javier gives you one of his hands and you intertwine it with your own, resting it atop your hip. His other hand, however, holds your leg, spreading it wide as he fucks into you deeply.

He’s on his knees, his back straight as he drives forward, and your hips are raised, almost as if you’re perched on his legs. Javier fucks you until you’re both spent, and as you both near your peaks, he crawls up to lean over you; mouth pressed to your ear, tongue licking at your skin whilst he fills your ear with pure filth.

His change of position has you practically bent in half, your hips lifting off the bed as he pounds you down into the mattress.

“Princesa …” He rasps. “Need you to come on my cock … show me how much you like it.”

“J-Javi … “ Your hands tug at his hair roughly, cunt clenching down on his thickness.

His thumb rubs your clit faster now, as you get louder. “How much you like the way I fuck this sweet little pussy like it’s mine. Always so uptight, huh? Turns out you just needed to get fucked like one of my girls-”

You cry out as your orgasm hits you, and as you come all over him, Javier talks you through it. His thrusts now slower, but deeper.

Again, you roll your head to the side, hoping to drown your cries in the pillow, but Javier quickly sets it back in place, needing to hear it all come out.

“That’s it. There’s my feisty princesa … let it all out.” He coos.

And he wants to sneak a glance at where you’re soaking him, but he’s taken by the innocent look in your eyes as you let go for him.

Forehead now pressed against yours, he kisses your face whilst soothing you with his soft gaze. And the way you’re looking back at him reassures Javier that his last comment didn’t offend you.

Who knew you secretly liked his filthiness?

Satisfied you’re finished cumming, he pulls out and begins jerking himself over you.

“Javi, baby.” You coo. “I want to see you. Want to feel you on my skin.”

It’s the gentleness within your voice that sends him over the edge and Javier comes in spurts, painting the skin above your mound with his seed. Some of it spills onto your pussy, too, and he feels another wave rush over him as he watches his cum coat your puffy hole.

“Fuck.” He curses, nose nuzzling your throat before he collapses beside you.

“Yeah … “

He places a quick kiss on your lips. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You nod, trying to curb your enthusiasm by biting your lip. But Javier can see through it, considering he’s an agent.

Or was it because he’d gotten better at reading you?

“Thanks.” You offer awkwardly.

“Jesus Christ … “ A large hand palms his face. “Please tell me you didn’t just thank me. I’m not an escort, no matter what you might think.”

That has you giggling, quietly.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Javier.”

Javier.

So you were back to that, huh? Javier feels himself tense at the change of address.

Deciding to give himself a moment, he tells you. “I’ll be right back.” Before getting up and heading into the bathroom.

He returns a moment later with something to clean you up. As he softly swipes the cloth over your sensitive folds, he searches for something in your expression. Something he can’t seem to define.

Leave it alone, he reminds himself as he settles back on the bed, next to you. You feel his chest press against your side as he hovers over you, hand caressing your hip, whilst his eyes avoid yours.

“Well, um … I guess that’s it. Wow … “ You say, dazed, as though you’d never truly experienced pleasure before.

Without asking you, of course, he lights a cigarette. “Well, you know where to find me … “ He says, voice trailing off in implication.

“That won’t be necessary.” You chuckle.

“I should probably get back to searching for a husband.”

“You know, I’ve got a five-year plan waiting on me.” You breathe, and Javier notices that you almost look unsure. “What about Van Ness? He’s one of your agents, right?”

“What about him?” He replies.

“I see him around the office … he’s cute. Is he single?”

“Princesa … “ He groans, and you cut him off.

“I thought we were done with that whole thing now.” Your eyes dart around the room, suddenly shy.

He hums in thought. “Never had a woman talk about another man whilst she’s in bed with me.” Tutting, he pretends to appear offended.

Yes. Pretends.

You give him another girlish giggle, and it warms his blood again.

“Well … Is he single?” You repeat, eyes alight with hope.

Huffing out, he reaches over to the ashtray on the nightstand. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“You haven’t thought it all through though. Not properly.” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, where do you want to live when you’re married? Colombia?”

You shake your head.

“Van Ness is DEA. We’re the kind of guys that find it hard to settle down in one place. I can’t see him leaving Colombia just yet, not whilst the action’s still here … “

He’s got a point, though you hate to admit it.

��Whatever.” You groan. “No DEA guys then.”

“Except me.” He interjects, smirking at you.

“Including you!”

Stubbing out his cigarette, Javier moves his body over yours, looking down at you with a gaze so intensely affectionate, it renders you speechless.

But then his signature, winning smile returns. “What I’m hearing … princesa. Is that your search is futile, right now. As long as you’re in Colombia, anyway.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, and you can’t help but open up for him. It seems as though he’s unlocked a new weapon to torment you with; his touch. As, currently, you’re unable to resist even the slightest sensation: a featherlight graze of his fingertips on your body.

“The way I see it. You might as well enjoy yourself some more. Marriage is always going to be there.”

He winks at you, and you want to throttle him. Like that day in your office, when he’d interrupted your call.

But you end up doing something else.

You close your lips around his thumb, sucking him further into your warmth, whilst simultaneously staring daggers into him.

Always so stubborn, Javier’s reminded.

“There’s my feisty girl, huh?”

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3

Taglist for this fic: @gracieispunk @queerponcho @darkerskylines @soaringcloud @kirsteng42

Shoutout to the bestie, @gracieispunk for helping me out with this and for taking my initial ideas to the next level with your genius. Eternally grateful for your support! <3

#shameless self reblog #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier peña one shot #pedro pascal characters #javier pena x female reader #javier pena one shot #javier pena x fem!reader

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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

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Um pls tell me for 'plans' they end up in an actual relationship. Bc I just KNOW Javi won't be going to anyone else bc he only wants her now

OMG. It’s definitely not the end for them …

Might need to write a part two to give you this answer fully!

Thank you so much for taking the time to read the fic, and for your interest 🥹❤️

#ask reply

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wayfaringhoax · 11 months

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@gracieispunk melting my heart once again with her love and support. 😭🥹