#Javier Peña fic
Text
Bend Over
Javier Peña x afab!reader || W/C: 4.8k
Summary: Your dresser craps out on you. Your boyfriend, Javier, comes with you to IKEA to buy a new one. Then, he fucks you on it.
Content/Warnings: I think you know what you guys are getting into based on the summary😗. Reader is able-bodied. Slight implied physical descriptors Javi is taller than reader, and the IKEA dresser is slightly bigger/taller than you (everything else is neutral - no size descriptions - ex. "your form", etc.). Pet names (good girl, querida, cariño, baby, baby girl, mama, mi amor). Implied that reader knows Spanish. A little allusion to our favorite contractor, Joel Miller (blink and you’ll miss it). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Public sexual activity (exhibitionism). Finger fucking. Edging. Slight undertones of BDSM dynamics. Javi’s filthy mouth. Thigh riding. Hickey/marking. P in V unprotected sex. Choking. Breeding kink (I’m not sorry). Cum play. Anal play. Brief pussy licking + rimming. Allusion to further sexual activity. I thiiiink that’s it… let me know if I missed anything!
A/N: HIII I’M BACK! I went to ikea to buy a new dresser. And the thots between @javierpena-inatacvest and I ran wild. So, this was born.👹 Also, I no longer have a tag list, but I teased this story TWICE in some WIP tag games, and a few of you were giving me so much love and wanting me to let you know when this story was posted, so I’m adopting the tag list (at da bottom) one last time to say how much I love you all. 🥹 I’m sorry this took me so long. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!!
MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG
It was supposed to be just a trip to IKEA. It was supposed to be a productive day of building your dresser and rearranging your room. That is what it was supposed to be.
How it ended up with you getting your guts rearranged on top of said dresser—you’re not so sure. But, considering this is Javier Peña you’re talking about, maybe you have a slight indication of why your day ended up the way it did.
It was early this morning when your dresser decided to shit on you; all you did was slide the door open, and it completely pulled off of its hinge. Now, you don’t mind a doorless dresser, it’s modern, you tried to convince yourself, but when you pulled out the second drawer and the wood snapped in half, scattering your panties all over the ground—yeah, okay, it was definitely time for a new one.
You called your boyfriend after you cleaned up your clothes, and asked if he wanted to come with you on your hunt for the new piece of furniture. Why are you even asking? he scolded as he saddled up into his Jeep and made his way to your place.
He stepped out of his seat in the driver side, rounding the hood to pull you in for a lengthy kiss as he pulled the passenger side door open for you. “Well, hello to you, too, baby,” you giggle as you break the kiss for a breath of air. He leaves a slap to your ass as he guides you by your hips into the passenger seat. He even buckles you in, stealing one more kiss before you two head off.
You thought shopping for a new dresser would be simple: get in, choose a sizable one that could fit everything your previous dresser could, and also make sure it matches the rest of your room’s theme. Simple, right? Wrong. As long as Javier was involved, he took his sweet time really studying each option you were pointing out—analyzing it to ensure it wouldn’t crap out on you like your original one did.
“How long did you have this dresser?” He asked as he was pulling into the IKEA parking lot.
“Mmm, I don’t know,” you thought, “maybe a few years?”
“A few years?!” Javier asked, exasperated. “Where the hell did you find that fucking thing?”
You let a beat of silence pass before you answered. “...I thrifted it,” you admit weakly.
Javier puts the car in park, his face in utter shock at what just came out of your mouth. “Querida, what-” he starts.
You pull him in immediately, shutting him up with your lips against his. It works, of course. “Let’s go?” you ask.
“Y-yeah, vamos (let’s go),” he says, flustered.
“Javi, c’mon,” you whine, feeling exhausted after his analysis on your third option since the first two didn’t pass the Peña inspection. “Since when were you a contractor? The first two were perfectly fine, baby, it’s IKEA for crying out loud.”
He scoffs. “Living on the ranch with Pop,” he replies to your sarcastic remark. “You and I are both aware I know my way around some handiwork,” he adds as he looks back to you, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face.
You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body ignites to the suggestion laced in his words. “Pendejo,” you mutter to yourself, fighting the heat from making it to your face.
You walk around some more while your boyfriend opens every nook and cranny of the wooden frame, but then right as you turn your body, you find it. The dresser. HEMNES. You quickly make your way to it, running your hands along the dark brown surface, crouching down to open up and see how much space is in the drawers—which, it’s very spacious. The drawer itself is taller than your waistline, probably reaching just at your belly button. It’s perfect. “Baby, wait, come here! I think I found one!” You call out.
Javier follows your voice, intrigued by your excitement—you didn’t show this much enthusiasm with the other ones he was looking at. He rounds the corner and is met with quite a view. You are bending over the top of the dresser, on your tippy toes, trying to feel for the depth of the dresser. He sees you settle your hands at the edges of the top and shake it a little, testing out its durability while also unknowingly wiggling your ass. Fuck me, he thinks. Quickly adjusting his pants, he makes his way to you, situating his body directly against yours as he cages you in.
“Jav-” you softly gasp, not expecting to feel him. Immediately you’re pulling yourself up, still on your tippy toes, but your back is now flush against his chest.
“Ay, Dios mío,” he grunts as he whispers in your ear, “Querida, please get up.” His hands are on your hips, pulling you away from the dresser. You turn in his hold, a giggle leaving your throat as you look at his stressed out expression, realizing why his reaction was so pained.
“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him quietly. “Saw something you like, huh?” You pull him in by his neck, kissing the side of his mouth before you pull away from him completely. Gesturing to the dresser, you ask, “Does this one pass the inspection, sir?”
He glares at you before he replies. “Yeah, let’s get this one.”
Your eyebrow quirks up. “You didn’t even look at it.”
“I saw enough, cariño,” he says gruff, looking at the tag on the display and taking note of which aisle the box will be at.
You know your man well enough to know when he’s turned on, and that little unintentional stunt you pulled when making sure HEMNES was the right dresser for you—oh, it absolutely sent him over the edge. You decided to let him brew in his own arousal until you checked out your purchase, but the moment you set foot in his car again, you were set on starting something you wanted him to finish.
“Thank you again for coming with me, baby,” you say as he settles back into the driver seat, your hand taking its seat on his upper thigh.
The muscle twitches underneath your palm. “Mhm,” he mutters, voice wavering at your contact. Just as Javier puts the car in drive, he’s immediately pushing it back to park because your hand slides higher, closer, to the hardening bulge between his legs. His hips softly buck into your grasp; you take one look at him, and you can see the veins in his neck popping. A victory smile graces your face as his turns into a scowl. “What are you doing?”
You feign as much innocence as possible. “What am I doing? I’m just saying thank you, baby, I can’t tell you thank you?”
“Right,” he says unconvinced. Your fingers continue to draw little shapes across the strained material of his pants. You go to cup him entirely, but the strength of his hand stops you.
He releases your hand and gets out of the car, the car still running. He is at your side faster than you can take your own seatbelt off. He’s pulling your door open and giving you no chance for debate, his hand wraps around your jaw and pulls you into a bruising kiss—a messy yet calculated dance of teeth and tongue, and in pulling away he’s biting your bottom lip, pulling the sweetest little desperate whimper from your throat. He clocks the way your hips softly grind into his seat.
“J-jav,” your voice shakes, “w-what are you doing-”
His grip on your jaw tightens, giving you a little shake as he speaks. “You had your fun, cariño,” he breathes. “My turn now.”
His hand leaves your face and snakes down the front of your body, unzipping your jeans as you just stare wildly at the sight below you, your breathing erratic as your body anticipates his next move.
“We- we’re in the fucking parking lot still, Javi!” You whisper yell at him, pissed, even though your body is doing absolutely nothing to stop him. He smirks at that fact. You want this.
“Guess you’ll just have to keep quiet for me, yeah?” His fingers slip past your jeans, past your underwear, and you’re fucking soaked. His middle and ring finger bypass your clit, circling your entrance to gather the wetness accumulating before he comes back up to circle your throbbing bud.
“Oh, fuck,” you yelp out, your eyes rolling back and your hips pushing into his hand as you hiss out in the pleasure. At your volume, Javi’s quick to stop his ministrations, cupping your mound and squeezing you as a warning. If the space allowed, you know he would’ve slapped your cunt. This alternative is equally as dizzying.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open. “You see all these people, huh? You want them to see you? See my good girl getting finger fucked in broad fucking daylight?”
“F-fuck, Jav” you whimper, much quieter this time, as your eyes land back on your man’s as you try and grind yourself on him. Javi’s fingers find your entrance then, sliding in with ease as a new wave of arousal pours out of you.
“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” His fingers speed up their momentum as he adds his thumb into the mix, hurtling you much closer to your finish line than you anticipated.
“Baby, I’m c-close, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna cum, Javi, I-” you bring your hand up over your mouth to stifle the sobs that are about to leave your mouth.
“Yeah, baby? Gonna give us a show?” He asks, his breathing just as erratic as yours. All you need is one more little push from his thumb on your clit, and then-
“No!” you cry.
Right as you were about to fall over the edge, Javier completely pulls his fingers out of you, standing up straight as he licks his fingers off. Your hips don’t realize he left you as they buck a few more times, chasing the feeling of what could have been.
“Baby, please, I was so close,” you heave, your heart rate equivalent to that of a hummingbird.
Javier leans down into the car, slotting his lips against yours terribly slow; your taste lingers on his tongue. He pulls away. “Sorry, mama,” he whispers. “Only I get to see you fall apart like that.”
He zips and buttons your pants up, leaving you a stunned, aroused, wet mess as he makes his way back to the driver seat and pulls out of the parking spot, driving back to your place as if nothing even happened.
The drive home is short, but it feels like the longest drive you’ve ever had to endure. He rests his hand on your thigh the entire time, squeezing you every now and then as his pinky leaves featherlight touches where you need him most. He talks to you during the drive—about what, you honestly have no clue, but it seemed the conversation was enough for him to sustain alone.
You’re brought out of your daze when his hand grabs your jaw, turning you to look at him. “You okay, baby?” He asks, knowing damn well what’s got your head in the clouds.
The throbbing between your legs remained consistent—worse, even—on the drive home, so no you’re not fucking okay. You don’t tell him that, though. “Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your vocal cords to string together something coherent.
He pulls your lips to his—a lingering one, one that has your mind slipping further. Breaking the embrace, he says softly, “Go unlock the door, amor, while I carry the box in, yeah?”
On wobbly legs, you make your way to your door, missing the hole a few times but eventually the key slides in with ease. You toss them into the bowl on the entryway table, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water to contain yourself until Javier comes inside.
Apparently, you’re way more distracted than you thought, because one gulp down and he’s behind you—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck. You set the glass down a little harshly, its weight suddenly increasing tenfold with the way he’s on you.
“Baby,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Please.”
Your boyfriend is turning you around then, turning you to face him, and his mouth is on yours, licking and sucking as his body pushes you up against the fridge, your head landing with a soft thud as his mouth starts to descend down your neck while his fingers work your buttons and zipper for the second time today.
He’s pulling your bottoms down to your ankles—they’re loose on your form, so they don’t restrict you too much from opening your legs when he slots his thigh in between you, hitting right against your core.
His lips never leave you, biting and kissing every inch he can reach while his hands find their home at the globe of your asscheeks, securing his grip as he begins a steady pace of your crying pussy back and forth on his clothed thigh.
“Just like that, cariño, I can feel you fluttering on me already, holy fuck,” he groans as he continues his assault on your chest, leaving pretty bruises all over the valley of your breasts. “Making such a mess, pretty girl,” he mutters into your skin.
Your hands snake to the curls at the back of his head, yanking them as he brings you back closer and closer to the finish line. He brings his lips back to yours sloppily, one hand leaving your ass to paw at your chest, his fingers rubbing and twisting at your nipples; they harden in his touch.
Your eyes struggle to stay open, his tight jeans providing the yummiest friction against your clit. “I- I’m gonna- please, Jav, I- I need to cum,” you sob.
His hand at your chest snakes down your body, following the path to your sex. Just as you think he’s about to slip his hands between your legs, his hand changes direction, both hands going up to grip your waist to stop you from moving. His thigh leaves your core, and you’re fighting—your hips chase his muscle, your fingers scrambling to pull him flush against you, but he doesn’t budge. It’s no use. Your high is gone again, painfully forced back to the start line as Javier bends down to grab your panties and work their way back up your legs.
You’re a heaving mess, tears falling from your eyes as pathetic little protests fall from your lips.
Exhausted, you sigh and finally blurt out, “Javier Peña, what the fuck are you doing?”
You can see the faintest shit-eating smirk fall on his face before he mirrors what you did earlier: feign innocence. “Gotta go build your dresser, mi amor.”
“I can fucking build it later.”
“But I’m already here. I’ll do it.”
“Yeah, but your presence is needed elsewhere,” you say, annoyed. You faintly gesture to your sobbing cunt, silenced by your soaked underwear.
“But if I’m here, I’ll do it, so you don’t have to,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to the side of your mouth.
“Javi,” you whine, hoping a thousand different ways of are you fucking serious right now translates to him in the tone of your sexual frustration.
“Just sit pretty for me while I go do it real quick, okay, cariño?”
Not giving you the chance to respond, he drags you by the wrist to your bedroom, forcing you to get settled in the reading chair you have in there—a prime spot to watch him get all sweaty as he works. Great.
You wouldn’t have riled him up if you had known this was the kind of torturous game he had in mind.
Twenty minutes in, and Javier is sweating alright, but it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. Yeah, it’s a physical strain building this dresser, but this is fucking light work for him.
No, he’s sweaty, sticky, and disgustingly hot because his dick is at his full potential, throbbing and leaking at everything you put him through—and everything he put himself through, pulling you to the brink of orgasm twice without letting you fully submit to it. He damn near always gets off when you do, and teasing you like this teases him just as much, if not more.
He’s almost done, he just has one more drawer to put together and slide into place, but he takes a step back and uses his arm to wipe the sweat across his forehead, his breathing heavy during the action. It takes everything in you not to completely melt at what he’s forcing you to witness, a faint whimper escaping you at the sight of him.
It takes him barely a minute to get the last drawer assembled before he attempts sliding it into place. It goes in with ease at first, but before it can fully shut, the drawer gets stuck, unable to close by an inch. What the fuck, he mutters under his breath, lifting it up and wiggling to see if it’s just a kink inside the railing. Your jaw falls a little open at the vulgarity of his mouth; you are way too wound up and everything he’s doing right now has your pussy doing backflips, somersaults, cartwheels—you name it. She’s very eager.
Fed up with the drawer, Javier completely opens the drawer and then slams it shut, using his hips to give the drawer a full-force push. The slam of the wood is deafening, but it does nothing to hide the sweet little gasp that comes out of you, his cock twitching at the sound.
A high-pitched, breathy squeak of an oh fuck leaves your mouth, and Javier turns to check on you. He sees your fingers skating down your front, running your middle and ring finger over your soaked center, your clit’s fire immediately reigniting at the contact.
“¿Cariño?” He calls, a sternness evident in his tone. You know not to test that tone. Your fingers’ movements pause, your eyes meet his and they’re dark. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jesus fuck, he doesn’t even know if he has the strength to fuck you like he was planning on, the sight of you touching yourself has a fire igniting through every vein in his body.
Your eyebrows are furrowed, nervousness written all over your face. “I…um, I-” you start.
“Get up,” he cuts you off.
“What?” You say softly, your brain already scrambled eggs and unable to register what he just asked of you.
His singular eyebrow raises as he stalks closer to you, his hard gaze looking down at you as your pussy cries even more at the attention. Now his command registers, and you’ll be damned if you have to make him repeat himself.
You remove your hand from your center, lifting yourself off your chair. He snags you by your waist, pulling your body flush against his front as he steals the breath from your lungs, your tongues meeting hungrily. You moan into his mouth, your hands slowly wrapping around his neck, but before you can grip his sweet curls, he’s pulling away from you, your surprised gasps blessing his ears as he flips you roughly but with ease towards the direction of your new dresser, already in its place secured against the wall.
“Javi,” you whimper again for what feels like the millionth time already.
“Dime qué quieres, cariño,” (tell me what you want) he rasps in your ear, his hands skating down your front and resuming what you so desperately started.
“F-fuck-” you start, “fuck me, Javi, please, please fuck me,” you beg, your heart stuttering as he dips his middle finger into your entrance.
He kisses your temple as your eyes fall shut, a contrastingly sweet gesture for the way he’s about to ruin you right now.
“Then bend over.”
Now that sobers you up a little. You start to crane your neck in his direction. “W-what?” But he’s quick to grab your jaw, bringing your eyes back to your dresser. “Go do what you were doing earlier, baby. Bend over that dresser for me,” he says, soft but stern, then he’s taking a step back, letting you get there on your own.
So hooked on his body heat, you can’t help the shudder that leaves you, but ultimately you’re making your way to your new dresser—picking yourself up on your tippy toes to lean over the top, just like you were doing with the store’s floor model. “L-like this?” You ask, voice trembling in anticipation. You stick your ass out a little extra for good measure.
You hear his belt buckle before you register his deep grumble. “Yeah, baby,” he tells you, slowly making his way to your backside. “So good for me,” he breathes, his fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear and letting them fall to the ground. You step out of them, knowing his next step is gonna be to nudge your legs further open—and he does, using his foot to nudge both of yours outwards.
He runs his middle finger through your slick as he lets his jeans fall, your hips push further into his touch, chasing the pleasure you’ve been buzzing for all morning.
“Baby, please,” he hears escaping your mouth.
“Nuh uh, baby,” he tuts, “I told you. You had your fun already, it’s my turn.”
He runs his fingers through your wet seam, properly soaking his digits before he brings his hand to his own arousal, covering himself in your slick. He groans at the feeling. Javier crowds himself behind you, his tip immediately mirroring the path of his fingers. He catches himself against your clit, and he smirks at the wrecked sounds of your heavy breathing.
He pushes himself into you, slow and steady, getting you comfortable in his size. His fingertips are digging little bruises into your hips—his way of grounding himself from absolutely pummeling into you from the get go.
You two have been together for quite some while, but Javi knows he’s big. It’s evident in the way you mewl and convulse every time he’s inside of you. Too big to get used to, yet perfect for the slight tinge of pain he knows you love.
“Baby, please move,” you pant.
“You sure, cariño?” He says softly, his dominant demeanor fading to make sure you’re alright.
You reach back to grab onto his hand and drag it up your own body, settling his long digits around the base of your neck. With a squeeze of your hand over his: “Fuck me, Jav, please.”
At your queue, he’s pushing himself into you entirely. “Yeah, baby?” He snarls. “Want me to fuck you like this?” His hips form a hard pace, your hips digging into the ledge of the dresser. “This what your pretty little pussy wants, huh? What she’s been fucking crying for, baby?”
“Fuck-” you gasp. “Fuck, yes- Javi, yesyesyes! Amor, please,” you wail, your eyes rolling back as the pressure of his fingers on your neck restrict your blood flow, filling your body with a euphoria only he can give you.
His eyes scan down your body, taking in every inch of you with nothing but pure adoration. The sweetness fades when his eyes zone in on where your two centers meet. He lets out an audible moan at the sight, sending your pussy fluttering at the sound. “Look at you, bebita, fucking creaming on me, holy fuck,” he groans, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.
“I- I’m close, baby, fuck-” your breath stutters. “Touch me, Jav, I- I need you,” you moan.
“Shh, I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi’s hand on your throat leaves you and coasts down your spine, his grip fixing itself on the globe of your ass.
He reaches down with his thumb to gather some of your slick, dragging it up to your tight, more inexperienced hole. You gasp when you feel it, your ass bucking further into his touch. “Oh, my baby girl likes that? You like your ass being played with, cariño?” He taunts, hooking his thumb inside. “Want to me to fuck you there next time?”
“Fuck- yes- please,” you whimper, your pussy fluttering around him at his words. His other hand snakes to your front and reaches for your clit, drawing tight, calculated circles on you. “Oh, fuck-!” you yell out.
“That’s it, baby, fucking- dámelo, fucking soak me, querida” he forces out between his teeth. Your body twitches in his grasp, knuckles stark white against your dresser, eyes clamped shut as you cry out in the overwhelming pleasure consuming every inch of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, your sounds forcing his balls to pull taut. Javi’s fingers speed up along with his thrusts, hurtling you towards your long-awaited climax.
It’s overstimulating, him fucking into you so harshly as every nerve ending in your body pops off like fireworks. Yet, you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, the way his pace stutters for barely a second, and you know he’s close. It’s overstimulating, yes, but you want, no, need him to continue, you need him to chase his own finish line—you need him to root himself so deep inside you, you’ll feel traces of him for months on end.
“You’re close, I can feel it,” you gasp, building your own rhythm of your hips to help him along. “Need it, baby, need you inside of me,” you pant, your voice desperate. You pull yourself off the dresser and push your back into his chest, both his hands leaving your body to grip onto the darkwood, caging you in.
“Yeah?” you feel his heavy breath fan across your cheek. “Tell me how fucking’ bad, querida, wanna hear it,” he says, voice strained.
You look back at him as best you can in this angle, your lips ghosting his jaw as the slick sounds of you grow louder. “Need you so bad even plan B can’t help us- God- please cum inside of me, Javier Peña, fucking give it to me,” you beg, your moans echoing the walls and rattling every fibre of his being, pushing his body into a state of pure ecstasy as he begins to empty himself into you.
“Oh…fuck,” he grunts, his hips coming to a halt as he nearly wheezes through his orgasm. Once the sensitivity calms down, Javi pumps himself in and out of you a few more times for good measure, pushing his load deep inside of you. You can feel the way he slides in with a wet ease, and it makes butterflies in your belly erupt, a small gasp of a giggle, knowing that the soaked sensation isn’t because of solely your own product.
“Fucking perfect,” he grumbles, slowly pulling himself out of you. He takes a small step back to get a look at your used cunt, puffy and glistening. His mouth literally waters.
Javi drops to his knees, settling his broad palms on each of your ass cheeks to keep the view of you open for him. Slowly, he leans in, the flat of his tongue running over your delicate pearl through your cum-soaked folds, a mix of you and him blessing each taste bud on his tongue. He hears your breath hitch.
He brings his tongue back in, collecting up the salty combination, before he’s on you again, mapping out the ring of your puckered muscle before he softly peppers the area in sweet kisses, your rear slightly irritated with his repeated slamming into you.
He pulls himself away, giving you a moment to turn around; your back is to the dresser now. He places several kisses on your thighs, giving a few more kitten licks to your center before he’s rising to his feet and pulling you in for a deep yet gentle kiss. You can taste both you and him, and it makes your heart want to burst at the seams with warmth.
“You okay?” He asks softly as his lips break away from yours.
“Always with you,” you offer bashfully.
“Good,” he says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. You hear his hand smack the top of your dresser a few times. “I guess this thing is pretty fucking durable, huh?”
“Mmmm, maybe. I think it needs to pass one more test,” you tell him.
His eyebrow quirks up, you can see his mustache twitch, fighting his smirk. “And what test would that be, mi amor?”
Taking a step back out of his hold, you back up into the dresser again, grabbing onto the ledge and you jump, spreading your legs wide open for him to fit in between.
You can see the way his eyes flash impossibly darker. He stalks up to you again, his hands squeezing your thighs before he’s back on his knees, his head immediately burying himself in your core.
Oh, yeah, this dresser passes the test, alright.
Tagging those who showed interest when I posted the WIP !! @honeyedmiller , @punkshort , @joels-shitty-puns , @bearsbeetsbeskar , @janaispunk , @starry-eyes-love
If you enjoyed this, come check out my masterlist for more or follow my notifs blog @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to get updated on when I post new stories! Much love💚
@pedrostories
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Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)
Part 2
Summary: You’re planning to have sex for the first time and you’re nervous—Javi offers to show you a thing or two, but just as friends of course.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader
Warnings/Tags 🏷 18+ only, minors dni. reader is in late 20’s; reader is an agent for the DEA; established friendship, idiots in love lust, overprotective/slightly jealous Javi; Javi is his canon manwhore self, reader is a virgin, talks of virginity loss and her desire for no strings attached sex, a bit of pining and yearning, lots of pet names, a couple insults, friendship fluff; touching, groping, dry humping, reader gets off, Javi does not. I know, I know. I will make it up to him in part dos. this does not follow the timeline of the show accurately, Messina is in the picture, Connie is still around. reader is bilingual, no descriptions of her race or ethnicity mentioned though. *translations at the end.
Word Count: 7.9k
A/N: This took me forever to edit and post because I’m scared lmao.
thank you to @cutesyscreenname for encouraging me to write this idea. I owe you cherry gansitos!
You observed your own reflection in the full length mirror in front of you and let out a curious little hum as you lifted the short, scarlet red minidress, holding it right up against the length of your body. You then held up the second dress that you had clutched in your opposite hand, a stunning, satin black midi number whose length was a lot longer than the first option, the hem of it falling down to your calves.
It appeared rather innocent, modest enough while it was still on the plastic hanger, but it fit you beautifully, just like a fucking glove. The bodice of the garment cinched at your waist and it was tightly fitted, hugging the curves of your upper body so closely that it looked and even felt like something of a second skin whenever you wore it. The billowy skirt of the dress flowed out around you, darling and sweet at first glance, however it came with a borderline dangerous slit in the side of it that stopped about two or three inches above the middle of your thigh near the hinge of your hip. It exposed the entire length of your leg whenever you walked, danced, or moved around in it—Murphy had once referred to it as the infamous femme fatale dress, telling you that it was a far, far more dangerous weapon than your gun could ever be.
You were fairly certain his remarks had something to do with the fact that you’d worn the dress on a number of different occasions while you were out on the job, going undercover in Bogotá for the US Drug Enforcement Administration.
As the only female agent on her team in Colombia and a younger, very beautiful female agent at that, Messina found herself using you to her advantage quite often these days. She would send you out all over Bogotá in that very same black dress with the hope that it would aid you in luring in members of the Medellín drug cartel in efforts to capture their leader, Pablo Escobar.
Tonight, however, you weren’t going undercover.
You were doing something much more frightening than mingling among some of Colombia’s most dangerous men.
Far, far more daunting than that.
You were going out on a date.
“I like the red dress the best,” Javier’s deep voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He had mentioned to you earlier that day that he was going to some lounge with Murphy for a smoke and some drinks after work hours since it had been a long, draining week for him at the office; Messina had stuck him with an endless amount of tedious paperwork to do and it had just about driven him insane, but nothing a pack of cigarettes and some bourbon couldn’t fix. With the soft, Latin cumbias playing from the old stereo perched on top of the white oak dresser beside you, you had completely missed the sound of the front door opening and closing when he’d gotten home.
You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing there in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Javier’s dark brown eyes were fixed intently on you, a small, devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he casually leaned up against the door frame of your bedroom. Well, technically, it was actually the guest bedroom of his apartment unit that he’d let you take over several months ago. The housing department of the agency had placed you into a unit in the building across the street from his, right next door to Murphy and his wife, Connie. It had been a special arrangement requested by your diligent supervisor in an effort to make sure that no one found themselves in a compromising situation—she trusted you enough not to get any dumb ideas, but she didn’t trust Peña as far as she could throw him. It wasn’t very far.
While it had certainly been quite nice, and even kind of comforting at times to have Steve and Connie as your neighbors, you’d expressed to Javier one night over dinner at his place that you weren’t all too fond of having to live alone. Without an ounce of hesitation on his part, Javi offered to have you move into his spare bedroom that very same evening after you were both done eating, but only on the condition that Messina didn’t find out about the new living arrangement. She would wring Javier’s neck with her bare hands if knew that you two had been sharing his apartment this entire time.
Hell, she would wring yours too. And you were the favorite child of sorts. Less annoying than Murphy and certainly a lot less problematic than Peña.
She only liked you because she never had to worry about you. On or off the job.
But even though you were Messina’s number one, her star player, that would do absolutely nothing to spare you from her wrath if she ever came to find out that you were living with Javier Peña. She wasn’t a fan of just how close the two of you had become over the last several months; she’d told you herself that she much preferred it if you kept your distance from him while you were off duty. One wrong move on your part or Javi’s and it was game fucking over. Messina wouldn’t hesitate to send one of your asses packing, back home to be assigned somewhere else, somewhere far away from the other.
Pursing your lips together lightly, you turned your attention back over to the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, you lifted the red minidress up against your body once more to get another good look at it, as if you hadn’t just been staring at it for the last five minutes before he’d appeared. “I don’t know, Javi. I don’t like this one all that much to be honest. I’m not even sure why the hell I let Connie talk me into buying it in the first place. She said it was cute,” You remarked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You wrinkled your nose at the diamond cut out design in the sides of it. Whoever designed it must have not had enough money to spring for more a teensy bit more fabric. “But it’s kind of tacky. And it makes me look like a whore.”
“Mm yes, but a very beautiful whore,” Javi stated, his smirk widening as he drank in the gorgeous sight of you before him. He licked his lips, openly admiring the way you were clad in nothing but one of his shirts, his pink button up with short sleeves that you had once told him you loved so much because it was your favorite color; you’d sneakily stolen it out of his closet on laundry day a couple weeks back while all of your clothes had been in the washing machine and had never given it back to him. Not that Javier even really wanted it back at this point—his shirt looked a million times better on you than ever it did on him. Seeing you in it did inexplicable things to him and he fucking loved it when you padded around your now shared apartment in nothing but a pair of panties and his pink shirt. He took another glimpse at you, nearly foaming at the mouth at how it fit your frame, how the hem of it fell to the tops of your smooth thighs, the material hardly doing anything to cover up the tantalizing curves of your hips and your perfect ass. “Hermosura. The most beautiful whore in all of Colombia.”
You narrowed your eyes at him through the mirror, wishing you had a free hand you could flip him off with. “Gee, thanks for the compliment, Peña. You are always such a fucking charmer, aren’t you?”
“Oh, come on. Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. I’m just messing around with you. You know I don’t think you actually look like a whore—and trust me, I know what a whore looks like,” he responded with a deep and hearty laugh. He uncrossed his arms, allowing them to fall down to his sides as he pushed himself away from the door frame. He sauntered his way further into your bedroom, uninvited. “I’m being serious about the dress, though. Go with the red one. El vestido rojo. It’s perfect. Besides, that color would look gorgeous on you, cariño. I bet it would look almost as good on you as pink does.” He laughed again as he added, “Nice shirt, by the way.”
Your annoyed expression immediately softened into one of guilt. “I’ve been meaning to give you your shirt back,” You told him, sheepishly. “Te lo juro, Javi.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” Javier snorted, waving off the little white lie. He finally forced himself to tear his attention away from you and glanced around, observing the current state of your room instead. It looked like a tornado had hit the inside of your closet; dresses, jackets, and high heeled shoes were strewn all over the place. He wasn’t all too surprised by the mess. He knew you like he knew the back of his own hand by now, and this was typical of you when you were searching for the perfect outfit to wear on a free night out in the city. “I don’t remember you telling me you had any plans tonight, bonita. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with the chismosas of the office? Or are you going out for a girl’s night with Connie?”
You momentarily hesitated.
“Actually, I have a date.”
Through the mirror, you saw the smile fade from Javier’s face almost instantly.
Here we go, You thought inwardly to yourself.
“You have a date? With who?” he demanded.
Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. “You know Valeria, don’t you?”
The color drained from his face.
“That’s the translator who works up on the third floor, right?” He touched his hand to the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around a couple of times.”
You almost laughed at the manner in which Javier tried playing dumb.
Of course he knew Valeria.
He had fucked her three weeks ago.
Javi had tried to keep it on the down low, but loud mouthed Valeria would brag to anyone who would listen all about how Agent Peña had fucked her in her office one evening while they’d been working late together and everyone else had gone home. Not that Javier even needed her services as a translator, he’d just needed an excuse to find himself in her office after hours so he could get his dick wet.
For some strange reason, you felt oddly fucking generous and decided to let Javier have this one, playing along with him and his sheer stupidity. “Yeah, her. She has an older brother who’s visiting the city for a few days. His name is Diego. He’s an immigration attorney who is here on business in Bogotá. She offered to set me up with him,” You explained, keeping everything as brief as possible. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight.”
Javier frowned. “Have you met him in person?”
“Well no, but Valeria showed me his picture and she told me all about him. It’s not like he’s just some random ass guy I met on the street, Javi. He’s her brother, she advocated for him,” You tried to reason with him, knowing all too well where this conversation was heading. Sure, it was nice to know that Javier cared about you enough to be concerned about you meeting up with someone who was essentially a complete stranger, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle yourself. You’d spent many evenings sitting right in the laps of the violent criminals who worked for Escobar—a blind date with a coworker’s brother was nothing for him to make a fuss over. “I really don’t think that I have anything to worry about with him.”
He rigidly shook his head. “Look, no offense to Valeria, but I don’t like the idea of you running around this city at night with some fucking prick that you’ve never even met before. And before you throw all that undercover bullshit at me, just know that it’s not the same thing. You aren’t going out on the job tonight. You’re not going out with your team on standby to watch your back, you’re not going out with me and Murphy armed and ready to jump into action if things head south. What if something happens to you?”
You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the complete and utter ridiculousness of his drama king antics. “Oh, give me a fucking break, Peña. Diego’s not a member of the fucking cartel, he’s a lawyer. And besides that, you’re acting like I can’t take care of myself.”
“Listen, I know damn good and well that you can take care of yourself just fine, muñeca. But still, that doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole arrangement.” Javier’s hands went to his waist and he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head once again. “I’m going to need to meet this guy before you go out with him. I don’t care whose fucking brother he is—whichever way you try to spin it, the bottom line is that he’s a still a fucking stranger and I want to check him out for myself before I let you go out with him.” He saw the mischievous twinkle in your eyes and peered at you suspiciously. “Please tell me he’s coming to pick you up here at the apartment.”
You laughed. “Of course not, Javi. I’m not stupid. I already knew you would behave like this. I knew you would go straight into overprotective mode, just like you always do. I didn’t want you scaring him off, so I’m taking a taxi cab and we’re meeting up at the bar instead.” You easily clocked the all too familiar glint in his eye and smiled sweetly at him. “And don’t even think about trying to guess which one it is so that you can show up and keep tabs on me the whole night. There are thousands of bars in this damn city and I can promise you that you’re not smart enough to figure out which one we’re going to, Agent Peña.”
Annoyed by the smugness in your tone and the way it was starting to get under his skin, Javier’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He watched you walk over to your closet, subtly swaying your hips to the music as you pulled out yet another dress to add to your rapidly growing list of options.
He could feel the envy prickling at each and every last single nerve ending in his entire body, his frustrations stewing at the mere thought of you going out with another man. His jaw clenched and he forced himself to shove the feeling down knowing damn well that he didn’t have the right to be jealous. Not when you two weren’t anything more than just friends.
If you’d just been a coworker, it would be different.
Javier would gladly, happily, risk mixing business with pleasure as he had so often done in the past with several secretaries—and a translator or two—in his time. But no matter how hard he’d tried over and over again to place you into that box, into that category, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.
You weren’t just his coworker, you were his friend.
His best friend.
For as much shit as he gave you, you mattered to him. You were important to him, way too important to ever risk fucking up your friendship by fucking you.
Still. Javier would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. He thought about it all the damn time. When he discovered that fucking himself into the palm of his hand and moaning your name quietly over and over again under his breath didn’t quite do the job for him anymore, he would find himself standing outside of your bedroom prepared to say fuck it all and make his move on you. But then it happened every single fucking time without fail—as soon as he lifted his curled fist to knock on your door, he started to remember things.
He’d remember the way you could so easily make him laugh with your clever and quick witted sense of humor. He remembered all those late nights you two would spend together lounging on his brown leather couch in your pajamas watching old, poorly made slasher films while indulging in the greasiest, unhealthiest takeout Bogotá had to offer. He remembered how you could read him just like a fucking magazine, how you always knew when something was wrong—and how you would always somehow know exactly what to say and do to comfort him whenever he needed it the most.
He would remember how you’d come to feel like his home away from home.
And then he would drop his hand right back down to his side, whirl around on his heel, and march straight back into his bedroom where he had little choice but to go back to fantasizing about what could never be between you and him.
Snapping himself out of his own train of thought, Javier carefully stepped over the mountains of clothing and shoes on the floor and made his way over to another pile of dresses that were draped over the foot of your bed. He caught a glimpse of the lingerie set on top of them, brand new with the price tag still attached to the fabric; the set was black, made of delicate, see through lace that would leave very little to the imagination when you put it on. He picked up the thong, hooking the thin elastic of it around his index finger. “Something tells me that you’re not planning on coming back home tonight.”
“What are you talking about?” Confused, you turned around and gasped, dropping the dresses in your hands. “Javier!”
“Are these even going to cover anything up?” he teased you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement as they darted between the thong and the lower half of your body. “Falta mucha tela, cariño.”
You rushed up to him and made a dive for the underwear. “Give me those!”
“How come you don’t ever wear anything like this around the apartment, hermosa?” Javi dangled them above your head and out of your reach. “All I ever get to see you in are those cotton panties, the ones with polka dots on them.” He glanced down, getting an eyeful of you and the aforementioned polka dot panties. “Kind of like the ones you’re wearing now—”
“Javier, cut it out!” You placed a hand on his shoulder as the other continued grabbing for the lingerie. “Come on, stop being such a fucking asshole!”
Although he could have easily enjoyed taunting you for hours and hours on end, Javier knew you wouldn’t hesitate to have your knee meet his balls. Not wanting to risk ending up on your floor curled up in pain, he eased up and handed them over to you.
“Idiota!” You hissed at him, furiously snatching the underwear out of his hand. You stomped over to your dresser and shoved them into the middle drawer, slamming it closed so hard the old stereo nearly went crashing to the floor. “You can be a real fucking douchebag, Peña.”
Javier wasn’t bothered by the insults; he’d grown used to those—however any trace of playfulness vanished as the reality began to set in for him. The reality of you sleeping with another a man tonight. “Wait a minute, are you really planning to fuck the guy?” He didn’t even make the attempt to mask the disappointment that laced his tone. “I mean, you haven’t even met him yet. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, querida.”
“You sound awful judgmental for someone who brings home a different escort every other fucking week,” You snapped at him, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, and speaking of escorts, I had the pleasure of meeting Alessandra in the bathroom this morning. She asked if I had a tank top that she could borrow since apparently you got too eager and ripped her shirt off last night.” You tilted your head, squinting at him as he started shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “If you happen to go back to her for a second round, tell her that I want it back. Washed.”
Javier grimaced, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I thought she would be gone by the time you woke up,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Lo siento, bonita. I’m sorry.”
You blinked. “Sorry for what?”
He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut.
Javier wasn’t all too sure, actually.
He didn’t have anything to apologize for, not really.
He was a single man who could do as, and who, he pleased.
Yet he still felt like a pile of dog shit knowing you’d encountered Alessandra while he had still been asleep.
You would never admit it, but Javier knew that to some extent, it hurt you to run into the women he would bring home. As if having to hear him railing them on the other side of your bedroom wall for hours wasn’t bad enough, having to meet them the following morning and seeing them half naked with their smeared makeup and disheveled hair from the previous night’s activities only made it so much fucking worse.
Having read his mind, you sighed and offered him some reassurance. “It’s fine, Javi. We both know that you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” You said, prompting him to look back up at you. You pointed a finger at him. “I do want my shirt back, though. And then maybe I’ll be nice and give you back yours.”
You expected Javi to scamper off to his room with his tail between his legs in shame. It was what he usually did—he’d avoid you for about a few hours until the dust settled, and then everything would go back to normal. Instead of running off, he stood there and spoke again.
“Are you really going to have sex with this guy?”
You tried to ignore how disheartened he sounded.
“I don’t know,” You confessed, quietly. “I want to have sex with him, but I don’t know if I’ll actually have the fucking balls to go through with it.”
“Por qué? Estas nerviosa?”
Though Javier hadn’t been poking fun at you, you couldn’t help but feel irritated with him for asking you if you were nervous; because you actually were nervous, and him asking you only made you even more fucking nervous. “And so what if I am a little nervous?” You challenged him, lightly. “Sorry that we’re not all just confidently fucking our way through this city like you are, Peña.”
“When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?”
“None of your fucking business, that’s when,” You quipped.
“That’s not fair.” Javi pouted at you. “You know when the last time I had sex was.”
“Not by choice,” You retorted. “You’re right on the other side of my paper thin wall and I left my Walkman in the office.”
Javi waited expectantly for an answer. He wasn’t going to drop the subject, and you knew that.
“You’re such a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” You muttered. Feeling a burning heat flood to your face, you decided to give him just about the most generic answer there was in order to get him off your back. “It was a long, long time ago.”
“Okay, but how long ago?” He pressed, curiously. “Are we talking weeks? Months?”
Your stomach began to churn violently, the hidden secret you’d kept to yourself for your entire adult life now at risk of being exposed.
“I-I really don’t remember,” You stammered out in response, averting your gaze away from his. “Can we not talk about my sex life, please? Besides, it’s getting late and I still need to take a shower and get ready for my date tonight. So if you would just kindly fuck all the way off, that would be great.”
Javier took a step back and there was a very brief moment where you had been certain you’d just narrowly avoided what could have been a painful, humiliating conversation. However, just as he was about to turn to leave, Javi’s eyes widened as it slowly clicked into place for him.
“Wait a minute—are you fucking serious?”
You groaned. “Javier, please don’t. For the sake of what’s left of my sanity, please don’t,” You nearly pleaded him, wishing that a large, Twilight Zone style swirling vortex would open up in the middle of your floor and swallow you whole.
“You’ve never had sex before,” he realized. “Have you?”
Your face felt like it had caught on fire.
Not knowing what to say or even do, you clasped your hands together and wrung them anxiously in front of you.
Of all the people to find out your secret, it just had to be Peña.
“Cariño, are you really a virgin?”
Surprised, you looked up at him.
Javi wasn’t teasing you or being a dick about it.
He seemed genuinely perplexed by the fact that you’d never had sex before. Not that it made it any less mortifying.
“Yes,” You admitted, exhaling the breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. “I’m a virgin, alright? There, are you satisfied?”
“But how? Going undercover? And informants—”
Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but you don’t always have to fuck your informants to get what you need out of them, Peña. It’s not a requirement. I use my brains, not my body.”
“You’re shaming me for using my body?” he joked lightly, hoping it would further ease the awkward nature of the conversation—for your sake, not his.
“Just a little bit.” You offered him a small, crooked smile and felt your tense shoulders finally begin to relax. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid or maybe even crazy, but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to wait and give it to the right man. Maybe even to a man that I’m in love with. But with the way my romantic life has been going, it just seems like that’s never going to happen for me.” You shrugged. “I just want to lose it already, Javi. I’m almost in my fucking thirties—either I lose it now, or I may as well throw in the damn towel and join a convent.”
“You would look kind of cute in a nun’s habit,” Javi mused, thoughtfully.
You shot him a glare, but felt the corners of your mouth threatening to turn up into another smile.
After a long minute, Javier broke the silence that had fallen over the both of you. “So then, Valeria’s older brother is the man you’re going to lose your virginity to? Tonight?”
“That’s the plan. He’s only here until the end of the week. It’d be no strings attached, so it works out perfectly.” You anxiously chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But only if I can find the courage to actually go through with it.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Not knowing what to do.”
Javier quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly rocket science, querida.”
You resisted the sudden urge to go up to him and backhand the stupid smirk right off of his face.
“Could you please just take me seriously for one second, Peña?” You huffed out in frustration. “I’m just really fucking nervous about it, alright? What if I can’t—what if I’m not good at it?”
Javi’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth and he stifled his laughter. “Preciosa, you’re being kind of…” He trailed off, trying to choose his next word carefully.
You lifted your chin. “Kind of what?”
“Ridiculous. And before you come over here and start pummeling me to death with those little fists of yours...” He stopped and held up his hands in defense. He took a second or two to let eyes glaze over you from head to toe. “I’m only saying that because you’re fucking gorgeous, muñequita. Any man would be lucky to have a night with you. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
“It’s not about how I look, Javier. It’s about how I perform.” You felt your face grow hot for what had to be the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Never did you think this would be a conversation you’d be having with him of all fucking people. “I listen to the way those women you bring home—I hear what they do to you. And I hear how much you like it.”
His lips parted slightly. “And you want to do that to him?”
“I want to make him feel good.”
Javier’s jealously simmered in his veins. But what could he do?
Nothing, that’s what. Just like him, you could do as, and who, you pleased. But if he could just get his hands on you first, at least to some extent, it would help ease the blow. He saw nothing wrong with blurring the lines, so long as he didn’t cross them.
Javi hummed. “If you really want to know how to make a man feel good, I can help you.”
“You can help me?” You repeated. “How?”
“By showing you a thing or two.”
You let out something mixed between a scoff and a laugh.
“I am not having sex with you, Peña.”
He tossed you an innocent look. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all.” He crossed the bedroom and walked over to you, reaching for your hands. He took them in his own and then started pulling you towards your bed. “If you’re really that worried about not knowing what to do, I can give you a few pointers. And calmada, querida. Our clothes stay on,” he reassured you before you could open your mouth to protest. “Just think of it as a friend helping out a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”
You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Javi.”
Javier’s thumbs softly smoothed across the back of your hands. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Right now, I’m not so sure that I do.” You paused long enough for him to throw you an exasperated, almost offended look. You rolled your eyes at him and nodded your head. “Yes, of course I trust you, Peña. I trust you with my fucking life. Literally, I put my life in your hands at least once or twice a week.”
“Then let me help you, hermosa.”
You inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled it softly. “Fine. But remember, our clothes stay on—” You were cut off, all the air leaving your lungs as Javi yanked you forward, slamming you against his chest. You looked up at him, ready to give him a piece of your mind for knocking the wind out of you, but as his eyes met yours, words failed you and all you could do was stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
This could not possibly end well.
And yet here you were, going along with it.
He snaked an arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his. Feeling how tense you had become, stiff as a fucking board, Javi gave you a light shake in an effort to get you to loosen up a bit. “First thing is first, you need to relax. There’s no need to overthink this, cariño. Especially not with me.” He reached up with his opposite hand, letting his index finger feather along your jawline. He then slipped it underneath your chin, lifting it ever so slightly and forcing you to look right into his rich pools of espresso. “I mean it. It really wouldn’t take much for a beautiful girl like you to drive me—I mean, drive him wild.”
You tried your hardest to keep your voice from trembling, but between his touch and being in such close proximity, you were finding it a hell of a lot more difficult than you’d imagined. “Show me, Peña. What drives you—I mean, what’s going to drive him wild?”
“Well, it always starts with the right kiss.”
You quickly shook your head. “Javi—”
“Kiss me.”
Had he lost his fucking mind?
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” You echoed your thoughts
“Just a friend helping out a friend,” Javi reminded you in a murmur. “Remember?”
You should have said no. You should have decked him for even suggesting such a thing.
Instead, you gave him a small nod. You rested your hands delicately on his hard, lean chest and tilted your head upwards, lightly pressing your lips to his for a split second before quickly pulling away.
“There.”
“That was fucking pathetic,” Javier laughed softly, his warm breath fanning over the tip of your nose. “You’re not kissing your abuela, you know.”
You smacked his chest. “Javi! Leave my grandma out of this.”
“You have to kiss a man like you actually want him, querida. Here, allow me to demonstrate.”
Your throat went dry as his grip around your waist tightened. He moved his other hand away from your chin and it went to the back of your neck, gingerly tilting your head up towards his. Your heart hammered almost painfully against your ribcage, beating way too hard and way too fast for him not to feel it against his own chest. You had to silently remind yourself to breathe as Javi inched his face closer to yours, slowly. You knew that he was doing it on purpose, moving an agonizingly glacial pace to allow your anticipation to build; all the while his dark eyes were staring deeply into the depths of your very fucking soul, causing a fire to set ablaze deep in your lower belly.
Your thighs clenched together involuntarily as the tip of his nose skimmed a spot near the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing the underside of your jawline.
God, he was fucking good.
“Javi…” You uttered his name weakly.
You needed to stop this. Javier was your friend—friends didn’t do shit like this.
Javi sensed your reluctance. “It’s alright, mi vida,” he whispered, uttering an affectionate pet name that he’d never used before. He gave you a small grin as he moved in to finally close the small gap of space between your faces. His lips met yours and every ridiculous cliché of sparks flying and fireworks exploding occurred the moment they did. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, gently coaxing its way into your mouth to begin a slow, sensual dance with yours. Cupping the back of your neck, he tilted your head up a bit further, granting himself better access to your mouth so that he could fully explore it inch by inch.
There was kissing other men.
And then there was kissing Javier.
Whimpering, your body melted against his as he swelled your lips with a kiss that was slow and sensual, yet somehow still hungry and possessive at the same time. Javier’s hands travelled down to your hips, his fingers skimming the hem of his shirt that you wore. He took the opportunity to sneak them underneath the garment, allowing them to meet the warmth of your skin.
Gasping, you jerked back and pulled away from him.
“Javier!” You squeaked out his name breathlessly, furiously swatting his hands away from your sides. You glared at him. “I thought we agreed, our clothes fucking stay on!”
“Funny, I wasn’t aware that I was taking any of your clothes off.” Javier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. He then took a step backwards and gestured towards your bed. “Lay down.”
Your mouth fell open at his request.
“W-what?” You sputtered out, your eyes wide.
“You heard me. Get on the bed and lay down.”
Javi reached down, sweeping your pile of dresses off of the bed and onto the floor.
“Why? What are you going to do?” You questioned him, shuffling anxiously from one bare foot to the other.
Javier rolled his eyes and let out a small, impatient sigh. “Just do it, hermosa. You can trust me.”
Swallowing harshly, you obeyed him and walked around to the side of your bed, taking a seat. You inhaled another deep breath before bringing your legs up and laying back, your head resting against your decorative pillows. You nervously tugged and pulled at the hem of his stolen pink shirt, trying to cover yourself up as best as you could as you laid there, sprawled out before him; however Javier had other plans. He climbed onto the bed after you, positioning his body so it hovered over yours. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling himself right in between your thighs. He grabbed one of your legs and hiked it up around his waist, putting the two of you in a very, very dangerous position. His fingers remained wrapped around your thigh, his touch burning right into your soft flesh as he held your leg in place around him.
“Don’t be shy, muñequita.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed his hand further up your thigh.
He grinned, feeling satisfied with himself when he felt the goosebumps erupt across your skin.
“Shut up, I’m not shy,” You fibbed, prompting him to chuckle.
“Mentirosa.” Javi’s hand abandoned your leg and he brought his hand up to the side of your face to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip.
“Kiss me,” he commanded, gently. “And this time, kiss me like you mean it.”
You reached up for him with trembling hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his pewter blue, button up shirt. You pulled him down towards you and lifted yourself up slightly off your pillows, crashing your mouth against his. You allowed yourself to finally release any fears that you might have had before and kissed him greedily and with fervor, as if it would be the very last time you’d ever get to kiss Javier Peña—because it very well could be the last time you would ever get to kiss Javier Peña.
You kissed him deeply, going on until your lungs began to burn—you only broke away from him once they started screaming, demanding oxygen.
Tearing yourself apart from him, you released his shirt and dropped back down onto your pillows, breathlessly asking, “Better?”
“Oh, so much better. Good girl, mi muñequita linda,” he praised, grinning again as he caressed the silkiness of your cheek. He lowered his head and lips ghosted over yours for a moment before he moved them down your neck, feathering kisses to any exposed skin peeking out from underneath his shirt. His hand found your breast and he groaned realizing that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath it. He kneaded the perfect, soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric, rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers. He bucked his hips into yours, causing a loud moan to escape from your lips the second you felt his hardened cock through his tight, light blue jeans. He caught sight of the way you blushed at the sound that he’d elicited from you and his grin widened. “Noises like that? The louder the better. So don’t hold back, preciosa.”
“What else can I do to make you—to make him feel good?”
Javier dipped his face right into the hollow of your neck, thinking it over for a moment. “A woman who takes control can be very sexy. I like it—I bet he’ll like it if you get on top.”
“I think I can do that.” Biting your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, sliding yourself out from underneath him. You guided him to lay back onto your pillows and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.
Shit. Javier cursed inwardly.
Maybe he’d been in over his head with this idea.
He knew at some point he’d have to stop it from going too far—but would he be able to?
“How do you like it?” You asked him, shyly. This time, you hadn’t bothered to correct yourself.
You didn’t want to know how to please another man.
You wanted to know how to please Javi.
Even if you’d never get the chance to do it.
“Depends on the mood,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders in the most nonchalant manner that he could muster under the circumstances—as if his cock wasn’t rock hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans and begging to be inside you.
“Te gusta despacito?” You start to rock your hips back and forth against his, slowly. “Do you like it slow?”
Javier’s breath hitched in the back his throat. At this point, there was no doubt about it—you could feel him underneath you, throbbing. “Sometimes,” he managed to choke out in reply. “Like I said. Just depends on the mood.”
“Or what about like this?” You grinned down at him, gaining a sense of confidence as you started to move faster on top of him, finding your perfect rhythm. You could see and clearly feel what you were doing to him. Knowing that you were having this kind of effect on Peña was nothing short of a fucking dream come true.
His hands went to your hips, holding on as you picked up the pace, grinding your clothed core down against his bulge.
You could feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, soaking your panties; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d leave behind a wet spot on his jeans. “How am I doing?”
“Fucking amazing, muñeca,” he answered, earnestly. His long, thick fingers dug into your sides as he suggested, “It helps if you put on a little show while you’re up there, too.” He then pictured you in that sexy black lingerie set you’d bought; he imagined what it would be like to slip that tiny little thong to the side so you could freely ride his cock. The mere thought had him seeing stars.
“A show, huh?” You smirked and popped the top two buttons of your shirt—his shirt—exposing the smooth valley between your breasts to him. “I think I can do that too,” You giggled, pulling the fabric to the side, just enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of the soft curves of your chest but not enough to expose yourself completely.
“Hermosa,” he couldn’t help but groan out. It took every ounce of strength he had inside him not to reach up and tear his shirt right off of you so he could see all of you.
You grabbed his hands from your hips and slowly began guiding them all around your body. You started by placing them on your breasts, giving him permission to cop another feel before moving them slowly down the lengths of your sides and placing them on your bare thighs. From there, you picked up Javi’s hands once more and placed them behind you, allowing him to take two generous handfuls of your ass. Your hands then abandoned his and you placed them on his chest, supporting yourself as you continued to roll your hips against his, riding him through his jeans. You tossed your head back and closed your eyes; the friction of your clit against his pelvis even through all the clothes felt like absolute heaven, and you let out a lustful moan that bounced off of your bedroom walls as you continued to drive your hips harder against his own.
Realizing that this was no longer a lesson and you were actually pleasuring yourself, Javier groaned again. He moved his hands back to your hips and found himself bucking his own hips upwards to meet you halfway—he abandoned any and all worries about taking it too far. He wanted you to come.
He needed to see you come.
“Javi,” You gasped his name, moaning again.
“That’s it, muñeca,” he rasped out. “Just like that, baby. Keep going. What a good girl, what a good fucking girl.”
Any and all common sense had been washed away by pleasure and by your need to reach that sweet, sweet release.
It was so close. You felt him right there, right between your clothed folds, and all you could do was imagine what it would be like to have his cock fill you up and stretch you completely.
His name began to slip from your lips, rolling off of your tongue over and over again with such ease.
Your movements fell in perfect sync with his.
You went down, he went up.
You pulled, he pushed.
No doubt about it, Javier was trying to get you off.
Somehow, you find a voice that speaks in between all your pitiful little pants.
“J-Javi, maybe we s-shouldn’t—”
Javier quickly sat up and wrapped one of his arms around your waist. He slammed your mouths together, silencing you mid sentence. He thrusted upwards, and you whined into his kiss, rubbing your clit against his bulge even harder.
The beginning of your orgasm coiled up tightly in your belly, and you knew it would spring forward any second now.
“Javi, I’m so close—”
“It’s okay, hermosa. Come for me,” he mumbled into your mouth. “I’ve got you.”
Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you buried your face into his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, your loud cries came out muffled against his collarbone as you unraveled, coming undone with one last cry of his name.
You slumped forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you fought to catch your breath, the pleasure still pulsing between your thighs.
Javier’s other arm curled around you and he said nothing as he held you.
Once you’d finally started coming down from your high, your eyes flew open and a chill went up the length of your spine.
What had you two just done?
Still straddling his lap, you pulled back. “Javi—”
Without warning, Javier flipped you over so you were on your back underneath him once again. He hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he dipped his head and captured your lips with his one final, deep and sensual kiss.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about tonight,” he murmured once he had pulled away. “You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”
He touched the tip of his nose to yours before climbing off of you.
“I fucking hope this guy realizes what a lucky son of a bitch he is,” Javier said quietly before turning on the heel of his boot and walking out of your bedroom, leaving you laying there with your mouth parted open in complete shock.
Translations
Solo es una bromita, muñeca. No tienes por qué ofenderte. - It’s just a little joke, doll. No need to get offended.
El vestido rojo. - The red dress.
Te lo juro, Javi. - I swear to you, Javi.
Chismosas - Gossipers
Falta mucha tela, cariño. - There is a lot of fabric missing, darling.
Mentirosa. - Liar.
Te gusta despacito? - Do you like it a little slow?
#javier peña#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña x y/n#javier peña x you#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x female reader#javier peña x reader#javier peña fic#javier peña angst#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#javier pena x y/n#javier pena#pedro pascal characters#narcos fanfiction#narcos fic#javier peña smut#narcos smut#javier pena smut
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Salvatore
pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader
summary: a secretary with an attitude problem, a DEA agent with an insolence problem. years ago, you'd stopped hoping for his character to improve, but he's still gunning to set you straight. it’s the worst day of your life, and javier peña aims to take advantage of that.
warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content, fem afab reader, mentions of reader having long hair, bratty!reader, brat-tamer!javi, alcohol consumption, smoking, pet names, (so much smoking, I’m sorry but it’s narcos), dubcon (slight intoxication, coercion if you really, really squint)
beta reader: @millllenniawrites that’s BABIE
word count: 10.3k (imsosorry)
no use of y/n in this fic
hey y’all ! i said i had a longer javi fic in store and i was not kidding lmfao !!! slight warning, the reader is a bit of an asshole so teaaaaa. anyhow, don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty, and feedback & comments are always welcome mwah mwah -em<3
PS: to my non-canadian readers, a dart is a cigarette lmao
—
Read Part 2: Playing Dangerous
—
Nothing ever went to plan with Peña around.
It was a curse. A nightmare. You were so careful with your agenda, making sure meetings with the ambassador happened on time, every time, and uninterrupted. When that didn’t happen? It was your ass on the line. And when that didn’t happen? It was always because of agent Peña.
“I can’t let you in, right now,” you hiss, tired of repeating yourself. “She specifically told me not to let people in. Not to let you in,” you add, pointing a finger at his chest.
“Aw, c’mon,” Peña’s murmured supplication rolls off his tongue, “It’s real important.”
You huff indignantly. Keeping your voice low, you retort, “Every time it’s life or death, Peña—”
“Why don’t you ever call me Javier, sweetheart?” A playful twinkle dances in his twilit eyes. “You’ve known me longer than any of the other girls I’m on a first name basis with, here.”
It was true. You’d been working at the embassy for ages, now, babysitting big-headed politicians or power-drunk DEA agents and soldiers. Peña was the worst of them all, solely in virtue of the fact that he knew he could get away with everything. Men loved him because he was tough, charismatic, and capable; women loved him because he was tough, charismatic, capable, and looked like a vintage pornstar. It only took you a month at the job to grow violently sick of hearing his name cherished on the lips of your female coworkers, forced to listen to the gorey details of nearly every. single. office. conquest.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
The worst might’ve been when his ‘informants’ called, their mewling voices asking to leave a message for ‘Javi.’ Or, it might’ve been the culminating effect of his reaping the rewards, time after time, for his insolence, gaining respect, praise, pussy—and all because he never fucking listened.
Years came and went, and somewhere down the line you’d accepted that Javier Peña was simply destined to be a lifelong affliction.
Now, standing before you in his ruffled, tan button-up, his loosely unkempt hair cascading into his eyes, he reminds you of a lost, stray cat.
He was anything but.
Receptionists, assistants, secretaries… you had long been the secret-keepers of the world. It wasn’t that you were ignorant of the part you played in the DEA’s more indelicate proceedings; but, still, you maintained that there was a clear difference between transferring phone calls or scheduling meetings and torturing men to death for information.
Gazing into Peña’s umber eyes only flooded your head with scenes of casual violence—no doubt, they were a sight, which always made you wonder how many times they’d been someone’s last.
You’d heard stories.
Sucking in a lengthy inhalation, your glare meets his roguish expression.
“I will call you 'Javier',” you counter, soaking his name in scorn, “When you stop calling me 'sweetheart'.” He smirks at that, leaning his palms on your desk, forearms flexing as they face you. “And 'angel',” you persist. “And 'darling' and 'doll' and 'hey you' and whatever else you’ve called me over the years.”
A smile. “Never realized you were keeping a list.” You roll your eyes. “If only you’d told me, angel, I’d’ve been more creative.”
You sigh, increasingly irritated by his imposition. Leaning back to cross your arms and legs, you torture him with silence.
“You’re seriously not gonna let me in?”
The slight, entitled whine underpinning his tone brings you immense satisfaction. You shake your head, ‘nope', and watch his mustache twitch impatiently in response.
Peña takes a second to gather his thoughts before rapping his knuckles against the hardwood, loosing a huff of irritation.
“Know what your problem is, sweetheart?” He muses, his stare shadowed under thick eyebrows.
“No, I don't, Peña,” you reply sardonically, curling your hands under your chin, beaming at him in mock engrossment. “Please, do indulge me.”
He smirks. “You’re wound up wayyy too tight.” He eats you alive with a mere look. “And someday? Someone’s gonna have to break you in.”
“If you gave me the honour,” the agent continues, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low purr as he stoops to lean over you, shirt creasing around the broad muscles of his shoulders.
“I’d have you screamin’ my name like a prayer.”
Words fail you. Gaping up at his sinful expression, you’re wide-eyed, lips parting softly in surprise—he drinks in his effect, watching you squirm below him like a mouse caught in a trap.
Despite your rocky history, you can’t help your intrigue at the invitation burning right there in his eyes, tempting… and… promising—
The ambassador’s doors whoosh open, causing you to jump in your seat. Jolting up, you clumsily rearrange your stationary, suddenly very preoccupied with adjusting your skirt, your collar, your hair. Peña straightens casually, tightening his tie and clearing his throat as a flighty officer emerges from the office, quickly disappearing down the hall.
Ambassador Noonan appears in the doorway. She fixes her exasperated gaze on your most unwelcome guest.
“Ambassador,” Peña greets, his flirtatious baritone blanketing you like a wave of thick, late-August air. “Your assistant was just about to send me in.”
Rage joins the confusing cocktail of emotions swirling in your middle as your cheeks grow red-hot.
“Give her a break, Peña,” Noonan scoffs, strolling back into her office. “Or I’ll have you on desk duty til’ next year.”
“It’s urgent, ambassador,” Peña calls after her, suddenly serious. There’s a loaded silence before a grumbled ‘two minutes’ echoes from inside the room.
You hate when he wins.
He saunters in without a glance, without a word, sealing the big doors shut behind him.
Dropping your forehead to your desk, the cool hardwood relieves the stubborn hotness under your skin. Your thoughts race faster than you can endeavour to keep up with.
What was that?
It wasn’t unusual for your feelings to run wild whenever the two of you went head to head, but never before had Peña gotten you… excited.
Tempted.
Were you going insane?
Or, maybe—just maybe… was the fucker right? It had been some time since you’d allowed yourself an unhealthy indulgence.
Still, the thought of Peña being right about anything was fundamentally incompatible with your psychological makeup.
So, you try to snap out of it.
You hated Peña. You hated his car, his clothes, and his watch. You hated his stupid mustache and the crinkles that formed by his eyes when he laughed in big, hearty heaves. You hated his velvet-smooth voice and his fluffy hair and his massive, toned shoulders and his full, pouty, teasing lips and—
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
You hated nothing more than yourself, in that moment, unable to purge your mind of the agent, his corrupted expression etched on the back of your eyelids as if Michelangelo had carved him there himself.
—
Rolled cigarettes aside, your most reproachful habit was taking (conderably lengthy) lunch breaks in your shit-box Chevrolet. On one hand, the solitude allowed an escape from the frantic embassy environment; on the other hand, your isolation left you vulnerable, at the mercy of whoever decided to accost you, processing the always headache-inducing events of the morning in the driver’s seat of your car. It happened all-too-frequently: a disgruntled diplomat tapping at the glass post-meeting to snap at you for your boss’s rigidity.
Get me a meeting with someone else, girl.
(How about you get a real job, dick?)
Feet up on the dash, you’re tuned in to the low hums crackling off the old radio speakers, seat down, eyes closed for the ultimate unwinding experience. It's not perfect: the passenger side window had recently developed the unfortunate habit of sliding open (no matter how hard you forced it closed, writing an internal manifesto to GMC motors), so your mid-day meditations were punctuated by road-rage-induced swear words and honks.
Over and over a single sentence floats to the forefront of your mind, surfacing above all else: let this interminable day be over.
You nearly jump out of your skin when a brisk knock rattles the glass by your head.
White guy. Blonde hair. Scraggly mustache.
Murphy.
You take your time putting your seat back to an upright position, carefully lowering your feet to rest atop the floor pedals. Then, you crank the window down, kicking yourself for not choosing a more secluded location.
He smirks, no doubt amused by your spa-like, lunchtime activities. His strange (but not necessarily unpleasant) appearance always reminded you of a children’s cartoon character.
“Should’ve opted for a desk-job,” he teases.
You roll your eyes, and, instead of even giving him the gift of your full attention, you watch intently as a grey Ford pickup struggles to parallel park, half a block up the street.
“If you had to deal with cops like you and Peña for a living, you’d do the same, believe me.”
And you were beyond serious. Peña’s little stunt this morning had caused every damn meeting in Noonan’s already packed schedule to shift by not two, not ten, but twenty minutes. You’d been sworn at six times by ten-thirty.
Murphy nods in reluctant acknowledgement. “I’m guessing that means you’re not in the mood to do me any favours?”
An exasperated sigh. “Depends on what it is, I guess.”
Grimness settles over his features, a stark reminder of the nature of his job. He’s apprehensive in his delivery, already anticipating your wrath. “I need access to records.”
Of course he does. Immediately, you’re scowling.
“And why would I have that kind of clearance?” Your brazenness doesn’t shock him, but he flinches nonetheless. “Christ,” you seethe, “Sometimes I feel like the whole fucking world thinks I’m, like… Ali Baba, or some shit.”
That strange comparison entices a slow smile from him. It’s hard for you not to laugh at yourself, either, but you do your best to swallow it down, to hold to your contempt.
“I was just wondering if you could get me the right documents so that I could get clearance, Ali Baba.”
The corners of your lips lift, betraying your lingering ire. Murphy gives you a sympathetic kind of look, the kind that reminds you of a golden retriever, begging for scraps from the dinner table.
Oh, fuck it.
Murphy was always more pleasant than his counterpart, anyways. It felt alright to reward him for his good behaviour.
“Fine.”
He grins in celebration.
Damn it, you’re too nice.
Gotta stand your ground, somehow. “Tomorrow,” you add.
Murphy cringes. “Kinda need it today.”
“Well I can’t do it today, so it’s going to be tomorrow, alr—”
“What can’t we do today?”
Peña’s interjection through the half-open, defective passenger side window makes you jump for the second time in five minutes—this time, you kick yourself for choosing to put off that repair job. Before you can process, or even protest his arrival, he’s unlocked the door from the inside and climbed into the passenger seat. Leaning casually against the inside of the door, he looks arrogant as ever with his arms crossed, big biceps swelling under the fabric of his tan button-up.
And he’s leering at your addled state, feigned innocence dancing in those big, brown eyes.
Murphy stifles a snort.
“Get out of my car, Peña,” you grind out.
“Shouldn’t be driving this,” he muses, running his fingers along the hot, hard plastic of the dash. “Bad engines—what’s your address? We could carpool—I’d pick you up—y’know, get coffee…”
Murphy can’t help himself; he chuckles aloud at Peña’s goading. You round on him, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“That laugh just cost you your precious form, asshole.”
And you crank the window up, tuning out his stammered “naw, c’mon, j's wait—” until it becomes nothing more than white noise, something you could easily fall asleep to.
“Aw, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Peña placates, “I’m just playing around.”
Murphy wanders off, no doubt scheming up his next attempt at persuading you into giving him what he so badly wanted, leaving you completely alone with his loathsome partner.
Right now and forever, it’s the last place you want to be.
“That’s all you do though, isn’t it?” You snap. “You and your little American—‘play around.’ Is the world just a big amusement park for guys like you? I mean, is anything ever real to you?”
He raises a testy eyebrow at that.
“You think that’s what we do?”
“I don’t really care what you do, Peña.” Reclining your seat, you close your eyes and cross your arms over your chest: a clear indication that you’d reached the end of your conversation.
“Yeah, you sure love saying that.”
It’s a struggle to keep your eyes closed at the rustling of his clothing. Your more hopeful side convinces itself that the agent might actually be on his way out of the Chevy; but, there’s a metallic clink, and your heart sinks as the smell of tobacco creeps up your nose.
So, he was planning to stay.
“Look, angel,” he drawls, “All we need’s a simple form. S’it.” There’s a pause as he takes a drag. When he continues, his voice is strained, constricting around the smoke. “No need for all this… prude shit.”
Tasting acid, seeing red, you spring up, addressing him head-on with a violent twist to the side. And he’s enjoying this, the bastard—relaxed as ever in the face of a wildfire, aiming to set him alight.
“You are the single most—”
At first you think it’s fireworks.
Your lungs empty out, burning as the force of a large hand, slammed against your chest, drains you of every last drop of oxygen. It flattens you against the worn-out fabric of the driver’s seat. You intend to shout as anger, fear, and surprise overwhelm you, but a palm claps over your mouth, muffling any possibility of sound. Pena’s half-smoked cigarette falls to the floor of the vehicle, tumbling clumsily past your cheek.
He hovers over you, deep-brown eyes enriched by an unfamiliar seriousness—a warning.
“Stay down and shut up,” he growls under his breath.
Almost reflexively, you’re nodding. You’d never heard that tone from him before, no doubt the same one he used to give his men orders. Stilling under the weight of his upper body, you focus your energy on controlling the volume of your hoarse exhalations as his hand slides off of your lips.
Carefully, he reaches down and over to his waistband, bringing out his handheld transceiver.
“Murphy.” His breath fans over your collarbones, seeping right through your dampened skin and into your rattling bones. You’re almost certain he can hear the fast drum of your heartbeat.
There’s a quiet crackling, and then a soft click followed by a grumbled, “Stay down. We’re tryna get eyes on him.”
Peña continues to shield you from view. You try your best not to meet his look of concentration—but, oh, the furrow of his brow, that worried slant at the corner of his lips—it pulls you in, asking to be studied with fascination.
You’d never seen him so focussed.
You’d never seen him in the field, either.
It could’ve been hours, trapped under the agent’s forearm, sweat prickling at the skin of your overlaid bodies. He grows dewy from the exertion of planking over you and the stifling heat of the Colombian sun.
You’re not quite sure why you suddenly feel so hot.
Maybe it’s those other scenarios you’re unable to stop yourself from conjuring up, in which you might find yourself crushed under the weight of the agent. Your traitorous mind designs the fantasies, projecting the scenes like x-rated movies inside your head.
So, you avoid looking at his eyes. And the triangle of tan, wet skin peeking out from beneath his unbuttoned collar. And the hard muscles pressing into your trembling form. Those, too.
When that doesn’t work, you think about bugs.
Your harmonized breathing is eventually interrupted by the crackle of static.
“We lost him–must’ve got picked up.” The frustration in his voice is evident. “But, anyways, you’re clear.”
Peña’s broad thumb presses into the device as he grunts, “You sure?”
After a beat, he gets his response.
“I’d risk your life, Peña, not the secretary’s.”
He smirks ever-so-subtly before shoving the transceiver back down his pocket. You find your voice, clearing your coarse throat as you try to tame the frantic butterflies in your stomach. “How nice of him.”
Your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed. Peña traps you in his gaze—your stomach does a flip, catching the details of his rugged features as his nose hovers mere inches away from your own.
“Not even a ‘thank you, Javi’?”
Sickly sweetness battles alarm for control over your reply. “How about a ‘get the hell off me, ‘Javi’?”
After a smug smirk, he twists back to rest against the passenger seat. Still, he doesn’t take his eyes from you.
Plucking up his still-smoking cigarette, nearly at the filter, off the floor of the car, you remind yourself to breathe. There’s a heavy silence as you locate your lighter—as flame meets parted lips.
“Was it a gunshot, or do you make a habit of manhandling girls for fun?” You ask, dart dangling shakily from your lips as you huff a short pull. The jab does nothing to calm your nerves.
He lifts a hand to give his temples a brief rub. “You really want me to answer that?”
You nod, giving him a look with a bolded and italicized ‘obviously’ written all over it.
“Alright,” he extends a hand towards yours—you absentmindedly pass him the butt. He finishes it off before chucking it out the faulty window. “Some guy ten yards up had a piece pointed straight at your windshield. Didn’t feel like cleaning blood off of your dash, today, so forgive me for not being… gentle.”
The confirmation steals every rational thought from your reeling mind, every last modicum of oxygen from your lungs; you’re left quaking at the foot of your mounting fear.
So, understandably, your voice is an unsteady whisper when you choke out a, “My blood? Or yours?”
His face contorts, dark features growing strangely sympathetic. “Probably mine…” he takes a beat to piece together his thoughts. “But you do work at the embassy. Sicarios aren’t... specific with their targets.”
Despite the heat, a chill travels down your spine. Raising a trembling hand to your lips, you marvel at the feeling of being intact–-how precious that felt, all of a sudden.
“Probably mine, sweetheart,” he repeats, softly.
You nod, acknowledging his half-comfort. Peña pulls out the walkie-talkie once more.
“Can you get someone to walk her back inside?”
There’s a pause. A familiar song plays faintly over the radio: something you could easily hum along to but couldn’t quite name. And then, “Yeah—you wanna go after this guy?”
“Anyone who’s got the balls to pull this shit a block away from the embassy’s gotta be worth looking into,” Peña responds. Both he and Murphy sound so calm, as if this was nothing more than a routine check-in, as if this was just a regular day at the office.
Well, you remark, for them, it was.
The transceiver clicks off. A minute or two pass in tense, almost awkward silence. Finally, Peña clears his throat.
“About that form…”
Immediately, your terror is replaced by a more comfortable, more familiar ire as he continues on.
“Think you’d be willing to cooperate, now that I, y’know, saved your life?”
Incredible.
You gape at him in bewilderment. The adrenaline pumping all the way down to the tips of your fingers transforms into a different sort of beast—that bygone impulse to hide behind your hands becomes an overwhelming desire to wrap them around your company’s neck.
“Being in proximity with you almost cost me my life, Peña.” He opens his mouth to argue, but two officers appear, lining the driver’s side of the car. You pull the door handle towards you, harrumphing as you straighten up outside the Chevrolet.
When the both of you are free and standing, you whir on him, matching his look of disdain with your own.
“I owe you even less than I did before,” you spit across the roof of the car.
Saving yourself the trouble of his reaction, you cross the street without another word, heading back to the safety of the embassy with a dutiful soldier flanking you on either side.
But even once you’re in the air-conditioned hallways, between those thick, steel-supported walls, you’re angry and scared and confused—nothing seems to return to you your previous (and probably naive) sense of safety.
And somehow, that was Javier Peña’s fault.
—
Taking a long drag off your (twelfth) cigarette of the day, you savour the taste and the burn of the tobacco at the back of your tongue as you swallow down the smoke.
What a shitty fuckin’ shift.
Assassination attempts aside, you were to spend yet another late night at work because of some PR crisis you weren’t even totally sure you understood. Naturally, as the assistant, you were never relegated to the fun tasks—always on coffee duty, managing the phones, or playing the office shrink.
It was dull, useless work. Smoking alone in the darkness of the filing room was more interesting.
Maybe in another life, you were out on the streets, cleaning them up with your own two hands, handling things your way. In another life, you were in charge, calling the shots and firing them, too. Your mid-day fiasco had left you feeling completely inept and out of control—maybe a gun and some damn authority could change that.
It seemed to work for Murphy and Peña.
The former had already paid you a brief visit. ‘Couldn’t find him. We’ll be on it once all *this* shit blows over. Sure you don’t remember anything else?’
A corridor of light cascades down the other side of the room as the door creaks open, indicating that someone else had found your safe-haven.
Indicating that it was time to go.
Smudging the butt out on the crowded desk supporting you, you prepare for your re-emergence into the chaos. You scoot your way down the table, yanking down your pencil skirt once your feet hit the concrete floor. Without the dim light of your cigarette, you're engulfed in pitch-blackness with the door, now, shut. Fingertips extended before you, you feel your way around near-blindly, inching step-by-step towards (your rough estimation of the location of) the door.
You come into contact with something firm, tall, and very much alive.
“Wha-ow!” you yelp, losing balance and teetering back on your heels. A strong arm snakes behind your back, steadying your stumbling body. There’s a zip followed by a click as the stranger tugs on a wayward, dangling pull switch you hadn’t noticed on your own, and then a dusty, bare light bulb reveals the identity of your obstacle.
“You again?” You hiss.
“Are you smoking in here?” Peña returns, marvelling incredulously down at you.
You try to push yourself off of him, but his hold around your middle anchors you in place. He smells like men’s cologne and a dash of dark liquor. Neither of those scents had struck you earlier on in the day, even as his lips had hovered a mere inch above yours, nor when his body was pressed to your own like a damn weighted blanket. The drink was understandable, given him being… well, him, and the whole catastrophe—but, had he reapplied the perfume?
And why was that a relevant thought?
“Um, yeah?” You eventually respond, put-out by his bewilderment. Only a debaucher like Peña would have you penned as a square—likely, you were one, compared to his usual company and his own proclivity for debasement. “Am I under arrest? Last time I checked, my smoke breaks didn’t fall under your jurisdiction.”
He scoffs, but releases his hold. “You know, you have such a fuckin’ mouth on you.”
Despite the harshness of his words, a gentle hand secures you on your feet. The contrast is nothing if not jarring.
Straightening, crossing your arms, you put on your most brazen expression, doing your best to not appear flustered. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t flinch at the arrogance in your tone. “You know it’s crazy out there, right?”
“You think I came in here to admire the interior design?”
He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with strain. You expect-–no, you almost want him to come back with a rude retort; instead, his exhaustion pushes him towards sincerity. “Look, shit’s just…” a low sigh, “It’s really gone south and I… needed a second.”
It takes a hot minute for it to dawn on you that Peña’s being civil, actually honest with you. A better person might’ve conceded, begrudgingly taken the white flag, maybe even gone in for a handshake to commemorate the temporary truce—
But you were not a better person.
And you just can’t help the sneer from creeping on. “The great Javier Peña needs a second—isn’t that cute. Guess it’s not all guns and shoot-outs and whores and—”
In a flash, the agent has your back flattened against a filing cabinet, two large hands splayed out on either side of your head. He ignores your soft gasp, shadowed eyes dancing with scorn and something even darker as he pins you to the metal.
Trapped underneath him for the second time in one, singular day.
Should’ve called in sick this morning, for fuck’s sake.
“Y’know,” he rumbles, and the depth of his baritone makes your knees wobble, “I’m getting the feeling you’re starting to be jealous of those ‘whores,’ the amount of times I’ve heard you bitch about them.”
A cold handle digs into your back, but you ignore the pinch, refusing to show any signs of weakness.
He wanted to play? Fine. You could play. What you lacked in size, you could always make up for in words. It was a lesson all women carried, a talisman of sorts.
You jut your chin up, adding punch to every consonant, every vowel. “You’re fucking delusional.”
“Yeah,” he snaps, “And you’re a fucking brat.”
There’s a pause as you stare into each other’s eyes, flame to fire, sword to dagger. Excitement builds under your skin—not the kind that you usually felt after receiving an insult, but the kind that had your core warming, your eyelids growing heavy.
It’s unwelcome and off-putting, horrifically out-of-character. You desperately try to push the sensation away.
“Peña—”
He cuts you off. “Brats make a good fuck, y’know. Always take it rough.”
You still, absorbing his crude words. That delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs responds to his invitation against your better judgment, betraying you with every involuntary flutter.
The agent drinks in the way he has you squirming, unable to form an immediate response.
But you manage to reel yourself in, reminding yourself that losing to Peña far outweighed getting off. Self-control was a virtue, after all, and if you were going to win, at least one person in this dingy, old room had to have it.
It sure as hell wasn’t going to be the dark god leering down at you.
“This is a workplace, Peña,” you purr, tilting your chin up to sneer at him. “Not a brothel.”
An inconspicuous twitch at the corner of his mustache as fond nostalgia clouds his eyes. “S’never stopped me before.”
“Yeah,” you drawl, “I know.”
His low chuckle clears some of the tension suspended in the air between you. He eventually steps back, broad hands reaching out to re-adjust your blouse. You allow him the honour—if he was looking for a reaction, you weren’t going to satisfy his craving.
It feels abrupt when he drops his arms, humming an “enjoy your break, sweetheart,” and turning to leave.
Dear Holy Spirit, thank you for sparing me on this day.
Your short-lived relief is cut brief when his heavy footsteps come to a sudden halt. Broad, muscled back to you, Pena’s rugged profile slowly turns into view, its harsh outline illuminated by the glow of the bulb’s dusty, yellow light.
“If location’s the problem—” you can just make out the corner of his mouth lifting in a cocky smirk, “Could always come over, y’know. Got a big bed, nice shower… backseat, too, f’you get too excited on the way…”
You snort, but your breath betrays you, involuntarily hitching halfway up your throat.
Oh god.
“I’d sooner sleep with Escobar, himself.”
His side-eye catches your gaze for a spell, and you really can’t tell whether he wants to fuck or eat you.
“We’ll see.”
And then he’s out the door.
Alone in the dim room, you try to steady your breath, quickly aware of the tremor in your fingers. It’s an agitation that feels dangerous, unpredictable—as if you were a grenade with your safety pin tucked into the folds of Javier Pena's pocket.
His hands on your waist. His breath on your skin. “Always like it rough.” The tingling between your thighs and the air that just won’t fill your lungs—
The ghost of his gaze lingers on the bridge of your nose, and you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you’re being haunted. No matter what you do, his presence follows you. Not even a cold splash of water does the trick, crouched over the bathroom sink, still trembling hands rubbing vigorous lengths over your face as you desperately try to cleanse yourself of him.
—
“Fucking piece of shit!”
Your palms collide with the steering wheel. Once more, you yank and twist your keys in the ignition, abandoning all hope as the car coughs and sputters like a dying relative. You never intended to visit the hospice ward, this evening—all you wanted was to go home.
Closing the door with a punishing slam, you stalk to the front of the Chevy, wrenching open the hood to inspect the steaming guts of the car.
You might as well have been looking at hieroglyphs. Or, you might’ve been a roman oracle, divining meaning from a pile of sheep intestines.
Fuck.
It’s almost midnight. The fluorescents glowing through the embassy’s windows provide a sad excuse for lighting as you lean over the exposed hood of the car, trying to differentiate your engine from your battery, your catalytic converter from your air filter, this unidentifiable part from that one, over there.
Of course, this had to be the day that your American muscle gave out on you. Tears sting the corners of your eyes and you ache for the feeling of a warm tub, a glass of wine, a long, restful, deserved sleep.
Someone had to have cursed you.
That becomes all the more plausible when a deep voice booms from behind you, smug and amused and coated in a thick layer of arrogance.
“Car troubles?”
Not. Fucking. Him.
This had to be some form of karmic punishment. It had to be retribution for an act you’d committed in a past life, so evil that it haunted you, all the way into the next one, in the form of an insufferable cop.
His presence almost brings about a cry of rage.
You whirl on him. Leaning against the headlight of his Jeep, casually ashing his cigarette with a quick flick of his thumb, you find a shred of comfort in Peña’s evident exhaustion, weighing down his shoulders and rendering the sharp edges of his features unusually dull.
Ha. The day had punished him, too.
“What’d I say earlier?” He taunts, and of course, despite his weariness, he still looks amused, endlessly capable of deriving a kind of perverted entertainment in your torment. “Something ‘bout bad engines?”
You scowl at him, fingernails digging into your palms. “Unless you know how to fix this,” you gesture wildly towards your defective vehicle, “Do me a favour and fuck right off, Peña.”
He only smiles, taking a final pull off his dart and crushing it between the pavement and the underside of his dress shoe. “Leave it here for the night,” he says. “No use fighting with it right now. ‘Specially not while you’re alone out here.”
A light scoff. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”
He tilts his head to the side, fixing you with a look of exasperation that screams, ‘be serious.’ “Let me give you a ride, sweetheart.”
“No, thanks. I’m pretty sure I know where that would get me.”
His expression grows earnest. “I’m not gonna try anything. Got enough guilt already, just don’t wanna add the secretary’s gruesome death to my list.”
You huff a strained exhalation, addled mind racing as you try to think of anything else that could get you home Peña-free. Cabs were a no-go, alone at this hour. The embassy was empty (except for a few stragglers that you trusted even less than your current company) and on a Friday night, no one you knew would be home to pick up your call, let alone be sober enough to drive.
You could sleep in your car.
You wholeheartedly consider it.
But one look at the agent confirms that option as a dead one: he’d drag you kicking and screaming into his backseat if it really came down to it.
“Swear.”
Peña raises his eyebrows at your command. You hear his unspoken ‘really?’ ringing in your ears.
So, you cross your arms, waiting insistently.
He sighs. “I swear,” and it’s sincere enough.
“Swear what?” You cock a hip out a little to compliment the attitude in your voice. If you were to suffer through his torture, he would suffer through yours, too. How’d that old saying go?
Eye for an eye.
Peña shakes his head and stalks over, passing you by to slam the hood of your Chevrolet shut.
Standing in front of you, exasperation guides him as he addresses you straight on. “You’ll be home in ten minutes, unharmed and unfucked. Now, get in the damn car.”
He heads to the passenger side of the Jeep, rough while unlocking the door, gentle while holding it open. The surrounding darkness doesn’t allow for a full view of his face, and you’re somewhat grateful for undoubtedly being spared the look of vindication that would soon be etched on those features.
This is a bad idea.
Every natural instinct tells you to stay put. Like a broken record, the word danger-danger-danger bounces and ricochets inside your head. When Pena beckons you forward, eyebrows raised in impatience, it feels as though you’re being pulled to him by a thread so delicate it might’ve been spider silk—still, the faint tug makes you all the more worried for your sake.
Nevertheless, you give your shoulders a quick shake and take the first step, walking the length of that invisible string.
—
“Yeah—the building right in front of the school. Grey, looked like a seventy-eight or seventy-nine. Drove off before I could get the plate number, but I’m sure it’s the same one.”
You were not home in ten minutes.
Instead, you’re perched gingerly on the edge of Peña’s couch, cupping a cold glass of water between your hands as he relays the events of the past twenty minutes to his partner.
After spending the ride in simmering silence (aside from the latin music playing softly over the Cherokee’s speakers), Peña had barely turned onto your street before he was veering into an alleyway, the momentum slamming your side against the car’s interior. Frenzied protests flew from your lips as he sped off in the opposite direction of the home you so badly longed for.
“Takin’ you to mine—just shut up for a second—remember that car, this afternoon, when I was with you? The one parked up the street? Yeah, well, it’s outside your building, sweetheart.”
Now, you’re in his living room, massaging your bruised arm and trying to keep your cool. The agent’s voice washes over you, both very far and very near at once. Distracting yourself seems essential, given the circumstances, so instead of dwelling on the idea that someone might actually be trying to kill you, and, what’s worse, you have no idea why, you study the apartment.
To anyone else, it’d just be one man’s living situation, tending toward the nicer side of that domain.
To you, it’s seeing inside the mind of an alien creature.
Everything looks warm: the browns and the yellows of his furniture feel surprisingly cozy. The dark-wood coffee table, the curated magazines, that smokey, deep-forest smell… it’s not what you’d expected. Although, you’re not quite sure what it is that you’d expected.
An unmade bed and few scattered Penthouses with the centerfold pages stuck together, at the very least.
“Yeah, she’s fine here, for now—alright—tell Connie I say ‘hi'.” The phone lands on the receiver with a muted clunk.
Eventually, he comes around to join you. You’re not interested in hearing the details, sick of explanations, tired of all the action (maybe the fast life wasn’t for you, after all), and so you have no complaints when Peña settles next to you on the couch with a grunt, placing two crystal glasses on the coffee table and pouring a sizeable amount of whiskey into each cup.
He slides one over to you with a soft, “I’ll take the couch.”
You set down your water, opting for the drink. The glass is ice-cold, but the scotch burns your throat on its way down to warming your stomach.
Peña smirks at your gagging. He, of course, downs it like a champ, setting the glass back down on the table with a thunk.
“I don’t usually drink this kind of stuff,” you admit.
He leans his back against the arm of the couch. The top two buttons of his dress shirt hang open—tan skin glistening like ore.
You quickly find something else to look at.
“It’s strong,” he groans, folding his hands behind his head. And, Jesus, the sight of his bicep stretching out in full view of your periphery. Does he even own shirts that fit him? “Only take it out for special occasions.”
Eyes on the drink, girl. “Oh, yeah? What occasion is this, then?”
“The usual one.” It’s impossible not to look at him when his voice plummets into those depths of his register; this, he knows, and he flashes you a wolfish grin. You prepare for the worst—some horribly offensive comment or worse, a sexual invitation.
How many of his conquests had drunk this very same liquor?
But, instead, you’re given: “failed assassination attempts.”
You snort, gaze shifting over to the bottle.
Nearly empty.
That would explain his lack of alarm at the evening’s previous events—the same ones that had you shaking head-to-toe.
“And here I was, thinking you were just trying to get me drunk,” you respond, but your playfulness is overshadowed by the quiver in your voice.
Against your better judgment, you use the drink as a soothing agent. It calms the storms that rage whenever you recall the echo of that gunshot or else meet Peña’s eyes.
“Things can serve two purposes, sweetheart.” A dangerous kind of flirtatiousness underpins his reply. “You should know by now that I’m not exactly a gentleman.”
Your stomach does a flip. Swirling the liquid in your cup, you watch as it spins and turns, climbing up one side before sloping down, washing up the other—you’re frozen, concentrating your energy on anything but that mounting tug, pulling you toward the man at your side.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” and despite yourself, the words come out so soft, so tentatively curious.
Peña leans forward. When his index finger meets your chin, tilting it up so that you have no choice but to tumble into those onyx-black eyes, heat explodes at the point of contact, blooming furiously across your cheeks.
“I mean,” he drawls, placing his free hand right above your knee, stroking the delicate skin of your thigh, “I’m not above asking for payment, y’know, for giving you a place to stay.”
He’s smiling at you—toying with you again. You want to resist him.
God, you really do.
“Get over yourself, Peña,” you aim for a casual jab, but your voice betrays you, breathy and involuntarily gliding up an octave. “You’re not winning this one.”
“I’m not looking to win, sweetheart.”
He grows serious, pulling your near-empty cup from between your hands and setting it down. He moves oh-so-slow, never once dropping your gaze as his calloused hand inches up your thigh. “I want to help you, querida,” his breath grazes your cheekbone, thick fingers sliding underneath your skirt—
It had to be the Spanish. That had to be the reason behind your complete loss of willpower, your total absorption in everything that was Javier.
It was either that, or your exhaustion had finally driven you completely insane.
“Let me take your mind off it, yeah? I know what works, baby, trust me,” and, God, you want to, especially when that damn hand gives your upper thigh a soft squeeze. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” you breathe–-but you lack the conviction to convince yourself, let alone him. All you can do is watch his eyes darken as his fingertips reach the delicate fabric of your underwear.
“Prove it to me, hermosa.”
His fingers slip down the front of your underwear. He drinks in the sight of your brows furrowing, your fingernails anchoring onto anything in reach as his index finds the tender bundle of nerves tucked between your thighs.
And you’re soaked.
A winning smile.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he looses a low laugh. “Act like you hate me all you want, sweetheart—this pussy’s loved me from the start.”
You whimper softly as he rubs slow circles against your clit.
Jesus.
He’s like a professional—no other man’s fingers, cock, or selection of toys had ever made you feel like this. And he works you with just the pad of his thumb.
“Peña—” you attempt a final protest, a last shot at redemption before your inevitable fall into the abyss of lust calling out for you.
“Javi, baby,” he corrects.
And you don’t stand a chance.
He pulls you onto his lap; it takes everything not to melt at the feel of his hard chest pressed to your back. The man can’t move fast enough for you—bunching your skirt up around your waist, reaching his hand back under the lining of your underwear.
There’s a low groan when he runs a couple fingers between your damp folds. The feeling and the sound of him has your head collapsing against the curve of his shoulder.
“Don’t think anyone’s ever gotten this wet for me, before,” he practically growls his approval into your ear.
“M’not your usual type,” you manage between moans. “Still got feeling down there.”
His free hand snaps up to grasp your jaw, tilting your chin up to meet that twinkling look of warning.
“S’true,” his low baritone muses—then he watches your face contort with ecstasy as he sinks not one, but two fingers inside your cunt. “They don’t usually talk this fuckin’ much.”
He holds your chin steady, observing your gasps of abandon, studying every visible indication of your pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out and in and out of you, curling them to push against aaall the right places.
Down to the knuckles.
“What do you do to them?” and he takes great pleasure in hearing the strain in your voice. You take great pleasure in the feel of his cock growing hard, twitching with impatience under your ass.
He ducks his head down to nip at the softest part of your neck. “Want me to show you?”
It’s hard to answer between moans—but, yes.
You do.
If there was ever a stupidity you could rationalize, it was this one. How many times had he promised you ecstasy? How many women had you hung up on, desperation sapping at their static-laden voices as they pleaded—no, downright begged—for just another taste of him? At this point, it would be self-denial, self-hatred not to see what all the fuss was about.
And, what’s more, was it so wrong that, after a day like today, you simply wanted to be at the mercy of an almost-stranger, for just one night? To give over control (not to mention, total creative license), not having to worry about what to do, how to fix this, where to send this—that sounded more than good, it sounded like exactly what you needed.
“Y-yes,” you finally concede, sealing your fate in a stuttered exhalation.
His chest rumbles behind you, a low laugh.
Then, he squeezes another finger inside your cunt.
You nearly cry out at the sting, the pleasure, the stretch.
“You know what I wanna hear, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging the tip of his hooked nose, his full lips up the side of your neck.
You need him. It’s all you can do not to shout it out, to claim the space of his home with the echoes of that sheer, incontestable fact.
You’ll give him whatever he wants. Submit to the enemy, beg for the tantalizing touch of your nemesis… who cares, anymore? Who cares when the enemy’s digits can do that, when his words have you feeling like this?
“Please, Javi.”
He smiles against your skin. “Here or in the bedroom?” His hands move, cooperating to undo the buttons of your blouse. A void swells inside your core, mourning the loss of his index, middle, and ring fingers.
“Be serious,” without the pleasure of them both on and inside your cunt, you manage to reclaim some of your old fight. “I’m not letting you fuck me on a couch.”
He pulls your shirt off your shoulders, and then he’s sneaking a hand under your knees, cradling you in his arms. “Watch that fuckin' tone when you speak to me, hermosa.” His face looms over yours, hungry eyes raking over your exposed form. “Should be thanking me for even givin’ you a choice.”
You give him a smug, mocking “thank you,” hooking your arms around his neck, and Javier scoffs, carrying you—effortlessly���to the bedroom. Despite the cleanliness marking the rest of his place, his bed is unmade, as expected. You barely have thirty seconds to take in the dark pillows, the vintage-looking lamps, the willowy curtains before you’re underneath him, laid atop his tangled, pale sheets. “Fuck, I’m glad you chose the bed, sweetheart,” strong arms grasp you tightly, pushing you up the mattress; his knees land on either side of your thighs as your head falls to the pillows.
“Makes it so much easier to do all the things I wanna do to you.”
He hovers over you, cupping your face in a look of such reverent depth, it borders on concern. Those round doe-eyes, those thick eyebrows—they excite even the most remote places of your body.
“Do you kiss the others?” You tease, softly.
He studies you, focussing especially on your lips as his fingers travel the length of your arm, your jaw, the side of your thigh. “Yeah, usually—but I’m tryna decide if that’s a good idea with you.”
Your bra straps are pulled down your arms in forceful tugs. A line of wetness trails down your bicep where his still-damp fingers graze your skin.
You pout. “Worried I’ll be disappointed?”
His hands sneak under your back, undoing the clasp of your bra in a skilled movement that only increases your anticipation for what’s to come. “I’m worried you’ll get too excited, cariño,” he tosses your bra to the side, “Whinin’ like that from just a few fingers… sounded like a damn virgin.”
His taunt barely registers. You’re distracted, longing for his kisses as if you already knew what they tasted like. Meeting his eyes, you fill your own with unabashed supplication, watching as he takes in the view of your body.
And he groans at the sight of your bare breasts.
“God, fuck it.”
And then his lips claim yours in a starving sort of kiss, the kind that takes everything from your lungs, leaving you aching and empty. His mustache grazes the skin of your upper lip, his tongue tastes of necessity.
Moaning against him as his fingertips trace your breasts, gasping into his mouth when he manhandles and squeezes them roughly. He peppers kisses down your jaw, freeing your lips as his own travel down, down, down to suck and nip at a peaked nipple.
Back arching in ecstasy, a pleading “Javi” tumbles from your parted lips.
He grunts in approval. “Yeah, that’s my girl.” His head ducks over to tease your other side. “S’the only fuckin’ word you need to know from now on.” Your cunt throbs at the feel of his teeth against your sensitive skin, his tongue mapping out every part of your body that calls out for the salvation of his touch.
Then, he’s wrenching your skirt down your legs—your underwear clings to it, sliding down your hips, landing mid-way up your thighs.
He lifts himself off of you, leaving you breathless, exposed, and trembling, to undo the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging the tan cotton off his shoulders and wrenching it off his arms. You marvel up at him, memorizing the way his bare chest swells with every ragged breath. Your heavy-lidded eyes eventually trail down to the impressive bulge below his silver buckle.
“Just how you always pictured?”
Cocky as ever—you’re reluctant to admit that it only adds to his allure.
“Oh, Peña,” you purr, “I hope your dick is as big as your ego.”
An amused smile, and then he’s undoing his belt. You unabashedly stare at his working forearms, how capable they look, now, and how they might look holding a gun—or else, wrapped around your neck.
“Why don’t you take it out and see for yourself?”
You bite your lip, sitting up slowly until your chin runs parallel to his navel. Unsteady hands meet the button, then the fly of his pants. Excitement floods your senses; you burn with crackling electricity.
Dipping into his briefs, you spring his length free: hard, thick, the dark tip glistening with precum. Javi runs his fingers through your hair, and you look up to meet his gaze—you’re a picture of innocence, stroking his cock between two devoted hands.
“Almost,” you coo.
Leaning forward, you wrap your lips around the tip of his length, savouring the taste of his salt on your tongue.
“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back, tangling your hair in his fist, “Any other time, baby…” He pulls you off of him, holding your cheeks between his hands. “Right now, I just really wanna make you come.”
You smile, pulling down his denim, honoured by the pure need in his voice. His cock twitches in response to the graze of your fingertips on the inside of his thighs.
“Who’s begging, now?” The sultriness of your taunt takes even you by surprise.
He strokes himself once, twice, three times, features hardening at the sight of your near-naked form below him.
“On your knees, sweetheart, before I show you what that fuckin’ mouth was really made for.”
Always the gentleman, he helps you, flipping you around until your palms press indents into the mattress. Your underwear is wrestled over your knees and down your calves, and then there’s a pair of large hands dragging your hips back. He pulls you right up against him—against two firm, broad thighs.
And that’s when the teasing starts.
“How bad do you want it, hermosa?” He asks, dragging his cock between your dripping folds, grazing your swollen clit with the tip of his length and his fingertips, too. “Bad enough to beg for me?”
“Please,” you whine, “Can’t w-wait any longer.”
He torments you, poking shallowly at your entrance. “Gonna have to give me more than that,” he tuts. "Show me that you've learned some fuckin' manners, baby."
You’re tired of being patient, sick of the throbbing ache weighing heavy inside your clit, your cunt, your core. If his goal was to make you crazy, he’d already achieved it—you feel your mind reeling, losing control of both itself and your body as Javier tempts you toward submission.
He lays a kiss to your neck, adding fuel to an already roaring, uncontrollable fire.
“Please, Javi, fuck me.”
“Again. Louder.”
“Please—please, Javi—please—”
Spreading you apart in his hands, he sinks deep inside you with a quiet groan, watching intently to assure that he’d given every last inch of himself to your grateful cunt.
“Gooood girl,” Javi praises, “Always knew I could fix that fuckin’ attitude.”
He thrusts inside you once again, setting an intense rhythm with every impossibly deep stroke—punishing and rewarding, giving and taking. Every cry drawn from between your parted, bruised lips only encourages the brutality of his throws.
“Shit, you’re needy,” he groans, anchoring his hands onto your waist, fingertips reaching all the way to the front of your abdomen. “Pussy’s pullin’ me in so deep, baby, needed this bad, huh?”
His hips snap against yours, soft skin rippling beneath his hands with every harsh movement. You give him all the cries and moans and pleas he asks for, especially when his tip grazes against that spot.
It feels good, losing control over each and every part of yourself for Javi to claim them for himself.
And you want more. You want him to fuck the thoughts, the fear, the lingering irritation out—to remake you, to bring it all crashing down. Begging him to cleanse you, you attempt speech. “J-Javi—mmm—”
“Yeah, s’it, talk to me, hermosa, you got it,” but he doesn’t make it easy, pushing his cock up so, so deep inside you.
“H-Harder, Javi,” you half-sob, “Want it so hard—s-so bad, please—”
A low laugh followed by a rough squeeze to your ass.
“Y’know, I wish I could make a fuckin’ movie of this, sweetheart,” he goads, leaning over until his breath warms your neck, lips dragging across your cheekbone. “I’m thinkin’: secretary brat—” his arms envelop your body: one hand slides down, skilled index rubbing torturous circles against that swollen bud (it takes everything in you not to cry out for God); the other moves to grasp your throat and jaw and—“begs cop to fuck her like a slut. Could show it to you when you’re actin’ up,” he grunts, shoving more of himself between your swollen walls.
“Could show it to the others, too—teach ‘em how you like to be put back in your fuckin’ place.”
Pressed flat against his chest, he lifts you upright, thrusting up into you with a newfound violence, laughing to himself when a cry tears from your coarse throat. You’re wrapped up so tight in his arms, and it’s all he can do not to crush you completely between them. Javi doesn’t stop working your clit or manhandling your breasts either, nor does he hold back from leaving traces of himself for tomorrow, sucking and nipping up and down the side of your neck.
“I can’t—ohmygod—s’too much, m’gonna—”
Your desperation at the hands of his torture brings a grin to his face. “Say ‘thank you,’ hermosa, m’giving you what you fuckin’ asked for.” Waves of pleasure begin to roll out from your core; you’re swaying on the edge of orgasm and all you can do is hold on for a few more seconds of ecstasy—a few more seconds of him.
His punishing hand constricts around your neck, forearm pressed to bruise between your breasts."You're not listening, baby." God, the brutality of his tone, the demand of his touch. "Need to thank me for ruinin' this pussy for you."
It takes everything you have. “Thankyouthankyouthankyoujavi—please—c-come with me, wanna—need you to fill me up when I-I—” and words become impossible.
The fluttering spreads down your thighs and up into your abdomen, cunt clenching uncontrollably around the wide girth of his cock. You soar off the edge, headed straight for your climax.
“Don’t stop,” Javi growls, nose pressed to the delicate skin behind your ear, “You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”
Your head dips back, settling into the groove of his shoulder—over and over and over again, you give him his name, the taste of it falling from your tongue almost as euphoric as the feel of your peak tearing through your body.
“So good for me, baby,” Javier grunts, breath ragged; his thrusts become less rhythmic, deeper—needier. “S-sofuckingood, querida—fu-uck,” and then his length swells inside you. He fills you up with a harsh squeeze to your breast, pushing his seed aaalll the way to your cervix with a few final, rough, irregular throws.
Damp with sweat, stars dancing before your eyes, you try, in vain, to catch your breath. Coming down from the high is nearly impossible: minutes come and go and still, you’re flying. All the while, Javier remains inside you—unmoving save for the odd twitch of his buried length.
Eventually, he’s laying you face-down on the mattress, leaving a line of soft kisses down your spine and pulling out with an unholy groan.
“J’so you know, sweetheart, I’d’ve paid for that,” and he rolls over to lie back against the bed frame.
You giggle weakly—the movement pushes some of his cum down onto your thigh. “Shut up ‘n get me a towel, asshole,” you slur, cheek pressed to his pillow.
“Just use the sheets,” he answers casually, leaning over your sprawled form to grab his pack of darts from the bedside table. “Give me something to remember that by.”
You cringe, partly in amused disgust, partly from the soreness you feel, flipping onto your back. “You’re so filthy, Peña.”
He shrugs, smiling as he pulls out a smoke. A comfortable silence settles the space.
“Did that help?” Javi soon inquires.
Your breathing’s evened out, and a fresh cigarette hangs casually from his lips. He lifts a hand to light it.
You hold two fingers out. “Help what?” He places a smoke between them, and reaches over, lighter in hand—dark, wide eyes watching the flame lap at the tip of the dart—the scene somehow feels as intimate as fucking him had.
“You know,” he shifts, ashing his cigarette onto a tray on his bedside table, “The stress.”
You sit with his question for a second, pulling a long puff of smoke into your sore lungs.
“Yes.”
He nods. “Does for me, too.”
Understanding flits between you.
It dawns on you that you might have overlooked some shared similarities. The peace feels… nice.
And, what’s more, you realize that his gorgeous, rugged looks don’t irritate you (as much) anymore. Taking him in, now, it’s like seeing the man for the first time, allowing yourself to appreciate his effortless beauty.
Then, of course, he opens his mouth.
“Gonna have to face me next time, though,” propping himself up on an elbow, he uses his free hand to roll one of your breasts in his palm. “Wanna see these pretty tits bounce for me.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Next time?”
A grin. “Give it five minutes, sweetheart. You got years of bad behaviour to make up for.”
And you don’t manage to stifle your giggle.
He doesn’t finish his smoke, prematurely ashing it out before twisting to face you. “Hermosa,” he cups your face between two passionate, steady hands. “I’m gonna get that fucker from today, alright?”
You tumble into his wide-eyed, serious gaze.
The colour of richness, the colour of life.
Then, you nod. “And I’ll get Murphy that form.”
A soft smile teases the corners of his lips.
An agreement. A promise.
He looks down at you with glowing approval and it’s the feeling of sunshine on bare skin. How different it is, looking at that face and feeling safe, seeing a warm smile and two crystal cups on a coffee table instead of blood, death, and scenes of gratuitous violence.
Javi kisses you.
Your eyes shut tight, eyebrows furrowing as his fingertips cradle your cheeks, mouth dragging across yours, hooked nose pressed to the side of your own.
It’s different from before. Not desperate, hard, and hot. Gentle—sweet.
Just his lips and yours, nothing more, nothing less. No expectations, no invitations.
After a perfect moment, you pull away, dazed. “What was that for?”
Javi’s voice is so low, so tender, it’s barely audible.
“Just wanted to.”
You’d feel that kiss for weeks after, absentmindedly lifting your index to your lips in an imitation of the ghostly traces haunting your skin.
But right now, all you had to do was lean in for another.
And another.
And another.
--
Read part 2: Playing Dangerous
--
TAGLIST: @inkedells @pining-and-tired @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @caravelofthesun @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush
--
All the lights in Miami begin to gleam
Ruby, blue and green, neon too
Everything looks better from above my king
Like aqua marine, ocean's blue
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Cacciatore
La da da da da
La da da da da
Limousines
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Ciao amore
La da da da da
La da da da da
Soft ice cream
All the lights are sparkling for you it seems
On the downtown scenes, shady blue
Beatboxing and rapping in the summer rain
Like a boss, he sang Jazz and Blues
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Cacciatore
La da da da da
La da da da da
Limousines
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Ciao amore
La da da da da
La da da da da
Soft ice cream
The summer's hot
And I've been waiting for you all this time
I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me?
Summer's hot but I've been cold without you
I was so wrong not to tell, in Medellìn, tangerine dreams
Catch me if you can
Working on my tan
Salvatore
Dying by the hand
Of a foreign man
Happily
Calling out my name
In the summer rain
Ciao amore
Salvatore can wait
Now it's time to eat
Soft ice cream
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Cacciatore
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Limousines
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Ciao amore
Ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Soft ice cream
#javier peña#javier peña x you#javier peña x reader#javier peña smut#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#javier pena smut#javier peña fic#javier peña fanfiction#narcos fanfiction#narcos#pedro pascal#Pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#javier pena x y/n#javier pena narcos#javier peña narcos
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guilty as sin? — masterlist
pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader
rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, age gap (reader’s a grad student, Javi’s in his thirties), professor trope and all the shit that comes with it, modern!au, secret relationship, explicit content, no use of Y/N, no physical description of reader
Your professor, your torment. Law school was supposed to mark a new chapter in your life—one focused on your studies and success rather than continuing trying to fix unavailable men—but all of that falls to the wayside when you agree to TA for the ridiculously hot and impossible to please Professor Peña. What happens when fantasy begins to blend into reality? When delusion turns to verity? You might be guilty as sin, but at least you aren’t the only one.
(*indicates explicit content)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four*
Chapter Five*
Chapter Six*
Chapter Seven*
Chapter Eight*
Chapter Nine* [Coming June 5th]
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#javier peña smut#javier pena smut#javier peña fic#javier peña x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fic#javier pena narcos#javi peña#javier peña
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Take The Weight Off His Shoulders | Javier Peña
Series Summary | Javier Peña has been your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember. He's also been the apple of your eye since you were old enough to know what that meant. Obsessed, some might say, in love is what you'd say. Now, he's back to Laredo for good, single but cloaked in a darkness you want to unravel. Surely, now you're all grown, he'll see you as more than his friends daughter, as someone who can ease his trouble and take the weight of his shoulders.
Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader
Series Warnings | Age gap relationship (12 years), forbidden/taboo relationship, slow burn, mutual pining, outrageous flirting, descriptions of PTSD and panic attacks, soft!Javi, protective!Javi, explicit smut, reader is innocent but not inexperienced, grumpy x sunshine vibes, canon-typical violence, mentions of the drug trade, drug use and drug related deaths and violence, Javier Peña gets his own warning (even more so as dbf - he's gonna be a menace).
Authors Note | I've missed Javier Peña so much so here we fucking go I guess? Huge shout out as always to @morning-star-joy who has been on the receiving end of SO much screaming about these two.
Main Masterlist | Series Playlist
Chapters
Chapters marked with ** indicate smut.
Chapter One - my lonely days are over
Chapter Two - pining & desperately waiting
Chapter Three - where have all the good men gone?
Chapter Four - one kiss is all it takes
Chapter Five - it's new, the shape of your body **
Chapter Six - get down on your knees and tell me you love me **
Chapter Seven - i only wanna worship you **
Chapter Eight - i don’t really wanna fight, ‘cause nobody’s gonna win **
Chapter Nine - close to you
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen.
Extras
Fic moodboard by @cavillscurls
Fic moodboard by @sawymredfox
Chapter One moodboard by @hellishjoel
#Javier Peña#Javier Peña smut#Javier Peña fluff#Javier Peña angst#javier peña fic#Javier Peña fanfic#Javier Peña fanfiction#javier peña x reader#Javier Peña x you#Javier Peña x female reader#Javier Peña x f!reader#narcos#narcos fanfic#narcos fanfiction#narcos fic#narcos smut#Javier Peña narcos#Pedro Pascal#Javier Peña Pedro Pascal#TTWOHS
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REGRET
Part 1
(Javier Peña x F!Reader)
Credits of the gif on the image.
MAIN MASTERLIST
Summary: Finding out you’re pregnant create a split between you and Javier. He soon will discover that one can regret they own words.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader
Word count: +3k
Warnings: Writer prefer to not give details to prevent spoilers. Read under your own responsibility.
A/N: Hello👋🏻 This is a little something that came to my mind when a saw this gifs last week🧍🏻♀️ Let me know in comments if you like it👀
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Javier and you have been dating for a year and a half now. It started as something casual. You were just neighbors, then you used to talk about the weather when you crossed paths in the building. Then, he invited you for a drink, and you ended up in his bed.
He told you he was a DEA agent, and you talked about your community service as an English teacher in Bogotá.
Javier was funny and charming. He always treated you like a princess and fucked you like a slut. He was attentive, but he worked a lot. You never seriously talked about what exactly you were, but you spent much more time at his place than yours. He hadn't given you a key, precisely, but he told you he had a copy on top of his door so you could enter when you arrive and he was still at work. He picked you up from the school, and you cut his hair when needed.
Life had been busy, and you never really stopped to ask him if your relationship had a label. The truth is, neither of you had actually stopped and asked each other what would come next when he caught Escobar and/or you finished your community service.
You never thought about it, until that damn morning.
"Fuck."
It can't be happening. Two lines on a pregnancy test were the last thing you needed. You looked at it for a long, long time, trying to process what was going on. You wanted a blood test to confirm, but there's a reason why you already took a pee test. Morning sickness and a delay in your period activated the alarms. You hadn't told Javier anything yet, but it was only a matter of time now.
That afternoon you went to the laboratory, and by noon you received a phone call confirming the results. You were, indeed, very pregnant. After you hung up the phone, you cried a lot. How were you going to tell Javi? What would you do with your job? What were you going to tell your parents? Did you really want to have it... him/her?
You felt the urgency to make a decision in that very moment. Javier was going to ask you when you told him, and you knew he hated the "I don't know."
It took you one, two, three hours, and you had an answer. You knew it was the right one because you thought it would take you a lot longer to decide. But when your heart landed in the same place over and over so quickly, you simply knew it.
Javier came home late at night, but earlier than usual. He looked tired and pissed, and he let his weight fall on the kitchen chair to devour what you had made for dinner. You looked at him the entire time, and the nervousness in your chest made it impossible to eat anything. You wanted to tell him. You couldn't contain the news any longer.
"Javi," you began. He didn't look at you for more than a second before his sleepy eyes fell on his plate again. "I have something to tell you. It's very important."
"What is it, babe?" he asked, his voice slurred.
"I..." You fought the lump in your throat, encouraging yourself to tell him. "I'm pregnant."
Until that moment, you didn't know what you expected. You didn't imagine him crying with emotion and jumping around the apartment, screaming to the four winds that he was going to be a dad. But you didn't imagine what his real reaction would be, either.
Javier didn't even look at you. He dropped his fork, leaned back in his chair, and passed his hands over his face. It wasn't a surprised, emotional reaction. He was pissed. He was cursing the situation.
You didn't say anything as you felt your heart and soul sink into your stomach. Disappointment washed over you as you saw his reaction. You tried to think of something else to say, but you went blank.
"We can't," he finally said, really looking at you for the first time that night.
"What do you mean we can't?" your voice was only a whisper.
He looked at you like you were crazy. "You're not seriously thinking about having it."
Your mouth went dry, but tears welled up in your eyes. "Well... I do."
Javier's face hardened. "It's not safe, not with what I do, not with Escobar still out there."
"We can figure this out together," you said, your voice quivering. "I-I know this country is dangerous and this is probably not the right time, but is already happening and I..."
"Are you sure you're...?" he began. It hurt you the fact that he couldn't even say it.
You stood up and reached for your purse. He saw you as you placed both the pee and the blood test in front of him.
"Puta madre." Javier stood up, pacing the kitchen. "Did you take the pills?" he demanded.
You nodded. "I do. But they're not a hundred percent effective."
He ran his fingers through his hair in an almost desperate gesture. "I can't do this. Parenting is not on my plans, and you know it."
"I didn't want this to happen either, Javier, and I'm sorry," you said, trying not to cry. "But you need to people to make a baby. So, we have to figure this out together."
"Don't complicate things more," he added. He made his way to the living room, pacing like a caged animal. "Think about the consequences. I can't risk my focus on this job for this."
Tears streamed down your face. "So, what? You want me to get rid of it?"
"I think it's the best option for both of us."
After a long, cold moment of silence, you shook your head, stepping back. "I can't believe you."
He sighed heavily, looking away. "You don't understand... it's too dangerous."
"I don't care," you cried. "I'm gonna have this baby. With or without you."
He sighed. He saw the determination on you. Now he needed to make a decision, since you're not going to change yours.
"Ok," he said finally. "It will happen, but you need to go back to the States."
"No," you sentenced. Javier couldn't believe your stubbornness. "I'm not going to leave, either. I can't leave the school. Those kids need my help."
He was doing his best to not completely lost his patience and say something (more) that he could – and will – regret.
"I can't concentrate on my job and take care of a pregnant woman," he sentenced, adding your name at the end in a way you had never heard before.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "Well, then don't worry about me. I can handle this on my own."
Javier stared at you, his eyes dark with frustration. He thought of his parents. They didn't raise a man who shirks responsibility, one who doesn't own the consequences of his actions.
For a long moment, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. Finally, Javier sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"No," he said. "If that's what you want, fine. You'll have my financial support, but that's all. As soon as you finish your community service, you'll go back home. I'll send you money, that's it."
"I don't want anything from you, Javier. Not if you're not going to do it with real love," you whispered, heartbroken.
Javier's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He turned away, staring at the wall, his hands clenched into fists.
He looked down, unable to meet your gaze. "I never saw myself as a dad. I don't think I ever will," he admitted. "That's all I can offer. I'm sorry it's not what you expected. I'm sorry I can't be the man you need."
------------------------------------------------------------
Days turned into weeks, and your relationship with Javier seemed to be stuck in a constant struggle of awkward interactions and avoiding each other. He started working even later, and sometimes he didn't even spend the night at the apartment. He came back the next morning smelling like whiskey and cigarettes. When he did sleep at home, he took the couch while you slept on his bed. When you woke up in the morning, he wasn't there.
Both of you finally reached an agreement. You recognized that you needed his help, and he was aware that he had to be responsible for the situation. You moved in with Javier so you wouldn't have to waste money paying rent. Moreover, you would return to the US when you were seven months pregnant. He would conclude his duty in Colombia however long it took. Neither of you wanted to talk about what would happen then.
Your belly was now thirteen weeks along. Soon, Javier found his place filled with baby stuff. Every day he discovered something new you had bought: tiny clothes, maternity clothing, maternity books. His bathroom smelled like the body cream you used to apply on your belly, and there was a list of pregnancy-friendly foods hung on the refrigerator. He could tell you were putting your heart into preparing for the baby, and at times he felt guilty for not being able to find his own paternal instinct.
On the contrary, you were caught in a fragile rhythm. He continued his dangerous work, and you dedicated yourself to your work at school.
Nights were still lonely, but at least you had your baby. You talked and sang to them. You applied anti-stretch mark creams to your belly, and read everything about babies and labor. You were excited to meet your baby boy or girl, but sadly, at the same time, you felt heartbroken because you loved Javier, and you wished he was more present during the process. However, you had to accept that it wasn't mutual. He didn't love you; he never truly did and probably never would. He just liked to fuck. You should have known it before. Maybe you did, but you were so in love with him that you thought you could change him. Either way, it was too late now.
Javier gave you more money than you needed to cover everything you needed. He never said no when you told him you needed medicine, to pay for a doctor's appointment, or special food that didn't provoke nausea.
But he never went to those appointments with you. He never asked how they went, either. He never showed any interest in the progress of your pregnancy. It was as if he had completely detached himself from the situation, leaving you to navigate the journey alone.
Or at least, that was how you saw it. The truth was, Javier was having a difficult time processing the fact that he would be a father. He had never seen himself getting married, let alone having children.
Furthermore, there was something terrifying about having a baby in Colombia during the war he was fighting. He had witnessed men fall, leaving widows and orphans behind.
He realized that he was more scared of leaving you and his child alone in this chaotic and unfair world if something happened to him. Or worse, he feared that you have to pay for his sins and mistakes. He couldn't bear the thought of that, and he often had nightmares about losing you both.
He didn't know how to express his feelings for you. He couldn't let himself relax and just settle into the nest with you.
One of those nights, when he decided to come home earlier after work, he found you sleeping in bed. You had an open book beside you on a page about what to expect during the second trimester. You had fallen asleep in an awkward position, so he had to gently wake you up to help you move into a more comfortable one. You mumbled in your sleep, calling his name softly and sweetly. Javier felt warmth in his chest, a need to cuddle with you, touch your belly for the first time, and hold you and the baby close.
But he just couldn't do it. He didn't know why, but he couldn't. He limited himself to tucking you in with a warm blanket and opening the window for fresh air, as you liked it. He went to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and put it on your nightstand because he knew you got thirsty in the middle of the night.
Javier observed you for a moment, peacefully sleeping, carrying his baby. He missed your soft lips and your fingers in his hair. He missed making you laugh and talking to you about each other's days. And now, he longed to make things right and try to win your heart back.
Tomorrow, he said. Turning down the lights, he went to his place on the couch.
But tomorrow was too late.
------------------------------------------------------------
He left early in the morning to attend an emergency meeting at the Embassy. Steve spend all morning complaining about Messina and the tie-and-suit motherfuckers, but Javier's thoughts were on you.
He was lost on his own thoughts, trying to find the right words to tell you. He was still scared, but he was determined to try. To make it work.
He was on his desk, a report on his hands but he wasn't reading it, when his landline rang.
"Peña," he picked up.
"Is this Javier?" a woman's voice asked urgently.
"Who's this?"
"This is María from the school," she said. He immediately knew something was wrong. He barely remembered María, you had presented each other last year on your birthday.
"There's been an emergency," she continued explaining, anguish filling her voice. "She's been taken to the hospital."
Javier's heart dropped. "Is she okay?"
"She collapsed in class. They think it might be related to her pregnancy. You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can."
Javier didn't waste a second. He grabbed his jacket and bolted out of the Embassy, ignoring Steve's confused shouts. The drive to the hospital was a blur, his mind racing with fear.
What happened? You were fine last night... Didn't you? He felt a pang of guilt. What if you didn't felt well but you didn't say anything because you thought he would be mad? Fuck... He should be more available for you. You should trust him.
When he finally arrived at the hospital, he rushed to the reception desk, asking for your name. The nurse nodded and directed him to the emergency room. His heart pounded as he approached the doors, dread settling in his stomach.
He found you lying on a hospital bed, pale and hooked up to monitors. The doctor was speaking to a nurse nearby. Javier's throat tightened as he stepped closer.
The doctor noticed him and approached. "Are you related?"
"Yes, how is she?" Javier asked, his voice shaky.
The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry to inform you, but she lost the baby. There was nothing we could do. It was a miscarriage."
Javier felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. He looked at your unconscious form, tears welling up in his eyes. "Can I see her?"
"Of course, but she's sleeping right now," the doctor said gently. "She's stable now, but you had to sedate her. This has been very traumatic for her."
Javier nodded and moved to your bedside. He took your hand in his, feeling the weight of his own failures crashing down on him. He had failed to protect you, to be there when you needed him the most.
Hours passed as he sat by your side, holding your hand and watching you sleep. When you finally stirred and opened your eyes, he was there. His eyes were teary, reddened from his contained emotions.
"Hey," he whispered, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm here," he said, squeezing your hand. "I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I should have done more."
You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I lost my baby." Your voice was barely a whisper, little sobs escaping your lips. You were still in a haze of sedatives and mourning.
Javier nodded, his heart breaking at the pain in your voice. "I know. I'm so, so sorry."
"No, you don't," you said, hurt and anger painting your weak voice. "You didn't want my baby."
"I was scared," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I didn't know how to handle any of this. But I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to lose our baby."
You shook your head, tears streaming like rivers down your cheeks. The gaze you gave him was filled with anger and resentment, piercing through his chest.
"Fuck you," you cried.
Javier flinched as if you had struck him. He looked away, unable to bear the intensity of your anger and sorrow.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely audible.
"You never be there for us, so don't come and say you're sorry," your words melted into an unstoppable crying. You felt like if your heart would literally broke into a million pieces. Grief and exhaustion weighing heavily on you, you felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness.
"I know I can't make this right. I know I failed you. But please, let me be here for you now," he pleaded, but there was nothing he could say to soothe your unbearable pain.
"You're a piece of shit, Javier," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and grief. "I don't want to see you ever again."
You turned away from him, your tears flowing freely.
He lingered for a moment, hoping for some sign of forgiveness, but when none came, he slowly left the room, closing the door behind him.
He stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, feeling the crushing weight of his failures. He had lost not only his child but also the trust and love of the woman who meant more to him than he had ever admitted.
Part 2
#javier peña fic#javier pena fanfiction#pedro pascal#fanfic#narcos#pedro pascal x reader#imagina javier peña#javier pena imagine#javier pena fic#javierpeña#javier pena narcos#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier peña x y/n#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x female reader
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office party
javier peña x f!reader
summary: your friend with benefits, javier, is your plus one for your dreaded office holiday party. when a coworker gets a bit too comfortable, javier steps in and shows you exactly how he feels about you.
rating: M
wc: 2.3k
warnings: alcohol use, mentions of sex, inappropriate advances from coworker, fwb, probably missing some so lmk what!!
a/n: my contribution to @pedrostories secret santa event!! was a busy holiday season so i wish i could have done more but excited to participate nonetheless. i hope you enjoy @flightlessangelwings and happy holidays to you!!! and tysm my love @northernbluess for proofing
dividers by @saradika
“Christ, where is he? Gettin’ freezing out here…” you mumble to yourself, gritted through your teeth as you stand shivering in your party attire — a tasteful black velvet cocktail dress, hem stopping a couple of inches above your knees and long sleeves with a sweetheart neckline. Fidgeting with your charm necklace, you nervously scan the entrance stairs to the history museum for the familiar face.
It’s the night before your office lets out for the holidays, and it’s also the night they host their annual holiday party. Even though it was quite the affair and your large law firm spares no expense for the event, you never really looked forward to being confronted with colleagues in ways you didn’t need to see them, and there was usually one man who would hit on you. Open bar, catered food, always in a gorgeous venue, it was a recipe for a great time or a horrible time, depending on your found company for the night. This year was the history museum, one of your favorite spots in the city. The daydreams you’ve had about taking him here pop into your mind like a flash in the pan — fleeting, and simply something to stay as a daydream.
A tinge of reluctance tugs in your gut. Was it weird to ask him here? Is he going to stand you up?
But then, there was Javier. Looking sharp as ever in a suit, one you’ve seen him in once after he stopped by yours after a late night working. Black, with a crisp white shirt and a red tie to fit into the holiday spirit. A smirk plays on his lips when he spots you, taking the stone steps two at a time as he approaches. It had taken a bit of convincing — virtually bribing — to get him to agree to be your plus one for the night, and when he did confirm that he would come along with you, the prospect of the party actually being something more bearable skyrocketed instead of the excruciating evening you usually expect.
“Hey there, querida. Why’re you waiting out in the cold for me? Debe estar congelándose. (You must be freezing.)” Javier greets you with concern knit into his brow, his big brown eyes softened and sparkling in the low streetlight. His large palms find the sides of your arms, rubbing gently to warm you up.
“Didn’t want to get pulled into the abyss alone in there,” you jest, “I don’t know if you’d have been able to find me with all the hiding I have to do from weird coworkers.”
You laugh and Javier chuckles lightheartedly, shaking his head as he relaxes in front of you. Nodding his head toward the door, he follows behind you as you lead with a hand at your lower back.
“Is there anyone I should watch out for specifically tonight? Am I gonna have to act as a bodyguard? Should I tell any of the creeps I have a gun?” Javier’s lips graze your ear as he speaks, keeping close to you when you enter and the sounds of the party erupt. A jolt runs down your spine from the intimate contact. It’s your turn to shake your head, breathing out a laugh as you limply hit your hand against his chest.
Your excitement around seeing Javier and spending more time with him was getting much more frequent and much more intense. Bordering the point where you don’t know if you can keep up the arrangement with the feelings you’re developing for him.
Friends of a few years, there’s always been a flirty undertone between you and Javier. It built up to the point that when everyone had cleared out from a dinner party at your place, Javier stayed behind to help clean up — always a gentleman — and the two of you, admittedly a bit tipsy from the wine that was flowing all night, told each other one a whim that you were attracted to each other. Both free from any ties of old relationships, you fell into an agreement: sex, great sex at that, with no strings attached. You two would remain friends and get exactly what you wanted, which was each other, without the messiness of a relationship. Something you were both jaded from.
These days, however, the lines were starting to blur on your end. Everything he did seemed to tip you further into the deep end before you finally came to terms and accepted that you had completely cannonballed into it.
Javier is a good guy. Didn’t have that reputation around town when you first met, but getting to know him in the wee hours of the morning after a few rounds, you fell fast and hard. It wasn’t until recently that you came to terms with it.
“Nobody needs the interrogation tactics or intimidation tonight, Peña.”
“Okay, okay…Tengo que asegurarme de que te traten bien. (I have to make sure you’re treated right.) One of their best employees, shouldn’t have to put up with the shit, querida.”
The air in the grand entrance of the city’s museum crackles with holiday cheer as festive decorations adorn every corner. Garland hangs around the banisters of the grand staircase that leads further into the museum, but most of the activity is in the large, marble-lined room you both stand in. Nearly every employee seems to be in attendance, people milling about in cliques and others indulging in drinking or dancing.
As both of you saunter toward the bar, the atmosphere softens with each step, the clinking of glasses and the chatter of coworkers weaving together into a cacophony of merriment. Javier grabs you two drinks, a glass of champagne for you and whiskey neat for him, toasting to the night ahead. The clinking of glasses resonates with your unspoken agreement: tonight, like every other night, would end the same way. No strings.
Amidst the swirl of laughter and twinkling lights, and the loosening power of liquor, the boundary between friendship and something deeper becomes increasingly blurred. Flirty comments dance back and forth, charged with an unspoken tension that lingers beneath the surface.
“You look beautiful tonight, cariño. How come I haven’t seen this dress before?” Javier asks, the two of you standing at a cocktail table, alone and enjoying it.
“Guess you’d have to be my plus one more often, Javi. Then you could see all the dresses in my closet,” you counter, smirking playfully and biting back the desire to mention something akin to a real date for both of you.
“Guess so, querida. Might have to make this a regular thing.” Javier sends you a wink before clinking your glasses together in another smaller toast, a smirk painting his face as he lifts the tumbler to his mouth for a sip.
With every exchanged glance and teasing remark, it’s evident that you’re tiptoeing on the edge of uncharted territory, yearning to express feelings that had long been confined. It’s unclear if Javier feels the same, but soft touches and gentle words ply you open even further, teetering with falling completely.
Then, amidst the dance of emotions and flirtations, a coworker appears in the corner of your eye, sauntering toward the table and bursting the privacy bubble that you happily curated with Javier. His name’s Jake, a man around your age who is friendly with you in the office, sociable guy with one of those “winning” personalities the partners would compliment endlessly. A guy’s guy. But one that had no problem approaching the women in the office. With a warm smile, he extends a hand towards the man at your side, introducing himself with an easy charm that seemed almost too perfect — of course, referring to Javier already as his ‘buddy’. The hint of jealousy that flickers across Javier's face doesn’t escape your notice, and you can’t help but feel a tingle of endearment for his slightly soured mood from being interrupted.
As the night progresses, Jake's alcohol-infused attempt at camaraderie with you grows increasingly unwelcome. He’d been watching you like a hawk so far, cutting in whenever Javier left to grab more drinks or when another coworker pulled his attention away to try to pick his brain about all that’s happening in the government right now. Inching closer to you, Jake leans against the hightop table, making conversation with slurred words and uninhibited want behind his eyes.
When you shift slightly away, attempting to remain civil enough at a work event, you feel yourself bump into Javier.
At that moment, Javier turns to see if you tapped him to grab his attention, but is met with the clear look of discomfort on your face. Jake leaning in closer, eyes wandering as you responded in the conversation, clearly attempting to check you out. Frustration toward the man in front of you lit in his chest, holding himself back from confronting him and instead fully embracing his purpose for the night. If he was invited as your date, he could act like it, right?
His arm wraps around you possessively, his lips pressing kisses on your temple, and whispered words meant to keep you close. Surprised at first, but happy to feel closer to him and to relish in the protective boyfriend persona, even if it is only to keep a creep away from you.
Jake, seemingly oblivious to the change in dynamics, spoke up louder, laying a hand on your arm and squeezing, “So you ever wanna cut out of work early and get a drink? Maybe end up back at my place? You can wear that dress.”
The proposition sends a ripple of discomfort through the air. Other coworkers turn away, ignoring the advance that left you shocked and speechless. But, Javier, now fully immersed in his role, takes a stern tone, cutting in and gently maneuvering you behind him.
“Hey, cabrón, why don’t you apologize for speaking to her like that?” Javier instructs, nodding to you while your hands wrap around his arm closest to you. “Or am I going to have to find one of your supervisors and tell them all this shit myself? Don’t speak to her again, or even look at her. And I will know if you do — I’ve got eyes everywhere, buddy.”
The look on Jake’s face makes you laugh softly from behind Javier, shaking your head as he backs away and leaves with his tail between his legs. Javier turns to you, wrapping you up in one of his arms and brushing his fingers softly against your cheek.
Concern softens his eyes, the same look that he greeted you with when he found you waiting in the cold, “You alright, cariño? Fucking asshole. You shouldn’t have to deal with that, should report him or something.”
“I’m alright, Javi. Thank you…You didn’t have to—”
Javier shakes his head, smiling with one side of his mouth and kissing your forehead, “‘Course I did. Can’t let anyone talk to you like that.”
You lean into his chest and smile, lightening the mood with a playful comment, “Seemed pretty comfortable being threatening. Did it bring you back to the good ol’ days being a sheriff?”
Ever the master of evasion, Javier shrugs it off with a casual demeanor, attempting to maintain the façade of indifference with a nod, “Sure did. But they weren’t the good ol’ days.”
Hearing the smile in his voice causes a wave of affection for him that washes over you, coming to the realization that it’s either now or never. A surge of courage propels you to take the leap, confessing the fact that you see more with Javier, that you want more with him.
“I know we said no strings, and it was like that at first, but the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I’ve found that I love you. And you can absolutely walk away and nothing will be held against you, but I can’t keep up with this if I can’t tell you how I feel.”
The atmosphere between you shifts, and for a moment, the world seems to stop entirely.
Javier's eyes softened, and with a sincerity that catches you off guard, he shares a confession too, “Querida, I fell in love with you in the first moment I met you. The second I kissed you for the first time was when I realized it. I thought maybe I could keep it all in, ‘cause I didn’t want to lose you as a friend and just as a part of my life, but I love you, cariño. Have since I heard that laugh of yours and saw that gorgeous smile. And I haven’t felt the same way I feel about you for anyone else before.”
In that moment of vulnerability, the boundaries that confined your actions shatter, opening up a door, wide and clear, for you to walk through and never close.
Away from the crowded party, you find yourselves standing in a doorway adorned with sprigs of mistletoe, a symbol of serendipity. Under the soft glow of the festive lights, Javier takes a step closer, and his lips meet yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. His hand caresses your cheek, one arm wrapping around your waist while yours rest around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.
As you break apart, Javier looks into your eyes, a sincerity shining through that mirrored the twinkle of holiday lights.
"I love you," he confesses, the words hanging in the air like the melody of a cherished carol.
“I love you, too,” you return, a glowing smile and feeling giddy for the rest of the holiday season with Javier.
taglist: @northernbluess @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @thereaperisabitch @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic
#pedrostoriesgift23#pedrostories#writing#javier#javier peña fic#javier peña x you#javier peña fanfic#javier peña#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x reader#javier peña x female reader#javier peña fanfiction#javier pena#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#javier pena fic#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fanfic
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Seven
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader
Rating: Gen (kind of a crack fic if you ask me)
Summary: You and Javi discuss children
“How many?”
“Hmm?”
“You keep saying children plural. How many do you want?” You asked, flipping through the pages of the magazine idly. You weren’t even reading, just looking at pictures and reading a gossipy headline about some of the other actress.
“Hmmm seven?”
“Fuck no!”
“Why not?”
“Why not? WHY NOT?” You asked, horrified. “Javier, I’m a human being, not a baby making machine. You have a government job and I’m just a lab tech. We will never have 7 kids money unless you pocket some of the cocaine you seize. God, can you imagine if they all wanted to go to law school? Or medical school?”
“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” he said, taking the magazine from you and setting it aside. He pulled you into his lap, kissing you neck from behind and making you squirm. “I was focused on how hot you’ll look pregnant.”
“Of course you were. Horndog,” you scolded, pinching the arm that held you close. He hissed, but didn’t loosen his hold, only pulling you in closer.
“Can you blame me? With such a hot girlfriend, a man is bound to let his imagination run wild.”
“Shut up.”
“Five?” He asked, making you angrier.
“Are you trying to have a family or form a basketball team?”
He laughed before kissing her lips. “Four?” He bargained.
“Three is the absolute maximum for me.”
“Then three is good.”
“Yeah?” You asked, softer when you heard the sincerity in the reply that came with no hesitation.
“Mhmm.”
“But everything is up for debate after the first one,” you added, just in case. Pregnancy did not look fun and you didn’t want him holding you to this if you were too fucked up from the first pregnancy to try again. “I might hate being pregnant and never want to have another one again. We might have to be satisfied with one baby.”
“That’s good too, baby. I only want as many children as you’ll give me. Whether that’s one or three or seven.”
“Definitely not seven.” You smiled, adjusting yourself to sit back on the sofa with just your legs in his lap. “And no bargaining on gender either. If we have three daughters, you can’t ask for another one just to try for a son.”
“I would love three daughters. Why do you think I’ll ask you for a fourth one after that?”
“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “Men usually want sons. To teach them soccer or go fishing or whatever.”
“I’ll teach our three daughters soccer. Girls have legs. And I don’t care for fishing anyway. If they want to be with animals, they can take care of the ranch.”
“God, I planning my life out with a ranchero who wants a million kids!” You said, laughing.
“You’re just realizing that?”
“Oh god, I don’t know what’s worse— ranchero or DEA agent. Do you like chop wood shirtless or something? Cause I can’t handle that. I will end up having 7 kids if I saw that.”
“You’re mixing up rancheros with lumberjacks, baby. But I’ll learn to chop wood if you want. And I’ll teach our daughters to chop wood too. And how to shoot. And how to fix a car. Teach them plumbing and everything. So that they don’t have to call their boyfriends at midnight to ask them to fix their sink,” he said, making you giggle at the recollection of that night.
“Oh please, you weren’t complaining,” you scoffed, reminding him of the night he came over to fix your sink and ended up staying all night and all day in your bed.
“Exactly. No boy is slithering into my daughter’s bed like that. I won’t allow it.”
You scoffed. Oh you poor little fool… “You think my father didn’t teach me how to fix my sink, Javier? That I didn’t break it just to invite you over?”
“Fuck!”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck. Let’s have three sons.”
.
.
.
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#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfic#narcos fic#narcos fanfiction#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#javier peña x ofc#javier peña x y/n#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena x you#javier pena fic#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña fic#all that i've inflicted on the world
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CONGRATS 🌟🌟🌟
Don't go on that date for Javier Peña?
Jealousy, Jealousy.
2. "Don't go on that date."
Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. this is entirely inspired by the fact that i am obsessed with javi's nose. that's all.
Pairing - Javier Peña x Female Reader
Age Rating - 18+
Warnings - smut!! + cursing
Word Count - 604
Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.
Javier rolls sideways and lands on his back next to you. The both of you are drenched in sweat, chests heaving, sheets are strewn around you, legs tangled together.
You catch your breath and sit up, shuffling to the edge of the bed. Just as you go to stand up, he grabs your wrist.
"Where are you going?"
"We don't do sleepovers, Javi."
"I know that. But you usually at least lie here for like 5 minutes."
"You going soft on me, Peña?"
"Quite the opposite, actually," he winks.
You scoff and stand up, ignoring the way you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your body.
"If you must know, I have a date."
Javier is stunned into silence.
"I've just fucked you within an inch of your life, and you're going on a date?"
Now you're stunned into silence.
"Javi... I'm allowed to date. We agreed that this... thing was casual. You suggested the whole 'no strings attached' idea."
"Forgive me if I don't like the thought of you going to see some guy with my cum dripping down your thighs."
You wince at his crudeness, but it also weirdly turns you on. He rarely gets possessive with you, but when he does, it's a sight to behold.
"Hermosa," he drawls, low and sultry. He's still got a hold of your wrist, and he tugs you back towards him.
"Javi," you half plead, half whine.
"Don't go on that date."
"Javi-"
"Sit on my face instead."
"Javi."
"That's my name, cariño."
The arrogance is rolling off him in waves, confronting and unavoidable. His cockiness is almost suffocating you. It certainly doesn't help the ache between your legs.
"I can't cancel on him, Javi. He's a nice guy. He's actually looking to date, for a relationship - not whatever this is."
Instead of protesting, Javier just laughs.
"What is so fucking funny?"
"It's just sweet that you think anyone could make you come the way I do."
You roll your eyes at him, and beg yourself to wriggle loose from his grip before he breaks down your barriers.
"Well, I won't know until I try."
Javi doesn't like that. He pulls you closer, grabbing at your hips so you're straddling him. He rocks you back and forth over his hardening cock, making you whine.
"Don't go on that date," he whispers against your lips. "Stay here, and I'll let you ride my face the way I know you like."
How can you say no to an offer like that?
"You better make me come so hard I see stars, Javier Peña."
"Always do," he winks.
In one swift motion, he lies down and pulls you up his body. You're hovering over his face when he pulls you down, grabbing fistfuls of your ass.
That man knows how to play you like a fiddle. Within mere minutes, he's got you writhing and moaning, tongue lapping at you like he's starved. Your clit drags along the gorgeous curve of his nose, hitting it just right. He wasn't wrong. No one can make you come the way he can.
He groans against you, and the vibrations send you over the edge. You're gripping his hair, rocking your hips back and forth with reckless abandon. He loves when you get needy like this.
"Fuck, I love when you use me," he rasps when you lift your hips slightly. "Good fucking girl."
You go to roll off of him, but he pulls you back.
"You didn't think I was going to make you cancel your date for just one orgasm, did you, hermosa?"
#javier peña x reader#javier pena x reader#javier pena fic#javier peña#javier pena fluff#javier pena narcos#javier pena x you#javier peña x you#javier peña x y/n#javier peña x ofc#javier peña smut#javier peña fic#javier peña imagine#javier peña drabble#javier peña fluff#javier peña angst#pedro pascal#narcos#narcos x reader#narcos fic#pedro pascal x reader#murphy's 500 followers celebration#javier peña x reader smut#javi peña x reader smut#javi peña smut
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thinking about jealous reader and jealous javi
Jealous Girl
gif via @javier-pena
pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader
warnings: roughy sex/smut (fem penetration) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; dirty talk; jealous!reader; jealous!javi; sort of dom!javi; allusions to reader having long-ish hair; pet names (baby, babygirl, hermosa, cariño); slut-shaming (reader uses the word ‘whore’); dubcon (no explicit consent, Javi is… forceful).
no use of y/n in this fic
thx 4 the drabble / short fic request!! once again this is FERAL !!! feel free to keep sending me lil drabble requests. they’re so fun to write while I work on my longer fics.
reminder that I am not using the taglist for these, but you can turn on notifs & join the list in my pinned post for my longer works !
-em <3
—
“You broke it off with me, baby, remember?”
What does it matter? What does it matter when you lock eyes with him getting head in his car, parked in some barely-hidden side-street, one block away from your dad’s salsamentaria?
What does it matter when, ten minutes later, he finds you, alone in the back room of the store, forcing back tears of frustration as your shaking hands busy themselves with fresh inventory?
You spin around, prepared to bark curses at him for trespassing into sacred, employee-only territory. He’s leaning against the door, beige suit-jacket a little roughed-up, hair slightly out of place.
“Glad to see you’re enjoying your freedom,” you reply coolly, mirroring his pose against the far wall.
He smiles. You’d known him long enough to recognize that condescending expression — the wolfish twitch of his mustache.
Toying with you for sport.
“And you’re not?” Javi asks, the casual raise of his eyebrows deceptive compared to the darkness overtaking his gaze. “Everybody’s seen you, y’know, leaving bars half-naked with guys twice your age.”
Always an opportunist, the agent pushes on, taking advantage of your stunned silence. “N’ you used to be so shy, babygirl.” A chuckle. “The fuck did I do to you, huh?”
You stammer, wanting to tear into him for his crudeness (though he was right — mixing the breakup with tequila hadn’t failed to strip you of your inhibitions), but the man denies you the chance, gliding forward in a slow, wide step.
Softly. “You wear my gifts for them? Let ‘em fuck you in all those lil’ lace sets I got for you?”
He’s close now, and you’re beginning to see red. This was part of the reason behind the break-up in the first place — neither of you knew how to manage overwhelming care without dousing it in cruelty.
Those long-awaited fighting words finally manage to breach the threshold of your lips. “Yeah, actually, I do,” you drawl, arousal levelled by a red-hot rage coiling tighter and tighter within you, “Ruined a couple pairs.”
“Bullshit.” His consonants slice through his vowels, accusatory and harsh. “Bet that pussy doesn’t even get wet after bein’ trained by me, does it?”
Try not to choke on your snarl, girl. “‘Least I don’t have to get head a block down from my ex’s shop — z’that the only way you can still get hard, Peña?” You muster up a daring smirk, shouldering his challenge head-on. “Hoping you’ll see me walk by so you can finish inside your whore?”
Bull’s eye.
“Don’t act like you give a single fuck where I’m gettin’ my dick wet, cariño.” Every inch of him bristles something fierce, but with skill and practice, he keeps his anger in check — maintains the upper hand — looming over you to consecrate the threat.
“Just pissed that I’m fuckin’ another bitch’s throat when we both know that’s what yours’s made for, right?”
The coil snaps.
Before you can stop it, your hand is in the air, gunning straight for the tan skin over his cheekbone.
In a blink, he’s strangling your wrist, holding back your palm from making punishing contact. The following pause is thick and heavy, quickly overflowing with Javi’s rage-soaked hunger. Dark and dangerous, the man hones in on your glare—
And speaks, voice low.
“Y’know, I let her swallow my load—”
“Let go of me.”
“—but you can take the next one.”
And then he flips you over, brushing off your indignant whine, flattening your back against his chest. Javi is strong (he always has been) and there’s no point in resisting (there never was). He’s unzipped himself, hiked your skirt up, wrenched your panties to the side and forced himself inside you in a matter of seconds.
Dear God, forgive me for getting my fix.
A big hand wraps around your throat while unforgiving arms form a prison around your body. He tilts your head back to face him, savouring your tightness, your suffering, and the strangled moan of pleasure dripping from your lips with his hips’ every rough throw.
“Always gonna belong to me, huh?”
His whisper settles over your skin, heightening that already-unbearable bliss. Your muddled mind and slackened mouth scramble to form words beyond full full full, yes yes yes.
“F-fuck you, Peña—” you spit through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut in concentration. You fingertips grow sore, pressed to bruise along his forearms. “You’re worse than me—you-you know it.”
Javi responds with a tightened grasp and diligent, skilled digits falling to manhandle your clothed breasts. “Yeah, fuck you, too—” and it’s strained, etched with long-awaited relief, “—fuckin’ spoiled—jealous brat.”
An all-encompassing jolt to your system — he’s found that aching bundle. He carves words into your sensitive clit: you were never going to be anything but mine, mine, mine. The arch in your spine deepens; the back of your head falls helplessly against his collarbone. And despite yourself — despite his venom — you grin, catching the broken hallelujah underpinning every vowel, every touch of his desperate, repressed desire.
It’s a symphony you both sing, a thought hanging so heavy in the room it almost becomes a tangible part of your filthy entanglement.
“If I can’t have you, baby, no one else in this world can.”
—
#javier peña x you#javier peña smut#javier peña x reader#javier pena x reader#javier peña#javier pena x you#javier peña x female reader#javier pena smut#javier peña narcos#javier peña fic#javier pena x y/n#javier peña x y/n#narcos fanfiction#Pedro pascal x reader#Pedro pascal x you#em’s answering machine <3
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Guilty As Sin? — Chapter One
pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader
rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, not a lot here beyond some world building, the party starts next chapter :)
word count: 3.6k
series masterlist
Though it was the first day of the fall semester and your first day as an official law student, you felt exactly the way you had the year before when you were a struggling undergrad. Same town, same friends, even the same apartment in the student housing complex right next to campus that you shared with three of your closest friends, Nina, Derrick, and Alondra, who just so happened to be law students as well.
It seemed every aspect of your life had remained stagnant for the last four years, except for one critical thing—you were now a single woman. Four years of the most confusing, toxic, passionate relationship of your life now dead and buried thanks to your ex-boyfriend’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. You’d have to see him too this semester, though you tried to keep the prospect of an awkward run-in out of your head as you got ready for the day to the sound of a busy apartment. Nina and Derrick had breakfast duty this morning, the two of them shuffling around the kitchen as loudly as they could, it seemed. Alondra, like you, was sitting across the hall in her bedroom blasting Kali Uchis out of her speaker, though after two years of living together the noise didn’t really affect you at all anymore.
“Food’s ready,” Derrick said, popping his head in the crack of your open door.
Standing at six-foot-two with brown skin, hazel eyes, plump lips, and the sharpest bone structure you’d ever seen, Derrick was beautiful. The two of you had done an awkward dance ever since you’d known him, with Derrick silently crushing and you silently rejecting him. You didn’t know what it was about him that didn’t appeal to you; he was kind, handsome, and funny, all the things a normal girl could want.
But you never really felt like a normal girl.
You liked the men that didn’t like you back, the men who desperately needed someone to fix them, always convinced that you had what it took to do just that. Of course, you knew better than that by now, but there was a part of you that worried you. A part you always had to keep an eye on, too afraid of your naive, trusting heart taking the reins.
“I’ll be out in a sec,” you said, coating your eyelashes in a decent amount of mascara. Derrick leaned against the doorframe, watching you with something too close to adoration for your comfort. You laughed it off, waving your hand at him. “Go away.”
“Am I making you nervous,” he teased. Truthfully, he was. Just not in the way he probably hoped.
“I’m trying not to stab myself in the eye,” you said instead.
“Mmhm,” he chuckled, patting the doorframe. “Hurry up, your plate’s at the table.”
“If you’d let me concentrate.”
Ten minutes later, you were sitting at the table with Derrick on your right—his plate conveniently set beside yours—and Nina and Alondra across from you.
“I’m swearing off of hookups this semester,” Alondra announced, earning skeptical glances from the three of you. “I am!”
“Until Sabina calls you up late at night claiming she’s lonely and sad,” Derrick teased. You kicked him under the table only to find out that Nina had done the exact same thing. “I’m just speaking the truth.”
“You’re a man, you don’t get to speak your truth here,” Nina said. “And as for you—“ She turned to Alondra beside her. “The minute you run into that bitch, you’re done for. Best to accept it now.”
“No, I’m done with her,” Alondra insisted, though you’d all seen this before. Every fall, without fail, Alondra and her toxic cheater of an ex-girlfriend, Sabina, get back together, and every summer they find a reason to break up, only to repeat the cycle the next year. “I might try dudes for a while.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you snorted, carrying your plate to the sink. “Since when are you into dudes?”
“Since Sabina ruined all women for me,” she sassed. “Besides, sexuality’s a spectrum.”
“What about you?” Nina asked, turning in her chair to watch you wash your dish. “Any plans this semester? Hopefully ones that don’t include a toxic relationship?”
“Certainly not,” you replied with a laugh. “I’m gonna be the most boring fucking person at this school this year. No shitty men, no partying, just school.”
“Twenty bucks I get her to black out this weekend,” Nina challenged, turning to Derrick and Alondra.
“I’ll take that bet,” Derrick said, shooting you a wink.
“Alright, while you guys are betting, I’m gonna head out to class. You know, like a serious law student,” you teased, drying your hands off before making your way to the front door. “I’ll see you guys in class.”
The first class of the day was Dr. Brown’s Contracts lecture. You’d had him during undergrad for your Criminal Psych class and specifically sought him out while registering because of his laid-back approach to teaching. Though he appeared to be yet another stuffy old man at face value, his personality was much more in line with that of The Dude from The Big Lebowski. He reeked of weed, loved to curse, and didn’t give a shit about all the formalities the rest of your professors insisted upon.
Dr. Brown’s class passed by with ease, his lecture on the contract breach between Apple and Samsung paired with a meme-filled PowerPoint amusing you enough that you forgot you’d been sitting there for two hours.
The next class of the day—Dr. Arman’s Legal Research and Writing course—was far less amusing, but at least Dr. Arman didn’t ask much from her students besides following along with slideshows and turning in the occasional paper. Still, the next hour and a half drudged on like feet on sand, Alondra nodding off beside you in the back of the lecture hall.
“Shit,” she whispered, snapping awake after a nudge from your elbow to her side. “Is it almost over?”
“Yeah,” you chuckled, backing up your bag. “I have to hustle to Criminal Law, you good?”
“Yeah, just gonna rest my eyes for a second,” she mumbled, already falling back to sleep. With a fond smile, you rolled your eyes at her and left the hall.
The last class of the day was Criminal Law I, taught by Dr. Peña, a professor you’d never had in any of your undergrad classes. It was always a toss up every time you entered a new lecture hall whether or not a professor would end up on your shit list, and a sinking suspicion told you Dr. Peña would not be as casual as Dr. Brown nor as lenient as Dr. Arman. No, there was always one overly demanding, arrogant old prick of a professor each semester without fail.
Though you’d arrived fifteen minutes before class, all the good seats were taken by the time you walked into the hall, leaving only a few seats at the very front. Sighing, you looked longingly at Nina as she sat in one of the back rows, surrounded by a flock of hopeful men desperate to make her laugh. She caught eyes with you and gasped when she realized where you were headed.
“No, girl, not the front,” she called, earning a dejected nod from you as you reached the mostly deserted front row.
As you unpacked your bag and notebook—you hated using your laptop in class—Derrick quickly slid into the seat beside you with a huff, as if he’d just finished a marathon.
“Had to climb over a row of people to get down here,” he said, smiling at you.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours.
“Wasn’t gonna let you slum it down here alone.”
“Thanks,” you chuckled. “You know anything about this guy?”
“Yeah, my brother had him when he went here a few years back,” he said, opening his laptop. “Apparently he’s a dick.”
“Of course he is,” you sighed.
“You have class after this?”
“Nope,” you shook your head. “You?”
“Nah, just the gym with Nina,” he said, stretching out his legs and relaxing into his chair. “You could come, if you wanted.”
“I hate the gym,” you said, scrunching up your nose. “Besides, I need to go get groceries and stuff. Maybe get a head start on Brown’s project.”
“Responsible,” he nodded in approval. “Boring but responsible.”
“All these boring years are gonna pay off when I graduate top of the class,” you quipped, earning a scoff.
“That’s what you said in undergrad and who ended up graduating at the top?” he asked with a smirk, sticking his chin up with pride.
“I was one percent away from kicking your ass,” you rolled your eyes and chuckled.
“Maybe you’ll find another shitty boyfriend to distract you—“
Though you would have liked to hit him for his comment, you were stopped dead in your tracks as the most handsome, brown haired, broad shouldered, puppy-eyed looking man walked out of his adjoining office and up to the desk at the front of the class. He carried an air of authority with his furrowed brows and disapproving frown as he waited for the class to quiet down.
“If you’re all finished,” he said, unpacking his book bag while scoping out the faces he’d be spending the semester looking at, starting with the back. You watched him with interest, hating that kick of adrenaline the moment his eyes met yours. He seemed to linger for a half a second longer than he had with everyone else before looking away, furthering your delusional thoughts. “Welcome to Criminal Law I. My name is Dr. Peña, you’ll refer to me as such. I except professionalism, conciseness, and competency from the lot of you. You’re graduates now. Time to act like it.”
“Jesus,” Derrick muttered beside you, shaking his head.
“There will be no whispering, no texting, and for God’s sake, no music in my class. You’re here to learn and I’m here to teach.”
You listened as a few students gathered their things and silently made their exit from the hall. Dr. Peña watched them with a smug look that did little to shoo away your interest. Fantasies of receiving that same look in a far more inappropriate context flooded your mind, visions of you on your knees in his office.
“Good, now let’s begin. We’ll be covering the penal code today, along with territorial jurisdiction. Can anyone give me a definition of the latter?”
Never one to volunteer an answer without being called on, you waited for someone else to take the fall. Dr. Peña seemed just as patient, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that pulled at the fabric covering his arms. You quickly turned your eyes down to your notebook when he caught you staring, busying yourself with jotting down the date.
“In the front,” he said, earning your attention. When you found him still watching you, you let out a small sigh. “Would you care to give us a definition, Miss…”
Giving him your last name, you searched your mind for the definition that you remembered learning at some point during your four years of undergrad.
“Territorial jurisdiction refers to a court’s power in a certain territory,” you said, swallowing down your nerves as you began to feel your ears heat.
“And in regards to Texas? Can you give me the section of the Penal Code that covers territorial jurisdiction?” he asked, his voice a deep, whiskey warm timbre that hit you like an aphrodisiac, your mind running rampant with all sorts of inappropriate scenarios of hearing that sinful voice up close and personal.
“I…don’t know,” you said, lowering your eyes down to your desk just to get a break from his steady eye contact.
“Section 1.04,” he said, a hint of arrogance in his tone. “Now that you have the section, would you mind reading the text for us?”
Taking a deep breath, you flipped to the section in your textbook, hoping that your nervous stutter didn’t make an appearance today.
“I can do it,” Derrick volunteered, mildly irking you. Did he think he was saving you? Or was this his attempt at competition?
Dr. Peña waited until he was finished to admonish his interruption.
“Thank you, Mr…,”
“Crawley,” he said, offering him a charming smile.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Crawley, but in the future, I ask that you refrain from interjecting. I’m sure your friend was perfectly capable of reading aloud,” Dr. Peña said, causing Derrick to scoff under his breath. “Alright, I need a volunteer from the second row to read the next section.”
Derrick seemed to take it to heart, his ever-present smile long gone as he typed his notes on his laptop.
“Sorry,” you whispered, tapping his shoe with yours.
“S’whatever,” he shrugged, but you knew him well enough by now that it was far from whatever to him. Derrick was always the best in every class, always adored by professors. You weren’t sure he’d ever been scolded by a teacher in his life, let alone in front of the entire class. “He’s a prick.”
“He’s—“
“Are we interrupting?” Dr. Peña sighed, leveling a look at the two of you as if to say, really? You shrank in your seat, avoiding his stern eyes. “Anyways, you were saying, Miss Martinez?”
After a tense hour spent listening to Dr. Peña pick on the class, it was time to pack up. You could practically hear your bed calling as you packed your things into your bag, except…
“Would you mind staying behind for a moment,” Dr. Peña asked, calling your name. You gave Derrick a wide eyed look, earning a raise of his brow.
“Sure, um—“
“I’ll wait up for you,” Derrick offered, slinging his bag over his shoulders before filing out of the lecture hall with the rest of the class.
Once alone with Dr. Peña, you began to feel sick with anticipation, especially as he sat quiet at his desk shuffling through papers.
“I’d like to apologize for today. I’m afraid we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” you said, carefully approaching his desk. “I assure you, this is nothing I take more seriously than this. I—“
“I asked you to stay behind because I’m in need of an assistant for my undergrad Intro to Forensics class and your name was given to me by the Dean,” he said, looking up at you with a mixture of exhaustion and boredom in his eyes.
“Wait—what?” you gave him a puzzled look.
“Your name is listed in the TA program, is it not?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. You tried not to ogle him, but the way his white button down stretched across his broad chest made it damn near impossible.
“It is, but—“
“You’re one of the only law students available who’s taken the class before,” he said, clicking his pen as he began to mark the syllabus sheets he’d passed out towards the end of class. “So, what do you say? Three labs a week. Paid, of course.”
“I’m not sure I can handle the extra load, honestly,” you said. Though you were sure the extra work would certainly up the pressure, it wasn’t the real reason you were so quick to decline. Truthfully, it was him. How were you supposed to be around him an extra three days a week when you were already worried about the three you’d be spending with him in this class? “But if you’re in need of a recommendation, Mr. Crawley took Intro to Forensics with me and—“
“Take a day, think about it. First lab is Wednesday,” he interjected, glancing up at you with those brown eyes that looked both innocent and dangerous at the same time, a confusing balance your overly romantic heart longed to study in depth. You chuckled, a sound of disbelief over his disregard for your rejection, as you watched him turn back to his work. “I’ll have the Dean send over a formal offer this afternoon.”
“What time are the labs?” you asked, slowly accepting your fate—or, more accurately, accepting his stubbornness on the matter.
“Eight to ten in the evening,” he replied, sounding as though he might yawn at the prospect. “Not ideal.”
“No,” you agreed, offering him a small smile. “I, uh, I’ll think about it.”
Not wanting to embarrass yourself—or endure more of this delusional torture—you made your exit as quickly and gracefully as you could manage, waiting until you were out in the main hall to freak out.
“What did his fine ass want?” Nina asked, approaching you with Derrick in tow. You snorted at her brashness and rolled your eyes.
“His fine ass wanted me to TA for his Intro to Forensics lab,” you replied, shaking your head as you looked through your tote for some gum, hoping to distract your rampant fantasies about said fine ass.
“What the fuck?” Derrick griped, shaking his head. “I’ve been begging the dean to get me a TA position this semester but he said all the positions had been filled.”
“I tried to recommend you,” you offered, giving him a sympathetic frown. “I don’t even know if I’ll take it—”
“Then let me,” he said, hope lighting up his eyes. Even though you still had yet to make up your mind on the matter, his assumption that you’d just give urubbed you the wrong way.
“I’m gonna think about it first,” you said, sharing a knowing look with Nina.
If there was one thing to fault Derrick for, it would be his tendency to step on people—even his closest friends—to secure an opportunity. Even when he didn’t need to, even when he’d already won over most professors on campus, even when he knew his female friends struggled to reach even half of the respect given to him strictly because he was a man.
“You coming with us to the gym?” Nina asked, changing the subject as she watched you bite back the urge to tell Derrick that maybe, just this once, it would be you stepping over him to secure a good opportunity.
“No thanks,” you chuckled.
“Lame,” she said, glancing over at Derrick who seemed to be lost in thought. “Well I’m gonna go change.”
“See you later on,” you said, watching as she made her way down the hall.
“So you think you might take the job?” Derrick asked, sticking his hands in his pocket.
“I might,” you admitted, shrugging your shoulders.
“Just…be careful,” he cautioned, causing your brows to furrow. “Male professors can be creepy as fuck.”
“Men in general can be, yeah,” you laughed. “But I’m sure I can take care of myself.”
He nodded, ticking his jaw.
“Well, I gotta go get groceries,” you lied, desperate to get back home, crawl into bed, and maybe do something about those fantasies from earlier. “I’ll see you back—“
“Come to dinner with me,” he blurted, biting his lip as he watched you go through a rollercoaster of emotions. Shock, amusement, confusion, before landing on something akin to empathy.
“What? Derrick—“
“Just one date,” he promised. “One date and if it doesn’t work out, you know…we can just stay friends.”
“I don’t know that it’s that simple,” you said, looking anywhere but at him.
Why was he so dead set on going down this road; of making this mistake that you knew would end terribly?
“Just a date,” he coaxed. “And I promise no weirdness afterwards if it doesn’t work out.”
“You can’t promise that,” you muttered, shaking your head. “And even if you can, I don’t know that I can.”
“That’s assuming it goes bad,” he said, nudging your shoulder with a smile. “Friday night, you and me, some fancy restaurant I can barely afford. What do you say?”
Perhaps it was the new year, or maybe just the endorphins brought on by the sight of Dr. Peña in his tight slacks, but what did you have to lose? A good friend that you weren’t even sure would be your friend if he didn’t believe it was his only way in?
“Fine,” you said, sighing. “One date. No weirdness. No expectations.”
Derrick grinned, nodding as he pulled you in for a hug. “Won’t regret it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you chuckled.
“Excuse me,” Dr. Peña appeared, in the doorway the two of you were blocking, causing Derrick to pull you out of the way and into his side. You watched Dr. Peña’s eyes scan the proximity between the two of you, a hint of disapproval on his face that you were sure you were imagining. “Have a good afternoon, you two.”
“You too,” you managed, sliding Derrick’s arm off your shoulder. “Also—“
Dr. Peña stopped, turning back towards you. “I, uh, I’ll take the job.”
“What?” Derrick scoffed, earning a curious look from Dr. Peña.
“Very well,” he nodded. “You’ll find the contract in your email tonight.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, Professor,” you said, trying your hardest not to purr the last word out the way your filthy mind yearned to.
Thank you for the opportunity, Professor. Such a fucking cliche that you had no intentions on perpetuating.
Except for the fantasies. After all, what harm could come from a silly little fantasy?
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#javier peña fic#javier peña x reader#javi peña#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fic#javier pena narcos#javier peña#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#guilty as sin?
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i only wanna worship you | javier peña
Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Seven
Chapter Summary | When a promising lead for your story turns to dust, you find comfort in the only person you know can make you feel better these days.
Chapter Warnings | mentions and discussions of drugs, drug consumption and the drug trade, swearing, flirting, explicit smut, oral sex (f), protected piv sex but nothing else.
Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader
Word Count | 4.4K
Authors Note | GUYS I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Thank you so much for being so patient - my new job and the festive period kicked my ass, but we're back, and it's the one you've all been waiting for! I'm having so much fun weaving in the story along with these guys' relationship, and I hope it was worth the wait for you. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi.
I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist
You’ve been sat in the parking lot for what feels like ages. Turning up at the office that morning, you’d stared blankly at the article you’d written, listening to your managers voice in your head telling you that you could go and get your story, swirling the dregs of your coffee in your mug. It was almost like a switch had flicked in your brain and before your head could catch up with you, you were stuffing your supplies into your bag and swiping your car keys off the desk.
Now, your car is surrounded by others in the parking lot of Laredo’s biggest factory - one of the towns biggest employers of people who hadn’t gotten sick of it and left for college and never come back - waiting for Tyler Johnson to appear out of the front doors for his lunch break.
You watch the clock on your dashboard, counting exactly seventeen further minutes until his tall, lanky frame comes through the door. He’s fishing in his jeans pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He leans up against a brick wall just down from the front door, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. It’s now or never.
You get out of your car, deciding against taking your notepad and pen, you don’t want to spook him before you’ve had a chance to talk. You can feel the familiar nervous bubble in your stomach, something that hasn’t gone away when you blindly go up to someone to interrogate them.
“Tyler?”
He turns his head towards your voice as you come to a stop a few steps away from him.
“Depends who’s asking,” He looks you up and down, “But for you honey, sure thing,” He puts the cigarette into his mouth, reaches his hand out for you to shake which you do, “What can I help with?”
You take a deep breath, the speech you’d rehearsed in the car suddenly blanked from your mind as you try and figure out how to explain to him why you’re here.
“This is so strange, but can you remember hosting a party a few months ago?” You ask, “It was in town?”
You watch him think for a second, taking another drag on his cigarette, “Yeah I think so, was pretty wild if I remember, were you there?”
You reply with a nod, “Yeah, with my friend Liv,” You sigh, “Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything, but you know that place was raided a few days ago, right?”
“Whole place knows it was raided,” He shrugs, “Been the talk of the town.”
“Right,” You’re thinking, how can you catch him in the act? “So, why were you hosting a party in a house that was empty, that was then raided for drugs?”
“Family own it,” He shrugs again, “Guy who rented it died and it needed doing up before we could get someone else in, so seemed like the best place to do it.”
“And the drugs?” You push.
“Listen, lady,” His tone sharpens but he doesn’t move towards you, you don’t feel threatened, “I haven’t got a clue as to why there were drugs there, okay? I haven’t been there since the party.”
“So you have no idea how they got there?”
“Not the faintest.”
“So it wasn’t you?”
“What the hell is this, twenty fucking questions?” He sighs again, flicks his finished cigarette to the ground, stamping on it with his boot, “I don’t know anything about the drugs, I’ve never taken drugs, I can’t even if I wanted to, we get tested here for them.”
“When was the last time you got tested?” You ask, eyebrows raised.
Tyler snorts at you, “You and everyone else in this fucking town are so predictable,” He shakes his head, “Just because I’m not a golden boy like my brother means I take drugs?” You’re about to open your mouth to reply when he started talking again, “I got tested about three weeks ago, and then probably six weeks before that too, clean as a whistle, always have been.”
“Do you have the test results?”
“You think I’m gonna show my drug test results to a random girl?”
You nod your head because it his trepidation makes sense, “I’m a journalist,” You finally let on, “I wrote a story about the drug bust but figured there was probably more to it than first meets the eye so I’m just digging around a little,” You shrug, “If you show me, it puts you in the clear though, means people’ll stop talking about you.”
Tyler rolls his eyes but starts walking towards a car. You follow behind him, waiting as he unlocks it and looks through the glove compartment, pulling out a couple of pieces of paper. He hands them to you, which you look through and just like he said, there are the result of his last three random drug tests, everything negative. Fuck. You try not to let your disappointment show as you hand them back.
“Sorry,” You mumble, “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.”
“S’alright,” Tyler responds, putting everything back in order to lock his car back up, “I know how it is, but just…” He trails off, “Be careful, okay? I don’t know what’s happening either but this could be dangerous.”
“I’m a big girl,” You counter, “I’ll be fine,” You take a few steps back, “Sorry for bothering you though, I hope the rest of your day is alright.”
There is a part of you that would love nothing more than to roll over, push your face into your pillow and scream. When did having meltdowns like that become frowned upon? You’re sure when you were little they were cathartic, but what use was that at three years old? You needed to be able to scream at this age.
Instead, you lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, frustrated that the one lead you had turned out to be a dead fucking end. Were you wrong about this whole thing the entire time? Were you barking up the wrong tree? Did you just need to cut your losses and publish the story as is, without needing to dig around further? You had no fucking clue.
Before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach over, pluck the phone off your nightstand and press the redial button. You don’t even need to tap in his number anymore, he’s the only number you really call these days. The phone rings three times before he picks up.
“Hello?”
“Javi?” You ask, although you don’t need to, you’d recognise that voice anywhere.
“You alright, cariño?” There is just a sigh that you let out in response, then his voice is back in your ear, “I’ve had enough bad days in my time to know that sigh, what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Is your response, you know you can’t tell him what’s really up because you know the deeper you dig into this, the more dangerous it’s going to get, “Just work stress.”
He’s silent for a moment, “What can I do? I can listen.”
“Can you come over?”
Even over the phone, you can hear him thinking it’s a bad idea. You can hear him thinking about how weird it will look if your parents find him in the house with you on your own, how you’d explain it, even if they didn’t necessarily catch you doing anything.
“They’re out at the moment,” You offer, “Dinner with some people on the force, and I won’t make you stay long, I promise.”
You can hear him do that thing he always does when he’s thinking - clicking his tongue against his teeth. He’s done it for as long as you can remember - a real tell that he’s battling with something in his head.
“I mean, you don’t have to,” You hasten to add, “We can just talk like this if you’d rather.”
“Need someone to make you feel better, huh?” His tone is lower now and it makes you squirm, all you can reply with is a small mmhmm sound, “I’ll be there soon.”
Then all you can hear is the dial tone. You lie there for a moment, listening to the sound through the phone, then glance around your room and panic. You slam the handset back onto the receiver and hop out of bed, dragging the sheets up to make the bed properly, aimlessly throwing abandoned clothes into the laundry basket, shoving half-read books back onto their shelves and generally tidying up enough so as to not look like a total slob.
Once you’re sure there’s nothing on display that you wouldn’t want Javi to see, you pace around the living room, drawing the curtains a little whenever you can see headlights bleeding through, until one set of those headlights are Javi’s truck. He pulls into the drive and sits there, before he’s reversing back out and driving off. Your heart sinks a little, until you can see his frame walking back up the street. You let the curtains fall back into place and stand by the front door, smoothing your hair and your clothes when he knocks twice. You don’t wait, just tear the door open.
“Waiting for me, huh?” He asks, stepping across the threshold, one hand slipping around your waist, the other letting the door close behind him.
“N-no, I was just by the door when you knocked.” You breath, so close to his mouth.
“That so?” He asks, eyebrow raised, “Someone else looking out the curtains then?”
He doesn’t give you the chance to answer. Instead, he dips his face to yours, lips pressed softly to yours. You can feel the aches and the stress leaving your body as he does, you bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, as Javi’s palm on your lower back presses you into his body fully.
“Y-you wanna m-maybe go upstairs?” You ask, lips still a hairs breadth from his, you don’t want to look at him whilst you ask.
“Is that what you want?” He asks, free hand cupping your cheek to make you look at him.
“I think so, yes.” You breathe.
“Well then, lead the way cariño.”
I don’t deserve this, is all Javi can think as your hand is clutched in his, leading him into your bedroom. He doesn’t deserve the flutter in his stomach when he looks at you, or the way your eyes look at him like he’s the best thing the world has ever offered you, and he certainly doesn’t deserve the opportunity to do what he thinks you’re going to let him do in the next few hours. All of the bad he’s done, veiled as something good, all of the shit he’s fucked up before, the people’s he’s hurt, the people he’s killed, whether at his own hand or as a knock on from his actions, he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you.
You’re stood at the door to your room, back pressed up against it, hands clasped behind your back as he stands in the middle of your room. He knows you’re nervous, you always are around him, and he wishes he could say something, express that he feels exactly the same around you, that you make him nervous too, but he thinks it would sound wrong if he tried to explain it, so he doesn’t, just holds out his hand and beckons you over to him.
The warmth of your hand slipping into his, the way he knows those hands feel when you touch him, the way your lips are soft when you kiss him, all of it makes him a weak man, a man who knows you need someone with less baggage, because he can’t say no to you, he doesn’t want to say no to you.
“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, manoeuvring the two of you so you’re sitting on the edge of your bed.
He watches as you shake your head, “No, it’s honestly nothing, it’ll be fine.”
“What do you want then?”
You lift your head, flash those beautiful eyes at him and instead of fighting the strength to stay upright, he takes a single step towards you and drops to his knees, settled on the floor with your thighs spread to accommodate him. He puts his hands on your knees, looking up at you, and spreads them a little wider.
“This what you want?” He asks, trailing his hands up to your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress up with his hands as he goes, “Something to take your mind off things for a while?”
“Y-yes,” You gasp when his hands hit the material of your underwear wrapped around your hips, “Yes please.”
Javi hooks his fingers into the band of your panties, watching as you lift yourself off the bed a little so he can pull them down. He’s slow with it, making sure that the hem of your dress keeps you covered as he can. It strikes him now how much he wants this, how much he’s craved the opportunity to get you like this so he can really hear you, really see you for once, without having to worry about getting caught.
“You wanna show me that pretty pussy, hermosa?” He speaks lowly into the skin of your thigh he’s nuzzling at.
He watches from between your thighs as your cheek drops to your shoulder, trying to hide how bashful you’ve become, but it does nothing to help the growing bulge in his jeans. Javi lets his fingers push the hem of your dress up your thighs, pooling at your waist, your legs widening.
Javi thinks he might audibly gasp at the way you’re already glistening for him. He leans forward, puckers his lips and presses a single kiss to your clit. It’s gentle, he revels in the small gasp you suck in, then he’s on your properly, tip of his tongue flicking gently against that little bud. He can feel your hand gripping at his hair already, hips moving in time with his mouth, and he wonders if anyone has ever blessed you like this. He needs to know.
He pulls away, letting his thumb gently replace his mouth, looking up at you, “Anyone ever done this for you?”
You shake your head, “No, but even if they had,” You’re biting at your bottom lip, “I don’t think it would have felt like this.”
He can’t help but smirk as he brings his mouth back to you, suckling your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, listening to you the way you whine for him, the way you start moving your hips in time with the movements of his mouth again. You taste divine, he thinks, as his tongue drops a little lower, drinking up the slick you’re creating for him, dragging it back up to run over your clit again.
“T-that’s so g-good.” He hears you moan.
“Yeah?” He replies, barely pulling off you.
He hears a noise in reply, lets one of his fingers trace up the skin of your thigh until he’s slowly pushing it inside of you, amazed at how easily you let him in just like he had been in the alley. He slips another in, curls them up gently, moves them until you tip your head back and really cry out for him this time. Javi can tell you’re close - he’s made enough women in his life feel good this way to know the signs - the way you’re tightening around his fingers inside you, the way your hips are moving but your thighs are starting to tighten around his shoulders and the way your moans are louder but more breathy, he’s addicted already, he knows it’s bad, but right now he can’t find it in himself to really care.
“J-javi,” You breathe, fingers gripping at his hair, “I’m gonna-”
“Go on, cariño,” He urges, “You can come for me.”
And you do, God alive you do, and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever been party to. Your cunt goes tight as a fist around his fingers, slick drooling down into his palm, he can feel the way you flutter around them as you say his name over and over again in some sort of fucked up prayer, and he thinks about how it would feel around his cock. Your entire body convulses as he works you gently through the aftershocks with his mouth, fingers slipping from inside you to rest, wet and sticky, on your thigh.
All of a sudden, he can feel you gripping his shoulders, pulling at the material to try and drag him up to you.
“Slow down, baby,” He says, but he moves anyway, pushing you back onto the bed, settling himself between your thighs, “We’ve got all night.”
“Javi, please,” You beg, and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything nicer in his life, “I want you,” Your fingers are fumbling with his jeans, trying to move his belt, “Inside me.”
Javi moves, taking your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head, letting his hips grind into your own, front of his jeans grinding into the soft wet of your sensitive cunt.
“Do you have anything?” He breathes right into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe.
“Top drawer.” You say quietly, whining when he pushes himself up onto his knees to reach into the draw.
Javi fumbles around a little until the familiar crinkle of foil hits the tips of his fingers. He pulls it out, places it into his mouth as he works to undo his jeans, pushing them down only far enough to free his aching cock. In an ideal world he’d strip the two of you off, but there’s something about this image of you, laid out on the bed in your sinful little sundress, tits heaving as you breathe, that means he just can’t wait.
He almost cries when you reach up, smooth palm stroking at his cock, so slowly he thinks he might die. Tin foil packet between his teeth, he tears it open, rolls it into his cock like it’s muscle memory. He leans back down, feeling the head of his cock nudging at your aching pussy, gathering your wrists back into his hands to pin you down again.
Javi is looking right into your beautiful eyes now, looking at the very soul of you as he stills. He’s damning the both of you to hell with this. He thinks if he’d been stronger, he could have stopped this - sure your mouth around his cock in the bar had been like silk, and the way you’d let him touch you against the brick wall had him seeing stars, but he knows, once he’s sunk himself deep inside you, he won’t be able to come back from this.
“You sure?” He asks, lips pressing softly to your own.
“Please.”
And it’s all he needed to hear to start slowly sinking into you. He watches closely as your eyes flutter closed, head tipped back, throat exposed to his mouth. He listens as he inches in slowly to your panting breaths and your little moans, until he’s buried fully inside you. His hands are gripping at your wrists tightly as he stays still, your hips wiggling underneath him.
“Hermosa,” He pleads, warns with his tone, “Don’t m-move, please.”
Like the devil himself, you don’t listen, and when he pulls his face from the crook of your neck, you’re smirking, you know exactly what you’re doing.
“Javier,” You use his full name and he swears he feels himself throb inside you, “Fuck me.”
He should have known the whole time that this wasn’t going to be a shining star performance, it’s been too long since he’s felt like this, felt the warmth of someone like this, but he knows this is different, he knows that look in your eye, not quite love, definitely not quite love, but it’s something different to the girls of Colombia. He can’t offer you a lifeline, he can’t offer you money to get yourself out of a country that’s trying to kill you, they needed him for something, and he needed them for something in return. But here, he just needs you, no whistles, no bells, just you.
Pushing himself up a little, letting go of his grip on your wrists, he puts his palms on the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs back, folding you underneath him as he starts moving a little faster, fucking you a little harder, you let out a proper moan into the air of the room and he finds himself smirking.
“That what you needed, baby?” He coos as he fucks you, feeling himself reach the very end of you with each thrust, “Just needed me to fuck whatever was in that pretty head of yours away?”
He can feel you tightening around his length, can feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, and that tell-tale tightening he feels when it’s almost time. He wishes he could hold on, wishes he could string this out, make it better for you, but god he needs to feel you again, he needs to feel the way you come around his cock.
“Touch yourself,” His tonne is demanding, but he watches down at you as you smirk, bringing your hand to your pussy, finger circling your clit as his hips start to falter, “Come on baby, one more just for me.”
It happens all of a sudden, the way your body snaps under him, and that feeling he’s been chasing, the feeling of you clenching around him, arching your back into him. He can feel the effect it has on him, just seconds later he’s following you over the edge, stilling inside of you as he finishes, banishing the tiny thought in the back of his head that says he wishes he was filling you up without a barrier between the two of you.
Once he’s caught his breath a little, he pulls out of you, groaning into your skin, listening to you whine at the loss of him. He takes off the condom, ties a knot in the top, wrapping it along with the packet in a tissue to put in the bin. He puts his clothes right, before crawling back onto the bed with you, pulling you into his chest, sighing at the feeling of your arm draped over his stomach, your leg entwined with his own. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“Did that help?” He asks quietly.
“Yeah,” You reply softly into the material of his shirt, “Thank you.”
“You feel okay?” He’s slightly worried he was too rough, maybe that you didn’t enjoy it, “Was it okay?”
You move your head, looking up at him with sleepy eyes, “Javi, please,” You whisper, “Stop worrying, it was perfect.”
He lies there for a while, wishing he could strip the two of you down, press your warm bodies together and fall asleep like this is all normal and you aren’t younger than him, or the daughter of one of his closest friends.
“I should go,” He muses, “Not that I want to,” He adds quickly, worried you’ll think he wants to make a quick escape, “Just need to leave before any eyes are around to ask questions.”
You move slightly, letting the warmth of your body drag away from his own, “One day we’ll be able to do this properly, I hope.” You say, pushing yourself up on your palm as he rises from the bed.
“I promise the next time I have you like that,” He’s looking at you now, chin held in his hand, “I’m going to strip you down, take my time and fall asleep next to you, I promise.”
He kisses you then, slipping his tongue into your mouth and it takes every inch of his strength to pull away.
“Go on,” You smile at him, “Before my dad comes home and shoots you.”
“He wouldn’t shoot me baby,” He smiles back at you, “He wants me back on the force too much.”
“Before he gives you a black eye then.”
He can’t help but laugh at that, giving you a small salute as he turns to leave, but there’s something niggling at that back of his mind as his hand reaches for the handle of your door, something he needs to ask before he leaves, “If something was bothering you,” He asks, turning back to you, “Or you were getting into something at work, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
He’s looking right at you as you answer, searching for anything that says you’re not telling him the truth, and as you answer, he doesn’t find a reason to doubt you, “Of course I would.”
When he’s gone, twenty minutes later your parents are falling through the door, laughing at each other, too many glasses of God knows what over dinner have made them jolly and you find yourself smirking, biting at your bottom lip in the dark, that the two of them have no idea that Javier Peña left just twenty minutes ago after fucking you better than anyone else ever had.
It’s something that keeps you smiling, even as you fall asleep, eyes closing, any thought of work and dead-end leads forgotten and replaced by dreams of what else that man might be able to show you.
#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#javier peña x female reader#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña smut#javier peña fanfic#javier peña fic#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña#narcos#narcos fic#narcos smut#Pedro pascal#javier peña Pedro pascal#Javi peña#narcos fanfic#narcos fanfiction#Pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal characters#Pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#TTWOHS
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Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña (series)
(Javier Peña x fem!Reader)
Main Masterlist
Series summary: You had fallen in love with the one and only Javier Peña. He just gave you his entire life.
How to read:
Chapters order/time-line will be constantly changing because of drabbles.
Chapters marked with a number (ex. Chapter 1) are already in chronological order. Chapters marked with a title (ex. River) are drabbles even though it have also a number. DRABBLES CONTAIN MAJOR SPOILERS.
Please check on every chapter for its own warnings.
Chapters:
One
Two
Three
Four
Five: Carnival Games
Six
Seven
Eight: Happy birthday, Javi
Nine
Ten
Eleven
11.5: Eres mía
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
River CONTAIN SPOILERS
Miracle CONTAIN SPOILERS
#pedro pascal#fanfic#narcos#javier pena x you#javier peña smut#javierpeña#javier peña x reader#javier peña fic#javier peña fluff#javier pena x reader#javier pena narcos#javier peña x female reader#javier peña#javier peña x f!reader#javier pena fanfiction#pedro pascal fluff#masterlist#Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña#GlimpseOfALifeWithJavierPeña#GOALWJP#cherry-holmes writing
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day five - sweat
pairing: javier peña x f!reader
word count: 614
warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; sweat, cowgirl, spanking (briefly), unprotected p in v, creampie
• kinktober 2023 masterlist •
She hated the Colombian heat. Worse than the weather back home in Texas, sweltering and suffocating. Drenching everyone in sweat.
Maybe that was a part she enjoyed though, the sweat. Thinking about Javier, how sweaty and nice he looked coming home from work, especially after he had been hunting someone. The front of his shirt darkened by it, beads forming on his tan skin, his dark hair sticking to his forehead.
He looked more than hot like this, and he smelled amazing, too.
Tracing her tongue over his exposed neck, straddling his waist where he laid on the bed, tasting the saltiness of him, humming at it.
“You taste so fucking good, Javi baby.” She moaned, working the buttons of his pink shirt open, drenched in his sweat. “Can chase the bad guys more often.”
He chuckled, his thick fingers moving to unbuckle her belt, then popping open the button of her jeans.
“I’m happy you’re getting something out of this, bebesita.” His fingers dipped below the hem of her shirt, feeling her hot skin, the movement of her stomach as she breathed, excited to have him. “My back fucking hurts.”
Her eager tongue dipped lower, over his bare chest, teasing his nipples briefly with a small giggle. She couldn’t get enough of him like this.
“That’s why you’re on your back today, baby.”
Dripping wet just from this, her clit throbbing in excitement as she undressed him, tugging his pants down his legs, his underwear following quickly.
Javier helped her out of her pants, throwing them to the side as his calloused hands roamed over her beautiful thighs, her pussy hovering over where he needed her most. Already aching for her, groaning when her tongue went back to lapping up his sweat, her body lowering down, rubbing over the length of his cock as if to tease him.
She looked fucking beautiful like this, just as sweaty as he was, skin flushed red.
“C’mon, bebesita, know you wanna ride it.” His voice was gravelly, trying to sound composed while he watched the head of his cock appear and disappear between her wet folds as she rocked back and forth. “Stop teasing me.”
She smirked, raising her hips and reaching between them to grab his thick cock, guiding him to her aching hole. Slowly she sank down onto him, letting him fill her until he was buried inside of her entirely.
Leaning forward to kiss him, tongue licking into his mouth as she began to move on top of him, her hands gliding over his sweaty chest. She couldn’t go long before her mouth attached to his neck again, though, the salty taste only helping in building that pressure inside her abdomen, getting her closer.
“Love you all sweaty.” She moaned, moving her hips faster, his hands helping her. “So fucking hot like this, Javi.”
He lost himself in her quickly, grunting and groaning as he bounced on him, feeling sweatier by the second.
“My dirty girl.” Javier rasped, raising his hands briefly just to give her ass a soft smack, feeling her tighten around him, her hips erratic as she came suddenly.
Teeth sinking into his skin with a high-pitched moan, feeling him spill inside of her shortly after, unable to resist her tight pussy any longer.
She collapsed against him, a breathy laugh leaving her, loving the feel of his skin against hers.
“I’d say we should shower but…” Looking up at him, she brushed some hair from his forehead, licking her fingers after while he watched. “...you’re too delicious like this.”
In a way, she really did like the Colombian heat. As long as it let her enjoy Javier like this.
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Sundress
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader
Rating: 18+ (Fluff, slight smut, no angst for once, slutshaming but not how you think)
She laughed freely at something his cousin said, all her nervousness from their journey to Texas leaving her little by little when his family embraced her as one of their own within minutes of meeting her. Oh and the alcohol helped too. He took her hand and played with her fingers as he sipped on his beer, smiling as he felt himself relax in the presence of the people who knew him the best.
It was unbelievable really, being back in Laredo not as the former sheriff who ran out on his bride but as a federal agent with a beautiful woman on his arm wearing his ring. She was here in a pretty sundress, sitting on the sofa in his home, laughing with his cousins as they shared embarrassing stories about him. Pops loved her, just as he expected and he just knew that if Ma was alive, she would love her too.
It could’ve just been his beer-addled mind, but he was so happy with her right there, right then that he would quit his job and just keep her right there in Laredo. He never liked the damn place, always wanted to break free and run off to explore the big bad world. But he also saw the appeal of a small town as he stared into the old picture of his parents on their wedding day. He wanted love like that. And he had it. He wanted to take care of the ranch with her, work where he lived so that he could slip into the house whenever he wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to wake up in the morning without worrying about going elsewhere for work and just bury himself in her warmth, make sweet love to her, have the big family he’s always secretly wanted.
“Why can’t I have a baby brother?” He recalled asking his parents, wishing to have a playmate at home. They’d tried. For many many years, they’d tried. But he didn’t know that. “It’s because you’re a naughty boy and I don’t have time for more naughty ones.” Ma said, pinching his cheeks before getting back to work with the newborn foal.
All his cousins had siblings and though he was close enough to them to not long for more kids his age to play with, he was jealous of them and angry at his parents. So he told himself all those years ago that when he was old enough, he would give his son a lot of little siblings to play with. It was stupid and childish really, but the sentiment hadn’t worn off over the years. He would like a big family someday. When they were away from all the dangers his job brought them.
Family and friends flitted out one by one, making Javier grateful that he didn’t have to kick them out to take his fiancé to bed. He loved his family and all but he had been around her for hours without being able to touch her inappropriately and that was getting to him. Kicking his family out to fuck his girl wouldn’t have been nice. And it wouldn’t have done well for his ‘Javi who left his fiancé at the altar’ reputation.
“I really like them,” she giggled as she cuddled into him on the sofa. He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled back to find her smiling wide. He smiled back, unable to resist the infectious effects of her smile.
“Good. And they like you too. Especially pops.”
“Wooo!” She pumped her fist in the air, making him laugh. “‘S nice to have my future father-in-law’s approval.”
“Yeah well, let’s not rub it in my face,” he grumbled, recalling how unimpressed her father was with him. But he couldn’t fault the man. If his daughter came home with a guy who got shot at everyday for a living, he would be more than just unimpressed.
“Aww, Pobrecito,” she cooed before pressing wet kisses to his cheek. “He’ll come around. He’s just annoyed that you would be such a slut and have sex with his daughter under his roof before marrying her.”
“And whose fault is that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d teased him all day, fucking grabbed him beneath the dinner table while carrying on conversation about work with her family.
“Whose fault?” She asked, making her eyes all soft and sweet just like the night she sneaked into the guest bedroom of her family home and begged him to fuck her. How was a man supposed to resist those sweet eyes and their filthy requests that contradicted their innocent act?
“Yours.”
“Mhmm?”
“Mhmm.”
“Okay then,” she said, smiling sweetly. Nothing good came out of that innocent act. “I’ll be a good girl tonight. I’ll take my bag to the guest bedroom. Sleep there for our entire week here.”
He rolled his eyes at her and snatched her bottle of beer before emptying the contents in one gulp. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy.
“Rude!”
“Better rude than cruel, you absolute demon of a woman.”
“Cruel!? How dare you! I’ve been on my best behavior all day. I made your family fall in love with me faster than you made my family tolerate you. Miguel loves me so much that he would marry me if you didn’t. Linda invited me on a shopping trip and José didn’t move from me for hours.”
“José is two,” he said, laughing. Babies loved everyone, right? They were just innocent little creatures who loved everything. Or that was just what he told himself when his base instincts told him to take her to his room and put a baby in her immediately.
It wasn’t his fault. It was the goddamn sundress making her look all sweet and homely and just like something he’d want to put a baby in. He was going insane. Just the sight of her fitting in so well with his family and cradling his cousin’s kid while wearing a ring that declared her his was enough for him to stop thinking practically about all the things they needed to get out of the way before having kids.
“So? He loves me. I’m just so dang lovable,” she said, poking his chest with her index finger. “Not my fault that I’m perfect and you’re a big grump my father doesn’t care for.”
“He doesn’t hate me for being a grump. He hates me because he heard his innocent little girl screaming my name at night.”
“Asshole!” She gasped and shoved him away from her, but he returned right back and kissed her on the lips. Before she could call him more names, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, laughing as he felt her grab his ass immediately. Becoming boring was one of the reasons he didn’t want to get married, but with a girl like her who wanted him so openly, there wouldn’t be a boring day in his life.
“You make me fuck you in your family home, I get to have you fuck me in my childhood bedroom,” he said, carrying her to his room.
“Around all the posters of half naked women?”
“You offended, baby?” He asked, slapping her ass. He wasn’t the half naked women plastered all over his walls kind of guy anymore. But it made him feel giddy to think she might be…jealous?
“Nope! Just regretting taking down my John Wayne and Sydney Poitier posters. I had a John Wayne poster where he’s on a horse, wearing a cowboy ha—” she gasped as he dropped her on his bed.
“He was just a fake cowboy, baby. I’m the real deal. Got a ranch and all. I’ll put on the clothes if you want me to. Get on a horse, wear the damn hat. You want that?” He asked, hovering over her as she unbuttoned his shirt.
“I don’t know, Javi…” she tutted, twirling his hair around her finger. “You might look like a clown in it since you gave up the cowboy life to be a slut in Colombia.”
“I gave up the cowboy life to chase Escobar,” he corrected, giving her a pointed look.
“Yeah, but you spend more time being a slut than chasing Escobar.”
He pinched her ass, making her shriek and slap her hand over her mouth. “Javi! Don’t make me scream. I don’t want your dad to think badly of me!”
“Oh that’s one thing I can’t do, baby. Making you scream and making you cream comes naturally to me,” he said, making her gasp in horror. She had no reason to react so dramatically seeing that he’d definitely given her worse lines in the past. But it was fucking cute.
“Slut,” she chided, pushing him away but then pulling him down to her immediately. She gave him a peck on the lips before blessing the rest of his face with her kisses. It had him smiling like a kid, laughing like he used to when he was a permanent resident of this room.
“How many girls you fuck on this bed before me, Peña?” She asked as he shrugged his shirt off and got to work on her sundress. She looked pretty as hell in it, the white cotton with lemons printed on it giving her the look of the chaste woman she was not. But she looked the part in front of his family, hair down and neatly combed, pink on her cheeks and lips, and a pretty dress that made her look the part of a fiancée any group of Tias would approve of.
“You’re the first. The only one,” he said, pushing the elastic off her shoulders and kissing the swell of her breasts. He breathed in her distinct scent mixed with her sweat and took her breast into his mouth. She tasted salty from sweating, but he was not one to be disgusted by that. He came home to her sweaty and disgusting every damn night and she took him anyway. He buried his face between her breasts and took in her scent, groaning as his cock twitched in response.
Images of her with her knees bent by her head, still wearing the damn sundress as he drilled into her cunt filled his brain.
“Riiight. Totally believe that,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“You don’t trust me? You’re the only girl— woman, on this bed.”
“I don’t believe you. I know for a fact that you were a slut in high school.”
“Oh I was,” he agreed, hand diving beneath her skirt. “But I never brought girls back here. I sneaked into their bedrooms and sneaked out when we were done.”
“Of course you did,” she laughed, fucking herself on his fingers. It was sweet, having her in his family home, learning more about him and being delighted in what she found.
“It’d been a fantasy for a while actually, to bring a girl home, sleep with her on my bed. I just hated having to pull my pants up and run out before my girlfriend’s parents caught us and shot me.”
“You absolute menace!” She scolded and shook her head. He wondered if she would’ve given him her time of day had they gone to school together. He was quite the lanky kid with none of the muscles of his current body that she loved so much. He didn’t have much game either, not enough to impress her at least. She was a big city girl and all he knew at fifteen was Laredo and its oppressive walls. The Agent Javier Peña of now had slipped a diamond ring on her finger, but Javi from Laredo would’ve made a fool out of himself trying to get her to just talk to him.
Or not.
Maybe she would’ve liked him back. Maybe stupid boys with the worst pickup lines and too much confidence were her teenage self’s type.
“Would’ve sneaked into your room too,” he teased, bunching her skirt up at her waist before sucking her clit between his lips.
“Javi!” She squealed and not from pleasure. He apologized for hurting her with his desperation and placed a gentle kiss on the nub.
“My dad would’ve killed you for sure,” she said, running her hand over his arm. He flexed his muscles for her benefit and she took his offer, lavishing his arm with attention before moving a hand down his back as far as she could reach.
“Worth it for this pussy.”
He spent the night with his head between her legs, making her cry his name into her hand and then his pillow. In his head, he gave Javi from two decades ago a pat on the back. He’d gotten out of Laredo like he always wished, no matter the circumstance. He landed a pretty girl who wanted to fuck just as much as he did. He had love like his parents. He’d have a wedding he wouldn’t walk out on and someday maybe the grandchild his dad mentioned in passing.
Life was good.
.
.
.
Series Masterlist
#pedro pascal#narcos fic#narcos fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfic#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier pena narcos#javier pena smut#javier peña x you#javier peña fic#javier peña fluff#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña drabble#javier peña x ofc#javier peña x y/n#javier pena imagine#javier pena fic#javier pena x reader#javi peña#all that i've inflicted on the world
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all in (javier peña x fem! reader)♡
please minors don’t interact!! +18 content<3
my head is spinning, ‘cause get this.
i’m obsessed with the idea of javier fucking you so senseless that you’d be unable to say his fucking name. like i swear to god, this man would have the most disgusting filthy dirty talking in bed and i’m eating it all up.
“fuck, baby. so goddamn good for me… so wet and perfect. taking it so good, honey.” he’d be grunting in your ear, his lips on your neck, teeth leaving marks on your skin and his fingertips branding new bruises on your hips due to his harsh grip. “gonna cum, baby. where do you want it?” you would be quickly to answer needing him to fill you up to the brim, to fuck his cum into you.
“inside, please, inside…” you’d babble out, your moans being cut by each of his harsh thrusts.
“yeah? you want me to cum inside, mama? breed you? fuck a baby in this tight cunt?” you’d be seeing stars, ‘cause just the mere idea of it had you clenching down harder on his dick. “yeah, you’d love that. would love to have you here tied up and with your legs open for me when i get home every goddamn night, to fuck this pretty pussy of yours and use you, wouldn’t you?” you’d nod, your stomach growing in knots. god you were so close…
“javi.” you’d whine, and his thumb would be on your clit, making your nails dig on his back and him groan.
“i know baby, i know. why don’t you come for me, hm? be a good girl and maybe i’ll give it to you, i’ll fuck it into you so good and deep you’d be dripping for a week.” your moans would only get louder, your thighs trembling and your back arching. you’d cry out when your orgasm hit you, making your whole world go blank, the pleasure so big you’d feel like dying. “atta girl. milking me fucking dry.” he groaned as his thrusts started to falter, fucking you through your orgasm and making your eyes roll to the back of your head when his cock brushed your cervix in a deep and harsh thrust as he came inside of you, his warm and ragged breath along with his panting hitting your neck.
he’d hold you tight, close, no drop of his cum leaving your cunt. and he’d keep it there the whole night, his cock softly snuggled up your cunt to fuck you full of him again first thing in the morning.
♡
pedro pascal masterlist! <3
xx
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