#Javier Peña x OFC

[mybworlds]

Chapter 5

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… hey there, how you doing? I need some time to write about this chapter, it was pretty hard for me. If you want to let me know what you think about the story or chapter, I'd appreciate. If you don't like, 'm sorry guys.

I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. 🔎

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624 if you want to be added let me know.

Thanks @saradika for the divider.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

You are very nervous, you feel a strange sensation of fear mixed with anxiety invade you and run through your body. You have never done anything like this, pretending to be someone you are not. Or rather, when you did it you weren't completely alone. You knew there was someone nearby, Peña will surely be around, but he won't be able to intervene, he won't be able to do anything. So, you will be alone.

You look at yourself in the mirror and feel the heat invade your cheeks and run down your body, you fix your hair as best you can, you try to add a little more eye shadow and you adjust the black top and red skirt you're wearing. Your shoulders feel stiff with tension, your neck is straight, stiff with concern, you're very nervous and anyone can tell. At this moment you look like anything but an escort.

Peña looks at you with a worried expression, his big dark eyes scrutinizing you carefully as if he wanted to read inside you and almost want to make his own the fear that is devouring every little part of you. The man sits at the foot of the bed bent over with his elbows planted on his thighs and does nothing but watch your every move. In other circumstances you’d have thrown a piece of clothing at him or said something to make him stop looking at you that way, but not now.

You open and close your lips several times and take deep breaths in a still futile attempt to relax. You've even dusted off some relaxation exercises, but it's all useless at the moment.

“I think, it's fine,” you say, your voice barely a whisper and filled with an ever-increasing nervousness. You clench your hands convulsively, swallowing and keeping your head down, “I should be believable,” you add, looking back at yourself in the mirror, noticing how your expression shows anything but sensuality.

“Hey, hey, hey” Javier says to you as he gets up from the bed and reaches you, you look at him through the reflection in the mirror “I'll try to get in too, maybe I can..." you lower your gaze, breathing in and out deeply “look at me.” he asks you “Please, look at me.” You look up and then turn to the man who is looking at you with barely concealed concern. “You're beautiful.” he tells you placing an index finger under your chin so that your eyes meet, reflecting each other's fear “be careful, please. If something happens to you...” the words get stuck in his throat, you watch his Adam's apple go up and down while he lays his eyes on you.

“Javi...” you say, but the truth is that you don't even know what to say. Your thoughts and emotions are like one in contrast with the other, one detached from the other. In the last few hours your relationship seems to have changed, even if you don't even know how or when this change actually happened. The fact is that you can't think of Javier Peña as a thorn in your side, as that hateful colleague with whom you started this mission.

He smiles at you, it's a sweet smile that curves his lips upwards and involves - even if only minimally - his beautiful hazel eyes. He caresses your chin with his fingertip in a gesture of unusual sweetness that smacks of a strange and new complicity that has quickly been created between you, almost as if deep down it had always been there, hidden, but perhaps already hovering among you.

“You’re gonna be fine.” he tries to calm you down without taking his eyes off yours and, if you weren't so worried about what you have to do, maybe you’d have even felt captivated by his sweet and irresistible gaze, maybe you’d have even allowed yourself to give in to some of his possible comments, but not now.

“¡Juro por Dios que si te hacen algo…!” (“I swear to God, if they do anything to you...!”) his tone of voice is a low whisper, almost a promise to you — or perhaps to himself! — that whatever happens, he will step in and come for you.

You don't even know why, but you almost feel for a second that the anxiety and fear towards El Diablo is waning to be replaced by something you don't even know how to define at the moment. Perhaps it’s the solid and reassuring presence of your colleague, his measured but vibrant tone of voice, his eyes so sweet at this moment, that small touch that almost makes you feel anchored to someone you've always openly said you didn't like, but whose absence now seems unacceptable.

The fear of not making it’s becoming so unbearable that you are forced to close your eyes and give in to this vulnerability that you have always kept to yourself and that especially up until today you had kept it hidden from Javier himself.

“Now listen, tesoro, if it’s too much for you. Okay. I’m not kidding you, I swear. Let’s talk to Diáz and let it go.” his tone of voice seems so sincere and understanding that you almost wonder what happened to the man who used to call you frigid and bitch.

Tesoro, he had never used that nickname. At least not with you. And if you hadn't been focused on something else, you’d have even felt flattered to hear that.

Even though you feel awkward about this undercover mission, you don't want all of this to have been for nothing, “No, I can do this,” you say, nodding and trying to smile, but it’s a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

He caresses your chin in a sweet gesture that makes your heart flutter, you find yourself swallowing without being able to take your eyes off his, but without being able to do anything but look at his well-defined face, his beautiful eyes, his angular nose, his well-defined mustache, his plushy pink lips. He's beautiful and it feels like you're only really looking at him now.

Suddenly you wonder when the boundaries between you broke down, bringing you to this unknown degree of intimacy, this silent feeling of well-being between you, almost as if you liked each other from the beginning. When did it begin? When did he save you from the waves of the sea? When did you walk close together on a deserted beach? When did you share a bed? When?

“I better go,” you say as if you want to put a safe distance between you and him again rather than out of any real sense of duty in carrying out this mission.

He nods, slowly moving his fingers away from your chin, but never leaving your eyes. These eyes that used to just irritate you, now seem like the only place you never want to leave.

“What do I look like?” you ask him, still looking at him with a little panic in your eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, stroking your hair in a gesture of unusual intimacy and sweetness. He runs his gaze along your body and you feel like an unknown adrenaline runs through your body. Yet you’ve had his gaze on you on more than one occasion, but you've never felt this way before.

“Maybe, it’s better to take this one off.” he tells you, focusing on a detail, and that’s when you remember that you didn’t take off the wedding ring. That ring that in a certain sense doesn’t bother you like it used to. Even though you know it's a fake wedding ring.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Yeah.” you say, slipping it off your ring finger and going to put it on the nightstand, but Javier surprises you again, making you hesitate even more if that's possible. He opens the palm of his hand as if he wanted to hold that symbol of your mission and of that strange relationship that is being established between you.

“Thank you.” you say simply inhaling and exhaling deeply.

“Oh, wait. Put this on.” he says, passing you a microphone that looks like a simple button. You look at him as if to ask if it's dangerous, but he reassures you by saying “It won’t ring under metal detectors or cause any strange interference, with this on, I’ll hear you.” he says looking you in the eyes with great intensity “I mean, me and the other agents. We’ll intervene.”

You nod, before tucking it into a small pocket in your skirt. You nod as if to say goodbye, the air is becoming decidedly strange, beautiful, but strange.

“You better go now,” he tells you. The words should be a push to finally get the operation underway, but his tone of voice is anything but a push to get you out of your room.

If the moment hadn't been so dangerous and dramatic, you’d have even allowed yourself to concentrate on those small, great, sweet gestures of his towards you, you’d have noticed even more the worried and dramatic expression in his eyes, his tense features, but now you have to come back to yourself.

You simply nod at his statement and then walk out of the room. You don't know what awaits you, you're scared. Every step feels difficult, every breath feels like it's stuck in your throat, and a deep sense of nausea begins to grip the pit of your stomach.

You've practically arrived at the place which is now very crowded, there are young people, adults of all ages and you make your way with difficulty. The rhythmic music hammers your ears almost mirroring the dull beat of your heart gone mad with fear of having put yourself in a situation much bigger than you.

You force yourself not to give in completely because you know that giving in to your fear wouldn't do anyone any good. You started it all and you will finish it. Now it's all in your hands and your decisions.

You walk over to the bar and grab a beer in an attempt to loosen up a bit and appear less stiff than you feel. The sensation of modest acidity and of bitterness invade your mouth and your taste buds.

It's good. You sip it, squinting as the glass begins to finish. Your arms are less stiff than before, they almost feel soft. Your legs are light, almost as if they didn't even touch the ground. You feel like you're made of jelly.

Someone approaches you, when you turn to the one who touched your back, you realize that it’s one of El Diablo's henchmen. You can do nothing but follow the man.

The man moves aside a large dark cloth, making room for you too, who follow him a couple of steps behind. You continue along a corridor lit by green and blue neon lights, go down a long staircase that almost seems to want to swallow you.

The music that used to pierce your ears is now a distant echo that barely echoes down there. For a split second there’s a dull eerie silence, then more music reaches your ears. It's less loud than before, but still loud. Your heart is pounding in your chest and you can't help but wonder what's next.

You are so scared. Even if you don't say it out loud, Javier can see it and feel it. Your eyes are so expressive that they’re enough to let him know what you are feeling right now.

He never thought he’d care so much about you, so much that he’d feel a sensation similar to the horror of losing an important part of himself.

You're fighting fear and he notices, but you're also fighting to avoid being pushed by Javier to give up and have someone else take your place. You don't want to. Javier in a fit of fear for you and great concern, hands you a small microphone so he can hear you, he will come for you. He will certainly warn the others right away, but above all he will go after you. It doesn't matter that it’s a dangerous mission to himself, he's afraid for you. You don't know what you're getting into. He remembers very well what happened to one of his informants, he doesn't want history to repeat itself.

He doesn't know what to do, or rather he knows he can't follow you right away or it would ruin everything and that's exactly what he doesn't want. He knows you wouldn't forgive him, even if it was to save your life.

He immediately contacts Diáz who immediately alerts the CIA department. He hopes with all his heart that you are okay and that your cover holds until they intervene. Peña is impatient as the agents decide how to intervene, studying the access points to the place where El Diablo and you are.

He has an ever-increasing anxiety for you, he doesn't know what you're doing, if you're okay, if that demon is touching you or forcing you to do something against your will. He couldn't stand knowing that that man is touching you with his filthy hands, that he might be kissing you or worse, that he’s forcing you to take drugs just to submit you and bend to his will.

He hears you through the microphone he gave you, you're speaking in a tone that may seem calm, but which he has now learned to recognize as just a facade. You're doing well, but he can't be calm. Just one movement, a look or a word and everything goes haywire.

He paces back and forth, hearing the plans in the meantime to surround the building. It takes time, but you don't have hours. Time is running out.

When he’s thinking of acting alone, the go-ahead comes and he’s there in the front line running.

He doesn't know what you’re doing, if you are well, if you are sick. If you are fighting for your life or if you are simply sitting next to that little man. The truth is, he's terrified. He's terrified that you're there with him and he's not.

He can't hear you anymore, he only hears a rustling sound.

He's been on a lot of operations, he's come face to face with a lot of criminals, sending someone else - someone he cares about - on a mission is different. His biggest worry is arriving too late. He’d never forgive himself.

He’s on the front lines, they move fast with guns drawn. They are all ready for anything. They quickly enter the club full of people, the music is at full blast. They scatter among the dancers, Javier - already knowing where you entered, remembering where he saw you enter the night before - heads towards the dark curtain that hides the entrance to what he imagines is a private room.

He moves the curtain and immediately the same man he had seen the night before appears in front of him. Javier instinctively points the gun at his chest pushing him against a wall to his left and the other man, taken by surprise, raises his hands in sign of surrender.

“Where’s she?” The henchman's lips curl upwards and Javier's stomach tightens painfully causing him to suddenly feel nauseous, “Where.is.she?” he hisses, pressing the gun against him removing the trigger.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” he says chuckling and looking at him mockingly.

“No me mientas, hijo de puta. (Don't bullshit me, you son of bitch.)”

“I knew she was an undercover whore, your slut friend.” Javier is about to lunge at him, but another colleague holds him back just in time before taking the henchman into custody.

Javier is feeling like throwing up, your cover is blown and anything could have happened to you.

“Fuck.” He sighs before taking a deep breath and using a flashlight to light his way down a dark staircase barely lit by green and blue neon lights.

Down there, music echoes, the officers see many rooms in which there are men of all sorts, the drugs still in strips on the tables ready to be inhaled, some of those men have probably escorts on their lap.

“Hands up,” CIA agents shout as they encounter people they know and don’t know.

Javier continues, where are you? Where? Please, where are you?

A sudden blow to his heart comes when he remembers Helena, what she suffered in order to be free. His stomach hurts so much from the tension he feels.

Then a sinking feeling when he finds the microphone he had given you on the ground completely destroyed. Javier increases his pace and the fear of not finding you or finding you in a different state than he left you in, causes him a sharp pain almost as if he were receiving a stab in the stomach and heart.

Please, please, please, make sure you're okay, please!

He opens a lot of doors, moves the drapes used for storage, when the anxiety is taking over, he sees an emergency exit wide open, he runs out and that's when he sees a black SUV in which someone is dragging you away, while you thrash and kick to break free from his grip.

Javi runs as fast as he can, screaming for you to let go, and that's when the person dragging you away turns around and points the gun at him. Javier barely has time to hide behind a car when a projectile explodes and fortunately only hits the asphalt.

“It’s over! Let her go!” he shouts again, moving slightly to the side and making to look towards the two of you.

El Diablo holds you tightly by the neck, alternating between pointing the gun between your temple and Javier.

“I’ll kill her,” he hisses, and when Javier hears the trigger being pulled, he steps out into the open and points the gun at the man.

“It’s over.” he repeats, advancing cautiously towards you “Let her go.”

El Diablo points the gun at Javier and when he’s about to shoot, another shot is heard, paralyzing both you and Peña. The air seems to have become frozen and crystallized because neither you nor he know whether the shot fired hit one or the other.

What you do know is that each kept their eyes on the other, terrified that the other might have been hit and injured, or worse. Then, you realize that the shot was fired in the air by another agent who came up behind your almost-kidnapper.

What happens next is very confusing, you just know that Peña comes closer to you hugging you tightly to him enveloping you completely in his arms and that he feels you trembling as you abandon yourself against him.

His embrace is so strong that it almost seems like he wants to make you part of him. Peña narrows his eyes, almost relaxing against you. You're safe.

“Estás aquí, cariño. Usted está aquí. Estás a salvo, cariño.” (You're here, baby. You're here. You're safe, baby.) His words flow from his heart with such naturalness and passion that your eyes fill with tears.

He feels you relax against him and then wrap your arms around his neck, “Javi,” you murmur with such tenderness that he almost feels his heart explode with the strong emotion, “please, take me away.” you whisper this plea in his ear resting your head against his shoulder.

“I’m holding you, I’m not leaving you,” he says, putting an arm around your waist and holding you close.

In other circumstances perhaps you’d have rejected him with revulsion condemning that gesture as something excessive, but not now, thinks Javier as he takes you away from there seeing lines of cars loading people from that monster's circle. Javier in other circumstances would have thrown some of them in himself, but now you are the priority. His priority.

When you get back to your room, the only thing you can do is rush to the bathroom and lock yourself in. You look in the mirror and see how this undercover mission has reduced you: your makeup is completely smudged, the top you were hiding the microphone in is half open, your skirt is torn in one corner. You rush to the sink and wash yourself frantically as if you wanted to erase everything that was the undercover mission. You open the sink and put your hands in the basin, the water completely wets your hands and you can't move a muscle, you're like paralyzed.

It’s you who insisted on having an active role in this mission, it’s you who proposed yourself and now look at where this obstinacy of yours has led you and how it has reduced you.

You felt like a piece of flesh without a will, as if you were not even a person, but an object in the hands of a madman. All of this makes you feel suddenly useless, as if you don't even have the right to feel everything you're feeling right now.

“If you need me, I’m out here.” You hear Javier’s voice far away, as if he wasn’t even really outside the door.

Your head is spinning and your stomach is in knots. You go back to staring at your reflection in the mirror, as if you couldn’t reconcile how you feel and what you see.

You feel broken, violated, and shattered. Your throat burns as if something has burned and scraped your throat.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

You place a hand on your throat, rivulets of water running down your neck ending up in the crease between your breasts. Your eyes fill with tears at the mere memory and as if in an attempt to escape that memory, you run out of the bathroom and open the door.

Javier is right behind the door and so as you leave you throw yourself, albeit involuntarily, against his chest. His arms immediately close around you and then places a hand behind your neck.

“You're safe now." He whispers softly in your ear, almost cradling you in his arms.

“Javi…” You moan as you let go and burst into tears, clutching his shirt tightly in your fist. You rub your face against his shirt, completely forgetting about your already smudged makeup.

“I am here, pequeño,” he whispers softly, as you sob, holding onto him even tighter. He gently caresses your wet cheek and places a kiss on your head, “Why don’t you change? You’ll take off these clothes, take a hot shower and then lie down for a bit.” he offers you without malice in his voice and you appreciate his attention towards you so much.

“Thanks, but I can't.” You say, squeezing your eyes shut and feeling more tears flying and wetting the cuff of his shirt.

Javi strokes your jawline, then places his thumb where there was a tear, wiping it away. He repeats the same gesture over and over again until you calm down and you can finally look him in the eye.

He doesn't say anything and you don't say anything. You stare at each other as if you're trying to talk with just your eyes. His eyes in this light seem to be almost black and it's as if they want to swallow you, you find yourself swallowing hard but unable to stop staring into his eyes and occasionally looking at his lips that seem so soft.

“Shall we sit down? It’s been a tough night for both of us.” You sniff, then nod and look down.

You and Javier sit on the bed. You are sitting on the tip as if you are going to run away at any moment, “Baby,” he calls making you look up at him again “now, you'll be fine." He caresses your cheek so gently that you almost dive into his arms again. It's not that bad to be close to him, even though you've always felt disgusted by the mere idea of being intimate with him.

“Javi,” you barely murmur his name “I was stupid for thinking I could do this. I’m stupid. Maybe I should turn in my badge, maybe…” you start babbling nonsensically.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop! Don't even say that.” he says, taking your face in his hands and caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re shocked and that’s normal. It’ll get better in the next few days.” His lips curve slightly upwards “I’ll be by your side.” He tells you “If you want.” He quickly adds. “But in any case, never think that you are stupid, understand? You are not at all. You are one of the best agents I’ve ever met. Confident, determined and stubborn.” he says again smiling at you and making you smile weakly “We make a great team, you and me.”

You feel so vulnerable right now that his words almost feel like a punch in the stomach and don't make you feel better, they just make your eyes fill with tears. You were really afraid that they’d rape and kill you down there.

Javier lets his gaze wander along your body, but he does it neither with lust nor with mockery, he has a strange light in his eyes almost as if he felt pain for you and with you.

Silence falls between you, but it's a silence that feels like a hug and a sweet caress, it's not unpleasant despite the situation.

“Why don’t you go wear something more comfortable?” he suggests, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

You nod, looking at the man next to you with a look full of gratitude, you would never have expected such care from him. You've always seen him as a tombeur de femme, as someone who will do anything to get what he wants. Tonight he could have been the protagonist of yet another arrest and slammed into another crime and instead he chose to be with you and not leave you alone in a moment like this.

“Thank you.” you say in a trembling breath.

“Don’t even say that,” he says, smiling at you. “Do you want a pair of sweatpants? I’ll get them for you,” he offers kindly, and your heart fills with a strange, great tenderness towards him.

“No, thanks. I do it myself.” you say, slowly standing up and approaching the closet where you keep your suitcase. You choose a pair of sweatpants and a short-sleeved t-shirt, “I'm going.” you say, pointing to the bathroom door, he simply nods.

As you close the door, you see him take off his jacket and remove the belt in which he has the gun. Only when you get back into the bathroom do you realize that you forgot the faucet on and that the water is still running. You turn it off. You take a deep breath and change.

When you come out of the bathroom, you find Javier lying down. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and long pants. He looks up at you, at your face. You notice how tired his face is, he's right, it's been a long and difficult evening for both of you.

“Light on or off?” he asks as soon as you lie down next to him.

“Javi, would you hug me?” you ask, turning your torso towards him.

He smiles sweetly at you and it's the first time that you reciprocate with tenderness too, he doesn't answer, but hugs you directly leaving the light on, while you close your eyes and you abandon yourself to that sweet, warm embrace.

It's not bad at all. His sweet and strong embrace manages to take away — even if only in part — all the fear accumulated in the last few hours, now all you need is to relax and try to surrender to that sweetness. Peña envelops you completely, his warm breath tickles your hair and neck and you find yourself smiling thinking about how much you tried to push him away and how much he himself tried to push you away and yet now you're here huddled together thinking that you're not so bad after all.

[lokischocolatefountain]

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.”

.

.

.

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Forever and Always Masterlist

Summary: Javier Peña never thought he'd fall in love, let alone deserve to. That was, until you walked into his life and changed it for the better. Now, with a wife, a house, and 3 daughters later, Javier Peña is the happiest man alive, and couldn't be more glad he's proven his past self wrong.

This series is written as slices of life following Javi and the Peña family! It can be read on its own, or as a continuation of the series It's Never Too Late!

Pairing: Dad!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (Reader's nickname is Osita), no use of y/n

General Warnings: Each story will have their own additional warnings, and any chapters with smut will be marked with*

SMUT (18+), Javi being domestic and in love, family dynamics, language, romantic comedy, tooth rotting, sickening fluff, you and Javi having the sweetest, most adorable family 🥹💕

Status: Ongoing!

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this story! (If you're already on the taglist for NTL, I'll automatically tag you in these stories too!)

Trying: You and Javi are trying for your first baby. The two of you can't help but be excited for future baby Peña, even they don't exist yet

Bonding: Summary: You and Javi just brought your daughter Lucy home from the hospital. While the two of you couldn't be more in love and excited at the addition of your newest family member, it doesn't mean that you both aren't feeling some of the nerves of being first time parents

Kicking: The past few weeks of your pregnancy, Baby Peña number 2 has been kicking you non-stop. Javi tries his best to help you relax and give you some relief. *

Dirty Laundry: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.*

Tired: You had spent weeks looking forward to your date night with Javi, but once the day actually arrives, it seems like everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. Lucky for you, Javi knows just how to make your day better. *

Promises: When you wake up to find your house quiet, your first reaction is panic. But after you find Javi and learn what he has planned for you this morning, your mood becomes a whole lot better.*

Amor: After a bad day at work, coming home to his family makes Javi realize his day wasn't so bad after all

Lunch: Javi's rough start to the work week is turned around when he finds a surprise from his daughters in his lunch

Fight: When you get a phone call from your elementary school that your girls got into a fight, Javi leaves work to figure out what happened

Reindeer: It's Christmas Eve, and you and Javi spent the night preparing for your girls to have the most magical Christmas morning*

Haircut: Javi thinks that he's way past due for a haircut. You like his hair long for reasons other than his good looks.*

Uh-Oh: Javi's Girl Dad skills get put to the ultimate test when your oldest daughter gets her period and you're not home to help her

Growing: After a concerning phone call from his daughter's Principal, Javi goes to find out the true reason why she's really there in the first place.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

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?"

[whatsnewalycat]

I Know

(Second Part to Bunny)

Summary: It didn't take you long to figure out that your new co-worker, Javier Peña, is a former client from your days working a phone sex line. But does he know who you are?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 5.3k+

Content / Warnings: professor javi, former phone sex operator reader, professor reader, co-workers, seduction, yearning, dirty talk, smut, smoking, swearing, drinking

Notes: Hi, pals. LOOK I TOLD YOU I WOULD DO A SECOND PART TO THIS!!! True to my word, baby. Hope you like it.

There’s such camaraderie in a cigarette. 

At the social hour after New Faculty Orientation, smokers gather on the sidewalk outside the University of Texas San Antonio’s John Peace Library. Liquor-fueled mouths babble on, letting off thick plumes of exhaust into the cloudless sky. Blue ribbons of smoke dance off the ashy orange tips of cigarettes between puffs. 

All these academics broken off from the crowded meeting hall into bite-sized chunks, generally determined by field of study, familiarizing themselves with the colleagues they’ll come to rely on. Within this horde, you ask yourself: Who will have a lighter when I can’t find mine? Who will commiserate with me over a smoke when I have my first work-related breakdown? Facilitate those necessary micro-therapy sessions that get me through the hardest days? 

Dr. Natalie King, whose poison of choice is menthol flavored, chatters on about her excitement to be working at her alma mater—a proud Roadrunner, through and through, eventually asking, “Where did you work before this?” 

“This is my first job out of my doctoral program.” 

It’s mostly the truth. You take a drag off your cigarette, then blow a chimney stack out the corner of your mouth. 

“Oh, straight into academia, huh?” she smirks, and when you grin, she comments, “Brave girl. Well, if you ever have any questions about the clinical side of things, feel free to reach out to me. Lord knows us gals have to stick together in such a male-driven field.”

A flash of light catches your eye, the glare of sun off the library door opening. An attractive, dark-haired, mustachioed man steps out into the bright, buzzing Texas sun. He slides on a pair of yellow-tinted aviators and pats his shirt pockets, fishing out a little white and red box. He plucks a cigarette from the pack and meanders up to your two-person sample study in women’s psychology, asking Natalie, “Got a light?” 

She nods and starts digging through the purse hanging off her shoulder while the man shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the cigarette between his plush lips. He takes a cursory glance around at the other smokers as Natalie curses under her breath.  

“I got it,” you pull a lighter from the pocket of your slacks and hand it to him. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs around the filter and lights the tip, inhaling until it’s a glowing ember, then gives it back to you. 

“Dr. Natalie King,” your companion introduces herself, sticking her hand out to him. 

He gives it a firm shake and says, “Javier Peña,” then turns to you and holds out his hand. 

You take it and tell him your name through an exhale of thick smoke, meeting his dark eyes through the sunglasses. He holds your gaze for a moment, then steps back and brings the hand to his hip, jerking his head towards the library, “What’re you two in for?”

Natalie answers that you’re both Doctors of Psychology, then goes on to explain which classes she’ll be teaching when the 2002 Fall Semester begins next week. 

While she does this, you tilt your head at him, trailing your eyes along the sharp edges of him. The steep slope of his nose, the squared off corners of his jaw, the defined muscles of his neck. He holds himself like there’s a restless energy burning beneath his skin, shifting his weight from leg to leg, eyes working over his surroundings. On guard. 

There’s something about him that piques your interest. His voice, warm and deep and smooth, unearths nostalgia from deep within your gut. You mentally sift through acquaintances, friends of friends you might have met at a party, people from your hometown, et cetera, trying to figure out how you know him. It’s strange because you think you would remember meeting someone so handsome. 

Your eyes flick to his left hand. No wedding ring. A shiny silver wristwatch catches your attention, though, when it jiggles a little. You glance up, find his eyes locked to yours, and don’t look away until Natalie asks him what he’s teaching. 

He pinches the cigarette between his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling words warped by smoke, “Criminal Justice.” 

“I see,” Natalie drops her spent torch on the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the toe of her brown loafer, then crosses her arms, “What were you doing before this?”

“Not much the past few years,” he cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, “Helping my dad out on his ranch down in Laredo, but I was DEA before that.”

“Oh wow, ok.”

You frown, “What did you say your name was again?”

He flicks his gaze to yours and answers, “Javier Peña.”

Recognition punches you in the gut. Your face gets all hot and you drop your eyes to the sidewalk, “Oh, ok. Well. Great to meet you, Javi.” 

You stomp your cigarette out, turning to Natalie with a sigh, “Should we go back inside?”

“Sure.”

Don’t look don’t look don’t look—fuck. 

Your eyes betray you. They snap to his. Those dark eyes, studying you with precision, narrowing just enough to twist your stomach in a knot. 

Natalie starts towards the library doors, and you trail behind her, ignoring the burn of his stare following you inside. 

—

Throughout the next couple weeks, when your paths cross, his gaze lingers. 

Sometimes you don’t even notice he’s there until your brain’s ancient hardwiring sends out a primal pulse of warning, making your nerves to crackle. During workshops and interdepartmental meetings. While walking the halls. In the faculty parking lot. And, of course, on your smoke breaks. 

You wonder what information he obtains in those small moments before your heart thuds and face flushes, urging you to put as much space between yourself and his meticulous gaze as possible. 

Each instance summons the ghost of his voice as you walk away, greeting you with a cool, “How’s Bunny doing tonight?” 

Asking you, “Can you do something for me, sweetheart?” 

Asking, “Are you touching yourself? Let me hear it.”

It forces you to revisit the evolution of your intimacy, how the two of you gradually went from “It’s nice hearing your voice,” to, “I thought about you all week,” to, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too. Don’t suppose you make house calls, do you, Bunny?”

These memories start to bleed into your thoughts with alarming frequency. 

You think about him when you brush your teeth in the morning. When you go to sleep at night. Every free moment in between. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you wonder, “Does he think I’m attractive?” Then scold yourself for giving a shit. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you lie to yourself, “He wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to Bunny.”

—

Only a few students and staff roam the campus at this time of day, when overnight dew still clings to the blades of grass hidden from the sun. This particular spot, a tucked-away path between the Biosciences Building and a parking garage, usually only has one visitor each morning: you. 

Every once in a while, the hum of a car engine sounds from behind the big oak tree you’re propped up against, followed by the slam of a car door, then the echoey shuffle of shoes against concrete as whoever makes their way to wherever. 

Mostly, though, it’s peaceful. 

You raise the 22-ounce styrofoam cup of watered-down gas station coffee to your mouth and pause, gauging the heat of the steam that brushes your lips. Too hot. Lowering the cup to your lap, you spot a robin a few yards away. It hops across some damp grass, tilting its head this way and that; its keen, beady eyes scan for movement below the earth’s surface. 

A deep breath expands your lungs and your eyes drift closed. You concentrate on the cool ground beneath your legs. The oak tree holding your body upright. Your head rolls back against it, like you’re trying to soak up some of its fortitude for the day ahead of you. 

The dry scuff of footsteps on the cement sidewalk tugs at the edge of this meditation. They come to a stop nearby, then you hear a familiar timbre ask, “Mind if I join you?” 

Your eyes snap open, spine straightening as you squint towards the source: Javier Peña. 

Heat trickles through your body as you survey him. The navy blue fabric of his fitted suit stretches across his broad shoulders in a way that’s really not fair. Sunlight douses him in brightness, and his dark eyes seem to glow in the warmth. He shifts his weight to one leg and plants a hand on his hip, glancing around before he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and plugs one into his mouth, then holds the pack out to you. An offering. 

Against your better judgment, you nod in approval. 

A little smirk makes the dangling cigarette bob between his lips. He saunters over to where you’re seated, visibly relieved when the shade of the oak tree falls over his body. With a quiet grunt, he sits down next to you, unbuttoning his suit jacket, resting his back against the sturdy tree. 

Again, he holds the red and white pack of cigarettes out to you. You take one, murmuring, “Thanks,” as you shove the filter between your lips and light it. 

He does the same and takes a sharp inhale, exhaling blue smoke, “Nice spot you got here. Quiet.” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, heart thumping loud and hot behind your ears, “How are your first few weeks going?” 

“Fine,” he shrugs and flicks ash from the tip of his cigarette, “Pretty different from what I’ve been doing these past few years.”  

“Right, on the farm?” you inquire, purposely getting the vernacular wrong to throw him off your trail. 

He doesn’t correct you, just nods, “Although, some of these kids are stubborn as cattle.” 

You laugh at this, “It’s been an adjustment, huh?” 

He hums in accord, and you can feel his eyes on your profile, studying you. 

Your insides twitch. Skin tingles. You take a drag off your cigarette, then say, “Yeah, same here. I’m straight out of school, so it’s pretty surreal being on this side of the fence.” 

“I bet,” he murmurs, “Wha’d you do for work?” 

“Customer service, call center stuff.” 

You’re not sure why you didn’t just make something up. Say you did manual labor or clerical work or something. 

Maybe it’s because you know how earnest he is, and any potential lie would feel like poison in your throat. Maybe it’s because the space between you feels electric and sacred. 

Maybe there’s a small part of you that wants him to figure it out. 

“How’d you like that?” he asks as he blows a cloud of smoke away. 

“Well,” you sigh, looking down at the coffee cup pinched between your legs, avoiding his gaze, “I liked it, actually. I talked to a lot of different people. It was interesting. Plus, the paycheck was nice.” 

Again, he hums in acknowledgement, then chuckles, “Hopefully this gig pays better.” 

“Yeah,” you snort, “A lot better. It was fun while it lasted, but this… this is my purpose, you know?” 

You glance over at him now, and his eyes lock to yours. The intensity of his stare inspires tiny flutters from deep within your core. Right when you start to ask yourself, “Does he—?” Javier nods, “I know.”

These two words give you a head rush. Your mouth gapes, and his gaze flicks to the open space between your lips. It lingers there for a beat too long before he looks away and takes one last drag off his cigarette. He crushes its glowing orange cherry into the earth and murmurs, “I better get going.”

“Oh—yeah, ok,” you frown, following his form as he rises to his feet and brushes grass from the seat of his pants, “It was nice talking to you.” 

Javier smirks down at you, those devastatingly warm brown eyes softening when he asks, “See you around?”

“Sure thing,” you smile. 

He stares at you for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then turns and leaves the way he came. 

—

Later that night, your office phone rings. 

You pick it up and pinch the receiver between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Doc?”

A knot twists in your belly. Your eyes flick to your closed office door, then to the lecture notes scrawled on index cards all spread across your desk. 

“Hi, who am I speaking to?” 

Like you don’t know. Like the rich notes of his voice don’t instantly send shivers down your spine. 

“Javier Peña,” he answers. In the background, there’s a clink, followed by the slosh of liquid pouring into a glass. 

Nostalgia hums thick beneath your skin. Hundreds of conversations flash through your head and shimmer between your legs. You lick your lips and ask, “What can I help you with, Professor Peña?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice again like this,” he murmurs, then clarifies, “Over the phone, I mean. I missed it.” 

A few things happen in quick succession within the confines of your body. 

First, your heart swells. You curl the cord of your phone around your index finger and smile. He missed it. He missed you. 

Then, an odd feeling dims your brightness. Like you’re naked in front of a crowded room. Exposed. You sit up straight and whip your head around the empty room. 

Finally, the peacekeeper inside you tells you to calm the fuck down. This doesn’t definitively prove he knows. Maybe he’s confused you for someone else. Or maybe he’s playing a joke on you. 

It’s fine. 

A wet swallow sounds on the other end, then he continues, “I didn’t know you’d be so attractive in person, though… Bunny.”

Shit. 

Electricity floods your veins and short-circuits your brain. 

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you let out an exasperated chuckle and push your chair out behind you. The coiled cord of your phone works as a leash as you pace the width of your desk, “Professor Peña, I’m not sure who you think I am—”

“Don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t bullshit me,” he purrs, his voice sure and steady, “I know.” 

Shock steals your tongue. Your eyes clamp shut. Chest aches. Hands tingle. You take a deep, shaky breath and try to harden your tone, “Know what, exactly?”

Javier ignores your denial, just says, “Come over.”

“Javi—” you start to protest, destroying all pretense as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He doesn’t say anything. The line is silent as he waits for a better response. 

Eventually, you ask, “Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why are you doing this—What do you want?” you drop your voice to a whisper, “Look, if you’re trying to blackmail me—”

“Blackmail you?” he scoffs, “Do you really think I’d do that?” 

You scoff, “Well, I don’t know—”

“I promise it’s not like that, sweetheart. I’d just like to have a drink with you in private, so we can… talk.” 

“Now who’s bullshitting?” 

The speaker crackles with an airy chuckle, “You got me there.” 

“So… what do you want with me, Javi?” 

You hear the metallic flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale. His words are fuzzy with smoke when he asks, “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like?” 

Heat flickers deep inside you. You imagine his hands gripping your body. His mouth hot on your skin. You lean against your desk and shrug, “It doesn’t matter.” 

“That’s not an answer.”  

You don’t trust yourself to say anything. 

He takes a drag off his cigarette, then says, “All that talk about what we would do if we were together. How well you’d take me. What that sweet little cunt would feel like wrapped around—”

“Javi, it was a job,” you whine. It holds little conviction. 

He’s quiet. The low, airy hiss of his lungs drawing smoke. Then, “Are you saying it wasn’t real?”

Heat rises to your face. You open your mouth to lie, but you breathe the truth instead, “No.”

“Then come over.”

You bite your lip, looking down at your lecture notes with indecision. 

“Please.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you concede, “What’s your address?”

—

Javier’s one-bedroom apartment is small and tidy. The stark white walls are void of decoration, but the tasteful home furnishings, all wood and bronze and leather, tell you this choice is less “sad bachelor pad” than it is “I want my fucking deposit back.” 

What was intended to be a dining room area has been made into a home office. A large chestnut bookcase lines one wall, displaying various textbooks and whodunit novels alongside family photos. A matching chestnut desk butts up against the adjacent wall. Stacks of papers and notebooks, most aptly described as an “organized mess,” sit atop the deep wood finish. 

You lean on the kitchen counter opposite him and watch him pour room-temperature whiskey into two low tumbler glasses. Each nerve ending in your body buzzes with anticipation. You try to think of things to say, small talk to make, but it all seems flat. Disingenuous. The words all die on your tongue. 

This doesn’t seem to bother him, though. 

He slides a glass across the counter, then rests his elbows on the surface, eyes flicking around your face as you take a sip. 

“What?” you chuckle after swallowing the burning liquid. 

He shrugs, “You’re just… much more beautiful than I expected.” 

“Oh yeah?” you smirk, meeting his eyes, “What were you expecting?”

He licks his lips and smiles, this big, brilliant, sly smile, “Real answer?”

Fuck, he’s handsome. 

“Always,” you grin in return, batting your eyelashes at him as you lean closer onto the counter. 

“I imagined you so many different ways, and none of them seemed right,” he confesses, face falling into a frown, “I expected disappointment.”

“Oh,” you wince and nod, dragging the tip of your finger along the rim of your glass, “Well… are you disappointed?”

“No,” he tells you firmly. Your eyes snap to his, and he asks, “Are you?”

“No,” you breathe, searching his face. 

A hum sounds from his throat. The air between you is thick and magnetic. It clings to your skin and makes you shiver. 

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he coos, his vocal cords catching an edge, “No bullshit, alright?”

Your heart gallops. You swallow hard and nod for him to continue. 

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Everything seems to tilt. Marionette strings pull your spine taut. Your tongue traces your lips before you take a swig from your drink. You can’t look at him, but feel his gaze burning your face.  

The counter creaks as he pushes off it. He works his way around it, slowly, deliberately, each step amplifying across your tingling skin, until he’s inches away, hovering there. Heat radiates from his body and pulses between your legs. 

Javier purrs your name. 

You look over at him and meet those warm, dark eyes, all hooded with want. They drop to your mouth and seem to study your lips. It’s like something tightens around your lungs and squeezes every ounce of air from them. 

“I, um…” 

It comes out barely a whisper. 

His throat rumbles in response. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, making you shiver, and says, “Look at you, so shy all of a sudden.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He nods in acknowledgment, but he scoots closer. Drags the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. A shudder racks your body and you whimper. 

“I didn’t ask you if it’s a good idea, I asked if you want to fuck me,” he murmurs, hot gaze flicking between your eyes and mouth. He slides his hand against your abdomen. It stays there as he steps behind you, pulling you into the heat of his chest, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, though, would you?” 

“Javi—”

His lips press a damp spot into your shoulder, the warm tips of his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt, drawing soft circles on your bare skin, and he hums, “Hmm?”

You gasp as his touch ripples deeper, jolting your insides, making your eyelids flutter, “We really shouldn’t.”

But you reach back and place your palm on the nape of his neck, gently coaxing him to continue. He leaves a trail of slow, heated kisses to your thudding pulse. The wet velvet of his tongue rolls against you. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe, threading his hair through your fingers, pulling him closer. 

A pleased rumble sounds from deep inside him. His lips form a seal, sucking the tender skin of your neck. You moan at the wave of pleasure that gushes down your spine. 

The hand at your navel slides over the zipper of your pants, following the curve between your legs, applying firm, flush pressure. He holds it there while dragging his tongue up your neck, then catches your earlobe in his teeth and tugs. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he releases. 

“Come on, sweetheart, say it.”

You let your head fall back on his shoulder and roll your hips against his hand. He draws it away and mutters in your ear, “All that dirty talk over the phone, now you can’t use your words?” 

“Fuck me,” you whisper, pushing back into the bulge in his jeans, grinding into him. 

He sucks in air through his teeth and grazes your cheek with his nose, “What’s that?” 

You chuckle and drag a finger along his jawline, “You heard me.” 

“Maybe I wanna hear it again.”

“Oh yeah?” you twist around to face him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck. 

He drinks you in with this lustful gaze that settles on your lips and nods, then takes a step closer, backing you against the counter, pressing his body into yours. 

“Is that what you want?” you drop your voice to a sultry whisper and tilt your head, “You want me to tell you how wet my pussy is for you? How it’s begging to be filled by you?” 

A groan escapes his chest and you grin. 

“That’s it, isn’t it, baby?” 

“It is.” 

Your teeth catch your bottom lip for a moment and you shrug, “Do you wanna feel how bad I want you?”

He nods. 

“Go ahead, baby.” 

Javi searches your face as a hand slips under the waistband of your pants, then under your panties. A thick finger slides between your lips, down the gooey middle of you, and he rasps, “Holy fuck.”

You gasp at the gentle way his touch explores you, moving up and down your folds, spreading your heat. 

“That feels good,” you breathe, looking up through your lashes to meet his eyes. 

He rubs your clit in soft, concentric motions, holding your gaze, his mouth gaping open when you whimper and nod in approval. Each flick of his wrist accumulates hot and sticky and alive at your core, prodding your pulse, warming your skin. Quiet gasps fall from your lips. Your eyelids flutter and you rake your fingers through his hair. 

“Do you like that?” he asks, all rough edges, “Like the way I touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whine, “I love the way you play with my pussy, Javi, feels so fucking goood, oh my god—”

His lips crush into yours. You clamber closer, kissing him back, heated and needy, both of you making all these throaty, desperate noises as your mouths meet again and again, licking, tugging, kissing. His touch between your legs quickens, your entire body starts to sweat and tremble as pleasure twists inside you. 

You’re overcome with this aching need for more. 

“Javi—please,” you beg between kisses, hooking a finger under his belt, “I want you.” 

His throat rumbles. He captures your lips in another kiss before grabbing your hand and leading you to his bedroom. 

When he flips on the light switch, it reveals a few cluttered surfaces and a four-post bed. You pull your shirt off over your head and shuffle out of your pants as you absorb everything. The suit jackets hanging on the corners of his dresser’s vanity mirror. A stack of mystery novels on his nightstand. The white comforter, rumpled like he tried to make his bed but he’s not very good at it. 

So much proof that this person who only existed as a voice in your life for so long is flesh and blood. 

It’s surreal. 

“Did you ever think something like this would happen?” 

You turn to see Javier unbuttoning his shirt, gaze drifting along your body. His pants lay in a pile beside him. An amused smile spreads across your face when you notice his cock standing at attention. He shucks the shirt off his shoulders as you step towards him and slide your palms up his smooth chest. 

“What, that I’d fuck a client?” 

Javier nods. His hands land on your waist and he guides you back towards his bed, planting a few languid kisses on your jawline, mustache tickling your skin. 

“No,” you chuckle, “I had a very strict no meeting policy… as you know.” 

The backs of your legs butt up against the bed. You land on the bed with a soft bounce and crawl backwards to allow him space to follow. He does, running his hands along the curves of your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your sternum. 

As you tell him, “You were my favorite, though,” he reaches around your back, unhooks your bra, and tosses it aside. 

“Was I?” 

His heated palms slide up your ribcage, over the slope of your breasts, and he squeezes them. You gasp, eyebrows threading together, and nod. He drags his tongue across your nipple, then closes his lips around it and sucks. A burst of pleasure soaks your insides, sharpening when his teeth catch the bud and grind down. 

“Ffffuck,” you whine, meeting his eyes as he moves to the other nipple, licking, sucking, biting. Every motion drips hot down the middle of you. 

“Do you like playing with my tits?” you coo while combing your fingers through his hair, making it stick up every which way, “You do, don’t you, baby?” 

His eyelids flutter and he moans, nodding, then opens his mouth wider and takes more, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks. 

Your head falls back with a moan, “So fucking good, yes—”

Javi comes off you with a pop and rolls your nipples between his fingers, “So hot.” 

You watch him work his way up your body, leaving kisses on your sternum, your collar bone, your cheek, your lips. Your hands slip around his shoulders and you arch your back into him, wrapping your legs around him, soaking up the warmth of his skin, your lips and tongues meeting again and again, exchanging soft moans, hips grinding his cock between your bodies. 

“I need you,” he says, eyes all wild and black, “Fuck, I need you—”

“Take me.” 

He steals another kiss from your lips before sitting up to pull off your underwear. While tossing them aside, he drinks you in, sliding one heated palm up and down the curves of your body, purring, “Look at you. Fucking perfect.” 

You whimper at his praise, at his reverent touch making your nerve endings buzz. He strokes your clit with his thumb, mouth hanging open as your whole body shivers and writhes in reaction. 

“So sensitive, mi conejita,” he murmurs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, “Do you want it?” 

“Yes,” you nod, arching your hips, “I need it—I need to feel you inside me, Javi, please.” 

A noise surfaces from deep in his chest, then he breathes, “Fuck, say it again.” 

You thread your eyebrows together and bat your lashes at him, shifting your voice into the lusty, airy tone you know gets him going, “I need to feel you inside me, Javi. Need your cock to fill me, make me whole—”

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking forward just enough to breach you. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and you moan. 

“Do you want more, baby?” 

You lick your lips and nod frantically as he works your clit faster, the tip of him teasing you. Pressure builds in your chest and pulls your muscles taut. You roll your hips and try to get more of him, more movement, following the heat pounding through your veins. 

“Need more of my cock, baby, that’s what you need?” 

“I need more of your cock,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering at the growing fire deep in your belly, “Please please please, Javi, plea—”

“You’re gonna come for me just like this, aren’t you?” his voice only amplifies the feeling, making your heart race, and then he rasps, “Fuck, baby, do it, let me feel you, let it go.” 

You do. 

It overtakes you, flooding you with pleasure, your whole body shaking from the force while Javi strums your clit fast and hard, cooing, “That’s it, mi conejita, that’s it, come for me baby. Doesn’t that feel good?” 

You whimper and nod, unable to form words until your orgasm peters out and leaves you panting, staring up at him. He meets your gaze. His cock pulses inside you. 

Seeing him like this, his hair all disheveled, skin dewy with sweat, dark eyes fiery and enamored…

“Come here,” you sit up on your elbow and bring a hand to his chin, coaxing him closer. He follows you down to the bed and kisses you with force, a groan vibrating on your tongue as you drag it against his. 

He starts to roll his hips, filling you more and more with each thrust, the thick length of him electrifying your walls. 

His lips don’t leave yours. Neither of you pull back to murmur filth to the other. The only noise in the room comes from your humid bodies pressing together, from whines and moans traded through panting breaths as you renew the kiss again and again. 

You push back against his thrusts, digging your fingers into the broad expanse of his shoulders, losing yourself in the feel of him stretching you, the heat of his skin clinging to you, his mouth against yours. 

Pleasure builds, hot and demanding, between your bodies. He fucks you faster, pumping into you at a frenzied pace that makes you gasp and nod, pulling you higher and higher. His hand grips your jaw and he stares down at you, searching your face, his puffy lips forming an ‘o’ as he watches your face contort. 

Neither of you seem in control of the noises escaping you. They’re frantic and breathy and sharp. 

At once, it’s like you’re sucked up into a vacuum. All the air evacuates your body and your muscles clench. The noises stop when you reach the crest of the wave, and when ecstasy crashes down, you let out a choked sob, convulsing around him. He groans, low and guttural, hips stuttering as he captures your lips in his and spills inside you. 

A few languid kisses pass back and forth before he rolls off you. You follow the persuasion of his arm curling around your shoulders and tuck yourself into his side. He holds you here like this for a while, staring up at his ceiling while your breathing returns to normal, and eventually he asks, “Why was I your favorite?” 

You shrug and watch your fingertips draw swirls into his chest, “You wanted me to be me, not your idea of me.” 

He hums, grazing his thumb against your shoulder, then says, “I think that’s true for both of us.” 

“Yeah?” you shift to meet his eyes. 

He nods, dropping his gaze to your mouth. You draw closer to kiss him, slow and soft, and when your lips part, he murmurs, “Mi conejita.” 

[gothcsz]

♰ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄. A JAVIER PEÑA FIC. ♰

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: After being reassigned from Colombia to a small town in rural Texas, former DEA agent Javier Peña takes on the role of Deputy Sheriff to tackle a series of mysterious murders plaguing the community. As rumors swirl about a sacrilegious group lurking in the shadows, tension mounts among the townsfolk. Amidst the chaos, Javier finds himself drawn to Paloma, the sheriff's daughter, who captivates him entirely. As the former agent delves deeper into the investigation, he becomes increasingly entangled in the complexities of the case and his relationship with Paloma. Inspired by Ethel Cain's album 'Preacher's Daughter,' Javier navigates a web of deceit and intrigue, uncovering shocking truths about the town and its inhabitants. Religious Horror!AU. Thriller!AU.

RATING: E. 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. More specific tags will be listed on chapter posts.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

BANNER CREDIT: @asmodeus-psd

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒.

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#thoroughfare vibes

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. (𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆)

♰ indicates smut cw

prologue

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three ♰

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight ♰

chapter nine ♰

chapter ten

chapter eleven ♰

chapter twelve ♰

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen ♰

chapter seventeen ♰

chapter eighteen ♰

interlude ♰

chapter nineteen ♰

chapter twenty

chatper twenty-one (soon)

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Poison and Wine.

Pairing/Au: Javier Peña x f!reader

Words count: 1387

Rating: +18, NSFW

Warnings/Tags: pov second person, angst, smut, reader is described having breast and vagina, no other description of her is given (pic does not represent reader's appearance in any way, it is only aesthetic), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (please use protections irl), sad thoughts, yearning, unspoken love.

A/N: Another fic I wrote a year ago, revised a year later. English is not my first language and I have no beta. I hope there are no mistakes but if there are, please excuse me. Writing Javier is not easy for me, I don't know why, but I tried.

It's inspired by the song Poison & Wine by The Civil Wars. I recommend listening to it for maximum effect. Hope you enjoy, thanks for your time!

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

You are in a small room. The moonlight comes in through the window, spreading across the floor in silvery streaks, leaving the rest of the room in semi-darkness. There is a bed in the center of the room, two nightstands on either side, a wooden chair in the corner with clothes haphazardly draped over it. Old curtains frame the sides of the window. The bed is covered with a red bedspread and cheap white sheets. The entire room smells of sex, cigarettes, and cheap deodorant.

On the wall opposite the bed is a small door that leads to a small, rather squalid bathroom. There is a man on the bed. He is lying on his back, his head resting on the pillow. He has short, thick, wavy raven hair, some tufts falling onto his high forehead. His eyes are closed, a strong, harmonious nose that blends perfectly with the rest of his face, shaved cheeks, pronounced cheekbones, full lips. The lower lip is slightly thicker than the upper one, covered by a pair of short, black, well-groomed moustaches, they’re parted, set in a sort of pout.

Neck relaxed, shoulders broad, arms stretched out at his sides, softly resting, hands open on the sheets. Regular breaths rise and fall on his chest, adorned with two small dark pink nipples, deliciously divided by the line of his sternum. His torso is almost completely hairless, except for a thin strip of hair that disappears into his black boxers. One of his legs is wrapped in the covers while the other is spread and the foot almost off the edge of the bed.

Your back rests on the pillow, which you have placed against the wooden headboard of the bed.

You've been watching him sleep for a while, he seems less worried in his sleep, less agitated by the urgency of not wasting time, of achieving the results he has set himself. There is always a tension in him, a restlessness that vibrates in his body. He is incredibly beautiful, you will never get used to how perfectly designed he is to make you lose your mind.

You are just a diversion, someone who calls to clear his mind, to chase away the horror he has to face every day. He never talks about his job but you are perfectly aware of what happens out there, you have seen it with your own eyes for as long as you can remember, you have lived here your whole life. The drugs, the corruption, the murders, the attacks, the bombs, have always been the backdrop to your life.

Most cops are corrupt, violent, double-crossing, you're used to not trusting them. There are few people who really try to do something good, like him. He was immediately kind and discreet, even if a certain cold detachment always remains.

You know he would never take advantage of you in a mean way. But you also know how he always sneaks out the door before dawn, making no promises, barely saying goodbye. You never know when he will call you again.

He takes what he needs and you are so eager to give it to him and he disappears like a ghost. Present in the moment, fleeting the next.

You know he asks you to meet him at these out-of-the-way motels because he’s afraid someone might follow you. You know it’s a way of protecting you as well as himself. But you can’t help but feel like you’re something small in his life, something not worth bringing into the light of day.

And you know you're already in awe, eager to have him, to taste him and feel his skin and his scent.

He smells like leather, cigarettes and tequila, with a fresh underlay of soap and men’s cologne.

You’re naked next to him, a heat still radiates from your lower abdomen and rises in your stomach.

You lie down on the bed, sighing, accompanying the pillow with your hands to slide it under your head.

Eyes on the ceiling, you’re trying to channel your emotions, without letting them crawl out of you.

You can make do with this. You can wait for him to wake up and you can tolerate him quickly picking up his clothes and leaving after a quick kiss on the lips. What he gave you before can be enough.

His hands running down your body.

Hands that can heal and can burn.

His lips in the crook of your neck, nibbling at the soft skin under your ear.

He pushed you, caging you between his body and the door, kissing you without saying a word. Flesh and teeth colliding.

He raised your arms above your head and his mouth trailed down your neck and chest, his mustache scratching you a little, his breath brushing your skin.

His impatient touch undressed you, his feverish fingers running down your tummy, lingering for a moment on the hem of your panties and then making room for them to look for your clit, drawing circles, making you vibrate.

He made you lie down on the bed, then took off his clothes and threw them on the chair.

He threw himself on you urgently, kissing your soft naked skin beneath him. He moved down between your legs to take care of your privates. His tongue was relentless, hungry, insistent as two fingers continued to rub your clit and his other hand was open on your hip. Your fingers were buried in his hair, your moans filling the silence along with his grunts of approval as he felt you tremble and melt for him.

His lips moved up to you, determined not to leave aside even an inch of your skin. You felt him everywhere on your body and you didn't care about anything else. He pulled you against him, wrapped one big, strong arm around your waist. Your breasts pressed against his chest, his cock poking at your entrance, stretching you an inch at the time, sinking into your warm, soaked cunt.

He moved slowly at first to let you get used to it, then harder, deeper. You felt his mouth widen into a smile on your skin as you repeated his name like a prayer.

Javier.

Javier.

Javier.

He held you tight to feel as much of you as he could, hammering your softest spot over and over again. He whispered in your ear, his voice deep, raspy, bouncing in your chest, in your brain, driving you crazy.

His jaw went slack, his eyes darker and full of lust as he came inside you, making you feel like you were one, painting your walls with his cum.

He didn't stop until he felt your pussy twitch and tighten around his cock, your head thrown back, your eyes closed, your mouth agape.

No one has ever made you feel this way, insatiable, overwhelmed by the need to have him more and more.

You are lost.

Empty.

You can't admit it.

You can't face it.

There is nothing you would like more than to feel important to him, someone who gives him peace of mind, someone who can always be by his side.

You know it will never happen but you can't stop wishing it would.

He wakes up. You look away, so as not to let him know that you were doing nothing but looking at him, in the vain hope of at least satiating your gaze, without success.

Javier.

He turns to you, strokes your arm and then sits on the bed, stretching.

He lights a cigarette, completely unaware of the battle raging inside you. He seems calm, relaxed, takes a drag and tosses the ash into the ashtray on the nightstand.

You want to shake him by the shoulders, tell him how hard it is every time you see him go, how painful it is. You want to ask him if he knows how he makes you feel. You do nothing, you just sit there, wrapped in the blankets, inhaling the sweet smell of his sweaty skin.

You smile weakly at him as he gets up, puts out his cigarette, gets dressed, gives you a quick kiss, and walks out the door.

Without saying anything, without promising anything, as usual.

I don’t love you, but I always will.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 32

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 6k

A/N: I fear its safe to say I don't do well with change. I moved back to school and couldn't find my groove. Who knew I just needed a little ovulation and commute to work time to bang this one out. Chapter 33 will be arriving shortly.

Well Javier was on the floor. Without a complaint. The two of you didn’t stay too long at the fair considering each ride had a wait time of forty five minutes. In the car you decided to keep your hotel but still be open to staying over, when it was appropriate.  So now you’re on his bed, back in one of his shirts. Surrounded by him. Criss crossed while he’s sat up on the floor. 

“You could come up here.” You offer, removing your rings and placing it on his nightstand. Already claiming his space as your own, too natural for you. The offer has him quirking a brow. It was a test, you know he shouldn’t. Shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t.” He settles into the mattress, pulling the blankets to his shoulders. “We could talk like this.” Grunting from adjusting his newly relaxed body. You move forward on your stomach so that he could see you. Resting your head on your arms. You smile feeling like two kids at a sleepover, whispering and peering over the bed to see if the other fell asleep yet.

“Good you passed that one. Let's continue shall we?” 

The game of 21 questions was more like two hundred questions and it continued all the way into the house. 

Did you date?

I thought you asked me not to tell you about all of that.

I said I don't want to hear about Camila or Daniela or whoever.

You remember their names?

Yes, I couldn’t sleep and thought about a Camila under you. He flexes his jaw at that. 

I went on two dates, which were set up by my partner Steve Murphy and his wife. They ended with goodbyes after dinner. Never spoke to them again.

I went on some dates too. 

I don’t want to hear about that. You pinch him on the elbow and he shrugs. We’re different about that stuff, I hate to hear it. You nod and get the urge to apologize but fight it. 

Now in bed he clears his throat, “Alright. Tell me what your apartment looks like?”

You smile, “It’s a steal for the area. I actually have a bedroom for the price of a studio. My rooms a bit more eclectic than my one here. My bedding is white but my room walls are a burgundy color. There’s no closet so I have a clothing rack. None of my living room furniture is new… it’s all second hand from stoop sales or whatever. My birds shit without batting an eye so I opted not to be dumb about that. What did yours look like?”

His eyes are closed for a moment like he’s trying to imagine it. “Hmmm.. it was dim in there, always. The kitchen and living room were open, a few steps to lead you to the living room. I had a leather couch and a desk. My television was pretty nice. Nothing was really– mine. I tried not to make it feel lived in because I didn’t want to get attached to that place–that world.” There’s a face that you’ve never really seen from him until you’ve been here. It’s one nearly blank but you know the way his face moves, there's a small crease in his brows and he clenches his jaw. Like talking about Colombia pained him and he has to conceal it. Almost like a child admitting to their faults after a spanking. Quiet, embarrassed, unsure, and on the verge of breakdown. “You would have hated it there.”

Probably. You just nod the best you can while laying down. Waiting for his question. 

“Um…” He closes one eye, like it’ll help him think. He opts to go silent for a moment like he conjured a question but was waging his options. 

Should I? Is this a line I shouldn’t cross? Is the wound still open? “Have you heard from your father?” 

You frown for a second. Off put and taken off guard. Remembering the day, remember the rolling grass, low hanging branches and the cold demeanor from the one person she needed warmth from. Hearing urgent and violent words like I love you. Promising to take care of you. 

“No. I never went back there. He never called me even though I’m sure my grandmother told him I moved to Louisiana. I stopped needing him after I got to know him.” You rarely thought of him, just the concept of being without a parent. Then you became an educator and realized that anyone you call family is your own. Your students taught you that, so did Javier years earlier but you suppose maybe you weren’t ready to accept it yet. 

Javier hums to himself, staring at the ceiling. Contemplating if he should really share the way he had felt. Afraid it would break some rule in this delicate game you’ve got going. Wondering if you’ll furrow your brow and turn you back to sleep or internalize what’s climbing up, up, up his throat. 

“If this is… against your rules you don’t have to say anything or we could move on…”

“Okay.”

Again he can’t look at you. How is it that you reduce him to a shy young boy? 

“There’s nothing more that I want in life than to be the father of your kids.” There he goes leaping over the bounds to which he’s left in, but he can’t help it. It’s all he thinks about, all he thought about three years ago and it plagued him every time you spoke of your own father. He doesn’t see you but he can feel your eyes closed, silent, internalizing it all. After all, you'd never turn your back on him. “No one will ever know you like me. Love you, sure, but not as much as me. You’re too easy to love. But I know that you could show me what a mother looks like and I could show you what a father looks like. Our kids will never be in pain the way we were. Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable or-or confused. It’s all I thought about when I was away. And I’m so sorry for ever making you think I didn’t want you in that way.” Because he should have known that it was a deep point of insecurity for you, a deep well created by your parents. Urge to be loved, to create something and love it in a much fiercer and kinder way than your parents did you. Lorraine being able to have all that you wanted came like slice to the stomach. 

Sniffling, you rub your face into the crook of your arm. Hiding from Javier. He looks this time and he doesn’t try to hold your hand like you’re itching for. 

“Thank you… I—.” You wipe your face. Not willing to open the can of worms this could conjure if you just told him straight up that you’d be willing to start now. Fuck the trial, fuck trying to learn each other again, let’s start a family. Be irrational but be happy. You decide to keep it together. You thank him and he knows it’s genuine, you see it in his eyes. He understands your reluctance. “I found that I don’t have the need for many people in my life-“

“I need you.” He says before you. Like he did when he said he loved you. Throat bobbing, he pulls his sheets over him. “I’ll wait for you, until you need me again.”

“Can never get enough of each other huh.” Chucho chuckles while washing his hands in the sink. Boots clean and squeaking against the floor. It was a part of his routine, cleaned his boots every night even if he worked the next morning. 

Last night you fell asleep with your face buried into the crook of your arm. Hand dangling off the mattress, grazing Javier’s neck. Need to touch, woke up with a sore arm. Bleary eyed you notice there’s no-body by the bed. Silent but the sound of running water. 

That’s how you found Chucho, ready for the day at 8 am. Embarrassingly you pad into the kitchen in Javier’s shirt and boxers. 

You shrug, he hands you a cup of coffee. Nodding a thank you, “We have established clear boundaries. We are just spending quality time. We have a lot to make up for.” You say it with a bit of a half awake half still dreaming slur that has Javier’s father beaming. 

“Well if that’s what you’re calling it nowadays, so be it. I won’t be back until four pm.” He places his cup down and starts walking away. Your jaw drops and you nearly run after him. But you know he’s fucking with you, his shoulders bounce. 

“It’s not like that!” You call and he waves a hand at you over his shoulder and steps straight out of his own home. Screen door slamming with a brisk breeze. 

You hear a sneeze, “What’s not like that?” Your head snaps and eyes lock with Javier’s. Freshly showered, hair so wet it droops on his forehead. He looks younger this way. Grey shirt loose with jeans to match. Socked feet, he looks like he doesn’t want you to go anywhere. At least seeing him like this makes you want to find a nest for yourself in his bed. You can’t help but smile at him. 

He’s skeptical of your cheery mood. Brows furrowing, nostrils flared but a hint of a smile. He’s cautious, like he knows you’re up to something. You aren’t, at all. You’re just giddy and it’s only been two days and you feel your boundaries loosening. Just wanting to find that place you yearn for. Just run to him now, kiss him, tell him to put a baby in you. Grab, pull, lick, love, whatever came with it. You decide to control yourself a bit. 

Your eyes drop to his hands, he’s holding three VHS tapes. Your brows furrow just the same, wondering what movie he wanted to see with you. It wasn’t a thing the two of you ever did. Your time spent was short and only for conversations and kisses. And pot, back before everything. You had to stop smoking after getting your teaching gig. 

You want to say something bratty like, assuming I’m staying for some home videos? But you can’t even do that, lord when did you become such a softie? “Big plans?” Is all you can manage to croak.

He shrugs, “Are you staying?” He says it without shame, you know it must take a lot for a man to nearly beg. You know he means please stay. 

You look at him once more and down at your boxer clad legs. Shrugging. “I suppose”

Eric Fredricks' family owned a Haitian restaurant off main street. It was a small take out spot that had been bustling with business since 1961. Eric was your classmate. A friend of everyone, known for his large digital camera he carried around school. The loud, goofy kid shoved his damn camera in everyone’s faces. Annoyed or not, he would always say, “When you fuckers are forty you’re really going to appreciate these recordings!” 

Well, each year he cut, edited and burned these tapes as his own NR rated yearbook videos. Selling them around school and you bought one each year. He was chill with the price for you just because you always perked up in front of his camera. Ready to gleam and answer whatever stupid questions he had like;

“Andrea, how does it feel to be the worst lacrosse player in Laredo history?”

“Or Andrea, what are your thoughts on today’s LHS Chilli special? “ 

You always answered with the same slapstick humor he had. You thought you lost these tapes years ago. Javier seemed to remind you that you left them at his house, might’ve been when Javier was in Houston.

 He was right, your mother’s VHS player stopped working in 1982. You remember popping these tapes in and watching them during your winter break from Miami. Chucho snoring on the lazy boy, saved him from watching the closest thing he had to a daughter do a keg stand with her skirt flipped up towards her chest. 

“I’ve never seen these.” Javier grunts when he straightens back up and walks to sit next to you on the brown couch. A couch with the tendency to swallow you whole. You remember Javier on his knees before you, pillow covering your spread legs while he unlaced your boots. 

“Well you left so…” You grab the control and snicker, pressing play.

“Hah. Hand me that.” he gestures to the pack of cigarettes on the side table. You shake your head no and settle into the seat. “Cmon.” 

“No. No smoking in the house.” You snap at the tv, “Watch.” 

It’s Eric’s face, he’s sitting in his bedroom. “Hello. I’m Eric Fredricks. I’m fifteen and my passion is digital media. The yearbook club is full of hacks and strokes, so I’m going to make my own. The date is September 21st 1979. Ok bye!” the film glitches and the camera makes its way down the hall. Faces of people who you haven’t seen in years. Hairstyles forgotten, thank god. Winks at the camera, sly comments from Eric behind it. He asks questions in his interview segment that would never make it to the school's video yearbook. 

“What does Eric do now?” Javier asks. It’s easy to forget that he missed so many crucial moments. He missed the infamous lunch box incident in 81', Laredos first soccer championship, the halloween rager that led to the assembly—all of that. You wonder if that’s normal, for the development of a person. To be plucked out of childhood and forced to be an adult while everyone else got to worry about if their drivers test aligned with their basketball practice schedule. Burdened with the responsibility of a person's livelihood is no place for a seventeen year old. 

You bring your knees to your chest, finding the most comfort when you're guided and held. “Last I heard he was doing media production for Saturday Night Live. Like in New York City.”

He feels it too, you see the way his brows quirk. How he almost frowns. “That’s crazy—how different things went for everyone else.” You knew at that moment that the tape would be mere background noise. 

“You— you know you made a name for yourself too.” 

Hm. 

You weren’t sure if that’s what you wished to say. He doesn’t get upset with you for it. He chooses to let it slide and for that you’re grateful because you hadn’t had a clue about what to say to him. 

“Yeah.” He chuckles but doesn’t seem to be that amused. He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning his head against the back of the couch. There’s not much to be said anymore. Lorraine changed the fabric of his being, so did the DEA. And maybe you too. His hand splayed on his knee, knuckles red from repeated trauma to the area. You opted to abandon the topic in general. Seeing his stomach tighten up under the thin fabric of his t-shirt when the choice was your hand on his. Small, soft, against his. 

The two of you relish in the harmless intimacy, you give each other this. Tiny touches could be enough. 

The two of you watch the bootlegged documentary in mostly silence. Rotating who strokes the other with their thumbs. You think about turning your cheek, kissing him. Pressing close and making out for a bit. A casual make out, breathy and gripping. You decide against it. This would be so easy if it was anyone else but him. 

It’s not because you feel like you can’t control yourself—it’s not like a make out with Javier Peña would have your panties at your ankles. You could control yourself more than that. What it is—is that you’ll take advantage of those little liberties. Sneaking kisses at any time and when you go back home, you’ll be lost without it. 

Maybe you’re doomed anyway, because if this doesn’t work out you don't know what you’ll do knowing you can’t just hold his hand. 

Your brother comes out on halloween with a fang induced lisp drunkenly reciting the alphabet backwards at a party while Eric cackles behind the camera. It makes you laugh so hard you cry, missing being young. Missing your brother. 

Lorraine pops up. High ponytail with red cheeks from gym class. Hands on her hips, it’s wrong for such an evil person to be so beautiful. You look at Javier and there’s a frown on his face. 

He wonders why she was so bad to him, what he did to deserve to be plagued by her. He regrets knowing her, it’s hard for him to watch her smile. 

Then you show up and Javier’s eyebrows raise. “I remember that day.” He mutters. There you are, looking the same just with that baby fat at the apple of your cheeks. Your hair was the closest to its natural brown, your pants were severely high waisted and your shirt a lacy shawl like thing. You’re at a locker taping a flier about lacrosse tryouts when the camera rushes you.

“Andrea Diaz! How does it feel to be Laredos worst lacrosse player?” Javier snorts next to you, squeezing your hand. That’s what he would do, come up to you and ask the dumbest, rudest questions. There, a fifteen year old Andrea rolls her eyes and rolls her thumb to secure the tape. 

Crossing her arms, “I’ll answer your dumb questions if you’re nicer about it.” You cringe at the sound of your own voice, sounding awfully juvenile. Javier’s entire demeanor goes soft. All it took was the sound of you—back then, for him to forget the panic in his gut when watching Lorraine in her prime. 

“Alright sure-sure- Andrea Diaz how does it feel to be the sexiest girl in all of Laredo?” Eric had quite the country accent, it made every line delivered feel like that of a typecasted movie star. 

Quirking a brow, “I wouldn’t know. I could ask your mother.” 

“All right that’s enough! You’re impossible to please ,woman!” Eric yells from behind the camera and it fades in little blocks to you getting set up for a keg stand. 

You’re in a skirt and a flowing yellow top. Stumbling a bit, Daniel holds your shoulder to keep you upright. You try not to think too hard about the images you’ve left in people’s minds while you were drunk. Javier is getting more and more tense each passing moment. His hold on your hand becomes just a hold and no longer a soothing stroke. 

You’re cringing at yourself, flipping your hair and chanting that you could do it while Daniel holds your waist. Hands trailing over your stomach, you almost forget that before Javier you had your fair share of hookups, him your most consistent. 

The date on the corner March 1st 1980. 

Drunkenly you lean forward and another one of your peers holds your other leg while another shoves a tap in your mouth. The entire party off screen and on, start chanting your name with whoops. That’s when your skirt flips and exposes the plain blue panties. 

You cover your eyes. 

“I don’t like this.” Is all that Javier can say, on the screen no one covers you until a random classmate of yours, Jenna? Or was it Jessa? Runs to your aid and calls all the men pigs before holding your skirt in its place. You’re dropped down and again you stumble backward into the arms of your pseudo boyfriend. 

And then you yak all over the floor.

 “Jesus christ I forgot about that.” You rub your eyes afraid to look over at Javier. 

“Did—anything-“

“No. Well I think we went to someone’s room and made out. Then I walked home.” 

His head nearly falls off his shoulders. “He let you walk home like that?” Javi grits, letting go of your hand. 

You shrug, “Dunno, high school shit.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

Your brows furrow, he’s being ridiculous but you know he can’t help it. He wanted—wants, nothing more than to take care of those he loves. You watch the video back, seeing your young eyes and wish to take care of her too. You can’t even imagine him. He only lets you know the surface level of his concern for you. You know it’s more than wishing you had called him. 

You had before, panicked and blushing using the party home phone. 

You decide calling him ridiculous would be in bad faith. You just lean your head on his shoulder. Moving your hand from his and holding his bicep instead. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Face softening along with his tense shoulders. “I don’t know. I was sixteen and stupid. And drunk.” Your cheek feels too good there. 

He’s studying you. You wished you could read him in these moments. When he’s so in his head, he’s taking you in completely. “Can you? Now I mean.”

Your lips quirk and the apples or your cheeks redden. Pulling your brows because sometimes he’s too sweet it gives you a toothache. “I live in New York, Javi.” 

“I know.” He’s close enough to kiss. “But I want you to call me anyway. If you ever feel unsafe or unsure—i know how twisted a human can be—i’ve seen-“

There it is. He’s cut off by a kiss on his shoulder.

 “I will.” It’s a featherlight whisper and he does that thing again. That look, this time with a bit of restraint. The two of you focus on the screen again.

Twenty minutes into the forty-six minute video the two of you revert back to telling stories about the students on the screen and laughing at how high school, your high school experience really was.

“This is great, hottest couple in the school right in front of me.” Eric laughs, camera pointed at the ground then quickly shot up. Blurring than focusing on Javier at his locker. He looked so young, red cap on his head with a Righteous Brothers t-shirt. The image of him as a seventeen year old in your head had been fading for a few years, but now you’re watching him living, breathing and moving as himself. Smiling once he sees Eric approaching him. 

“What the fuck was I wearing?”

You laugh, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Don’t know but I was obsessed with you anyway.”

He makes one of those grunts where you can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself or with you. You nudge his shoulder with your chin. “What?”

“Makes me feel like such an asshole.”

All you could do was sigh. You know he’d give it all to do it over again. You look at Lorraine and there seems to be love there. It never fails to make your blood boil. You know that loving Javier can make you feel sick, crazy or desperate. But you suppose her love was selfish. For a while you felt like your own love was selfish, not caring for the consequences. But you suppose it was just a natural progression. Miles away from scheming to keep him forever, by ways of manipulation. The look in his eye isn’t the same since you left him. 

A young Javier takes Lorraine’s jaw in his hand and kisses her cheek. She rolls her eyes. “He’s obsessed with me.” She smiles and he mumbles a yeah. Your cheeks heat in a rage that’s so juvenile, you want to turn off the entire thing. Maybe this was a shitty idea. Watching your most insecure and turbulent years in front of you. You were obsessed with him, crying furious tears. Avoiding contact. While he was content with her. It’s a nerve that will always be left exposed. 

He clears his throat. 

“Were you?” You bite. Removing your head from his shoulder, he sinks at the loss. Leaning forward to get a full image of your face. His brows are pulled together in confusion until they soften when he notices this is nothing but you showing him you are still so into him. 

He bites back a smirk and you want to smack it off of his face. “Was I what, querida?”

You swear you will-

“Obsessed with her.” Firm, no room for it to sound like a desperate question. This definitely breaks one of your rules. But fuck it, he’s flawed and so are you, 

He shuts an eye and shakes his head no. “I liked her. She was pretty. She was my girlfriend…”

You frown, that title belonged to you. 

There he is, an inch away from your face with such intensity. “But I would fuck her, and picture you. I imagined that you’d blush the whole time and would pretend like you couldn’t handle me just so I can fuck you harder. Would have to bury my head where she couldn’t hear because I’d come and say your name.” Your cheeks turn cherry red, just how he likes. Cunt pulsing, it betrays you. You’re so flustered and angry with him you want to lean forward and bite him. He doesn’t waiver, he leans much closer. You shudder, feeling crowded by his body. He has the strength to do what he’d like with you, you’re sure you’d put on a fight until you’re unable to lie anymore. You had been soaked the whole damn time. “What? Have I broken your rules?” He whispers, nose nudging your own lightly. You can’t help it, your mouth parts searching for his—

But he backs away and laughs at you. He laughs! Shaking his head like you’re some bastard child. Leaning back cooley and pressing play again. Lorraine’s voice ringing through the speakers. 

Absolutely not. 

You sit in silence. Staring at him while he’s glued to the image of him and his ex girlfriend. Your chin quivers, and you clench around nothing.

“G-give me the remote.” You blurt. Chest falling, bubbling with anger. He doesn’t look at you but smirks. He ignores you. Eyes welling with tears. “Javi.”

More silence. More her. You reach for his hand and he doesn’t look at you. He isn’t looking at you… so you pounce. 

Jumping into his lap, clawing at him while he laughs and hurriedly finds different ways to keep you away from the remote. You’re seeping through your underwear and onto his boxers, your cunt rolling against his crotch unintentionally.

 Your brows screw—“Just—Javi please turn it off.” He chuckles again and he’s all of this without focusing on the pain you’re in. Emotionally, sexually, whatever. You reach around him lifting your hips to get ahold of the controller but you lose again. Bouncing on his lap a bit. He grunts.

“Javi— Please- I’m not kidding.” 

The tv shuts off with a wiring tone and his eyes finally land on your own. All the playfulness leaves when he realizes. And you feel like a heat sick kitten, rubbing on yourself this way. His brow raises, eyes falling to your tear stained cheek and down your grinding hips. You drop your face into his shoulder. At first he doesn’t touch you, he just watches you. Nose nudging your cheek. Wondering why after everything you’d give it up just to come quick like this. 

“Hey… hey.” He whispers at the shell of your ear. “Fuck—Andrea—“

You can only whimper into the crook of his neck. Taking your feel for the girl in those tapes, for the girl who dreamt of him while he did the same. It drove you crazy, it made you violent and horny. “Baby…” His big hands span from your shoulder blades down to  the small of your back and then splayed on your ass. Spreading you and rolling you harder. He grunts again. “Andrea… I can’t—we said we wouldn’t—I'm sorry for teasing you—cmon.” His hands move from your behind, come to your front, at your waist and lightly push  you away from him. 

He’s impossibly hard now, his tan cheeks have a bit more color now. He’s sweating. Feeling embarrassed, you freeze. Eyes dropped to his lap, cunt begging you to move again. You feel the length of him under you, mocking you. You shouldn’t. You know. You know he’s sorry for how rushed and stupid Christmas eve was. You’re still ticked off by it, but he’s doing so good for you. 

“I’m sorry… we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Is all you can muster out. 

“You know I want to.” He rushes, leaning forward so he can hold your face, it just makes him shift against you again. Your brows furrow at the release. 

“Okay…” A drop of sweat builds at the nape of your neck, the both of you are so turned on you’ll fuck each other if you keep this up. “Can we…can I…” You swear if he brings up your rules again you’ll crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. 

He juts his chin at you, egging you to complete your sentence. 

You think you’ll die before you say it. Your face brightens real red and you shimmy out of his hold. You crawl off his lap and mutter to yourself. “Sorry, it’s stupid. I should just go.” 

He catches your wrist and sits you back down next to him. “Tell me.”

“It’s stupid! And gross probably.”

“We aren’t children.” 

You’ve been so open sexually until now. You felt twenty two again, never having orgasmed with another person, afraid to tell him what you wanted. He gave you it all. 

“Can we— or can I touch myself?”

Javier’s eyes darken, “You want to touch yourself.” 

God it’s like he’s trying to humiliate you. 

“Yes.”

He clenches his jaw so tight. “Can I watch? Or do you want to go to my room alone?” 

Idiot. 

“Can we do it together? Now.” You can’t let the moment pass. 

Well, he can’t either. His nostrils flare and he places his hand on his belt. Unbuckling so fast you can’t help but watch. You watch him unbuckle and unzip while you shimmy out of his boxers. His eyes glued to your movements. You feel filthy exposing yourself like this. He lifts his hips and pulls his jeans down a bit, the heft of his cock making a print through his underwear. You remember leaning down and pressing your lips along his bulge once. You’d like to do it again. 

You circle your fingers along your clit over your panties. He palms himself. 

“Tell me what to do.” You whisper. 

“Oh.” He reaches into his boxers and pulls his length out. Your pussy clenches at the sight, a thatch of hair at the base and curved. You touched yourself to the thought of it. You pull your panties down and lift one leg up on the couch, spreading yourself open. “Give me your fingers.” 

You furrow your brow but remove them. Bringing your hand to him. His free hand grasps your wrists and he takes no time, he puts the same two fingers in his mouth. You gasp, while he sucks, stroking his dick at the same time. Your fingers are impossibly wet when he stops. Your wrist is still in his hold. “Don’t put any fingers in until I tell you. Just play with your clit for a little.” 

You nod, bringing your fingers back to it. Moving in tight circles. Javier’s fist is dry, working his way up and down his shaft— your lips gather with drool—you want to-

“Spit on it. If you want. Or I can.” He reads your mind. You take no time, moving to your knees, your knees knocked together giving you a tighter squeeze for your fingers. Feels even better. You lean into his lap, back arched like a kitten. 

Javier groans at the sight. You desperately want to put your mouth on him—my rules, my rules. Spit drips from your mouth and onto the red head of his pretty cock. His hand comes to the back of your head and you moan, wishing he’d push down and force himself into your mouth. But he just strokes the back of your head instead. You lean back into the arm of the couch, you’re no longer side by side. Your whole body is barred for him, you bring your free hand under your shirt. Grabbing your breast and rolling your fingers over your nipples. 

He uses your spit and moans audibly now. Grunting in his low baritone, you collect your slick and use it for slip. Your stomach tenses, “Put your finger in. Middle.” You nod and feel even more unsatisfied. “Fuck, I missed that pretty little face you make when something goes inside your cunt.”

“Javi…” You whine throwing your head back, fucking yourself with your small finger. 

“I know—fuck.” Pre-cum gathers all over the tips of his fingers. You’ll ask to lick his hand clean when you’re done. “I know your cunt wants my cock again—I’m sorry I can’t.”

“It’s not enough.” Your knees knock together in protest. 

“I know-I know. Add another baby. Ring.” You watch his stomach go taut so he slows down his strokes. Licking his lips at the sight of you adding another. “Mm. I miss you so much.” He shudders. 

“I’m right here.” 

“Please don’t leave me—fuck.” He whines, it’s so unlike him. You watch his tip surge through the tight hole he’s made for himself, he’s close but you’re closer. You can’t believe it’s him asking you this. “I want to follow your rules—show you I’m good—but please let me kiss you.” 

The ridges of your fingers aren’t enough, you use your other hand to circle your clit without permission. He’s so caught in his emotions that he doesn’t seem to care that you touched yourself without his command. 

He tells you what to do but truly he’s at your will. His eyes well with tears and his brows are pulled together. “Let me take care of you, I’ll do everything you say if you let me kiss you—“

“I can’t— I’m going to come!” Your back arches and it builds. You can’t see him now but you hear his pace, his fist slapping against his base. You writhe and shiver and it comes crashing down. You come hard, you mutter I’m sorry, over and over. And he groans at the sight, you can’t give him what he wants. 

You can try and give him something else. You catch your breath and open your eyes. Your own come dripping to the inside of your thighs. He watches in pain, “Baby—” You whisper, fuck that’s against the rules probably. He nods, submissive suddenly. “Come here, come on my cunt.” You want to be marked, he’s yours. 

“Andrea—“ still he’s fighting his need to follow your rules. 

You nod, “It’s okay, come here.” He lets his length go at once, it twitches at the sudden abandonment. You lean forward and grab his arms, and he finally climbs over you. Reluctant, “Please Javi. Let me have what I want.” Were you power tripping? Yeah. But it was always him in control. You open your legs and he clenches his jaw. “Do you want me to finish it?” 

He shakes his head no, you know he wants it. Still he tries to be good. You begin to touch yourself under him. He begins to jerk himself off inches away from your cunt. Your knuckles brush against each other and you're already climaxing again. He slaps faster, breathing heavily in the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck—move your hand.” You do and he’s coming all over you. It shoots and covers the new growth of hair, it's warm against the bare part of you. Dripping and he instinctively slides his twitching, softening cock between your folds. The two of you gasp when just the tip of his cock prods your hole. Gasping at the way you pulse for him for that one second like muscle memory. “Sorry.” He mumbles, taking a hold of his still twitching and leaking length. He panics and tucks himself back into his boxers before he relaxes himself on you. 

He’s catching his breath, you think he’s crying against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay.” 

You hold the back of his head, hoping to soothe him. 

He had done this for you countless times. You find no issue doing it for him.

[sunlitblue]

Need You (More Than Want You)

this is about 6.5k words, and focuses on secretary!reader x javier peña. there are flashbacks, so pay attention to the dates and headers! the reader-character is not named but is referred to using she/her pronouns. title is from the song "Wichita Lineman" by Glen Campbell. line breaks from evansyhelp!

contains (lots of) swearing, making out, and possible future chapters will contain smut so tentatively 18+. pls rb if u enjoy so other people can read it too (✿◠‿◠)

You're not usually an angry person, but whoever is knocking at your door at seven in the fucking morning on a Saturday deserves nothing less than death. You wrench the door open, ready to let loose all the Spanish curse words you've been learning, but you are rendered speechless, because in your doorway, there he stands. It's been weeks since you've seen him, even longer since you've actually spoken, and last you heard he was being shipped back to D.C. to hand in his gun and badge, and yet. And yet, Javier Peña is standing at your door, at seven AM, panting like he's just a run a marathon. 

"Hi," he says, pushing his way into your apartment like he has any right to be there. His eyes are wild and strangely desperate, in a way you've only seen once before. 

You've spent so many sleepless nights rehearsing what you might say to him if you ever saw him again. Some nights, you yell until you're hoarse. Other nights, you crumple into his arms and cry like a child while he holds you. Now he is front of you, and you can't manage anything other than a weak, "Hey."

"You look good," he says, even though he hasn't made eye contact since he walked in.

He looks good too, dressed in a suit with a fucking tie and everything. He looks more official than you've seen him before, but you won't give him the satisfaction of saying that. He probably already knows, the cocky asshole. 

"Thanks," you reply, voice tight. And then, the question he's been expecting, "What are you doing here, Javier?"

He looks at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. Inhalen y exhalen, like his mother taught him once upon a time. 

"I need you," he says, and he winces when you balk. "I mean, I need you to come work for me, work with me, in Bogota. You're the only person I trust."

You try to hold it in, to be mature, but you can't help the incredulous scoff that you let out. 

"Not a fucking chance," you say. 

"Just," he sighs, "just please hear me out. Please, before you say no." You don't kick him out, so he takes that as a sign to continue. "After everything that happened here, in Medellin, after everything I did, I was so sure that it was over for me. That they would take my badge and kick me out forever, but they," he hesitates, "they didn't. They want me to be the DEA attaché in Bogota, to take down Cali. You're the most competent person I know, and I can't do it without you."

He looks so earnest, so unlike that stoic man you knew before, that you almost fold. Almost. 

"Congratulations on the promotion, but it's still no, Javier."

"Why?" he demands, "What did I— How can I convince you?"

He was one of the first people you met in Colombia, he was close to being your first friend, and you’ve never seen him beg like this. Not for paperwork to be filed, not for a meeting with Messina, not even for a chance with that hot secretary on the third floor. 

"You said you want me because you trust me, Javier. That's why it's no. After what you did, what you were involved with, the US of fucking A rewards you for your sins with a goddamn pay raise and a new job. I can't trust them and, after you ignored me for months, Peña, like I was the one who did something wrong, I definitely can't trust you."

His eyes are pleading, verging on pathetic. 

"You can," his voice is hoarse, watery. "You can trust me. It'll be different this time, it'll be good. We'll do it right, end this once and for all. I just, I need you there with me."

In spite of yourself, you believe him. Your traitorous heart flutters at that word -- need -- again, and you take your own deep breath in to stop yourself from thinking of the last time he said something similar, when his body was underneath yours and you were breathing in tandem. You exhale and observe him for a moment, his head hanging down and his eyes screwed shut, like he's ashamed of something. 

You've never said it out loud, but Javier has always known you're somewhat of a kindred spirit. That was what started the arguing, the heat that had once pulsed between the two of you. Naive as it may have been, you were an idealist, just like him. You believed in justice, and you had worked to see it done. With Pablo, it had been messy, a winding, twisted path that started and ended in bloodshed. Maybe, Javier was right. Maybe you finally had a chance to do things right, to make up for all the ways you failed. Maybe you could finish this, be done with Colombia, be done with him, once and for all. You sigh out his name and he finally looks up. 

"When?" Your hands are on your hips and you look grim. It's a familiar look to Javier, one of his favourites on you. 

"What?" he snaps out of his observation of you.

"When?" you repeat, impatient. "When do we start?"

He beams, a smile wide and fucking dangerous, like the burning sun on a summer day in Colombia. That's how it all starts, after it has ended once already. You're screwed, you just know it.

Bogota, 1994. Months later.

"No one can get in to see him at short notice, Peña, he's a stickler for due process. I'm afraid this is out of my hands." Crosby is as grim and as unhelpful as ever. 

"What do you mean 'this is out of your hands'? You're the fu— the ambassador! Surely, there's something you can do?"

Javier is exhausted. This charade of professionalism is draining. He needs a cigarette, he needs a politician who gives a fuck. Crosby sighs, and shakes his head no. 

"I'm sorry, Peña. Find a different judge, or find a different way."

It's as good as a dismissal, and Javier stomps out of the ambassador's office, a storm in his eyes. He's reaching into his back pocket for his smokes, before he swears, remembering that you’re holding onto them. He’s supposed to be quitting, after all. He sighs and re-routes to your desk, just outside his office. It has been months since he begged you to join him, and you are every bit the asset he knew you’d be. The office would fall apart without you. He’d fall apart without you. Thanks to Feistl and Van Ness, the agents you’d recommended he choose for Cali, the DEA is closer than ever to bringing down Miguel. But close is not close enough if he can’t get his warrant, if he can’t do things right this time. 

When you come into view, you're telling Stoddard off for something, and Javier smiles in spite of himself. 

"Yes, Agent, I am well aware that I don’t outrank you. I'm just telling you that Agent Peña will take a look at your proposal after, and only after, I have vetted it and decided if it’s worth his time. He's too busy for bullshit," you say, dismissing the younger agent easily. 

"What bullshit am I too busy for today?" Javi leans on your desk and gives you a thin, conspiratorial smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"The young man wants a new water cooler for the office. He wrote you a proposal, Javi," you smirk back. 

"Whatever I see goes through her first. You know the rules, kid," Javier addresses Stoddard, who straightens up at the attention. 

"But I—" he starts to protest. 

"But nothing. She’s more capable than anyone in this office, including me. It's her call."

Stoddard sighs and deposits the document on your desk, before slouching back to his. 

You survey Javier for a moment. 

"Meeting with Crosby didn't go well?" you probe, already holding out his pack of Camels. Javier knows better than to be surprised that you can read his mood so easily, even when he's trying to quash his disappointment down. 

"Yeah, it's a no go. Looks like I won't be able to get an expedited warrant from Lopéz, and he's the only judge we know for sure won't snitch to the godfathers. We'll have to find another way," he sighs, taking the cigarettes from your hand and lighting one up.

"Wait, the judge you need is Lopéz? Emiliano Lopéz?" you have a familiar look on your face, that icy determination that first endeared Javi to you, even when he wouldn’t admit it.

"Yeah, Lopéz, the magistrate here in Bogota. His docket is full for weeks, and he’s not the type to let us cut in the line. He's honest enough that he won't work for Cali, and honest enough that he won't budge under any pressure from us. Not to mention the fact that he hates America, and all that good ol’ Uncle Sam stands for," Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette, his mind already thinking of loopholes, of strategies, of options. Turns out that doing things right in Colombia isn't as easy as it looks. Due process often means the slow-turning wheels of justice, and that means a chance for the godfathers to evade capture once again. But he had promised you that things would be different, and he meant it.

Javier turns back to you, raises his eyebrows at your wide grin. 

"I can get to Lopéz," you are already flipping through your almighty rolodex. He sighs, and says your name. 

"I wasn't kidding when I told the kid that you're the best person here, but this may be beyond even your powers," he says, gently. He knows you don't like to be wrong, just like him. 

You don't argue, not even to remind him that that isn't exactly what he said to Stoddard a minute ago. Instead, you ignore the flutter in your chest that his compliment brings on and pause on an entry: "Here it is! Gabriela Lopez!"

"His wife?" Javier asks, intrigued. 

Your smile is shining. 

"Even better. His daughter. His only daughter. Met her a few years back at some fancy government party. Her birthday is in a couple of days, and I happen to know her favourite brand of tequila. Lend me that corporate card and I'll get her to talk to dear old dad." You're smug, as you well should be. 

Javier sighs again, but he's already digging for the card in his wallet. 

"You sure this'll work?" he asks, holding it just out of your reach.

"You dare to doubt me? Just for that, you're paying for drinks on Friday," you snatch the card from him, already dialling the number on the office landline. 

"Drinks?" he asks, trying not to be mesmerised by your pretty red nails as you twirl the phone cord in your hands. 

"Drinks," you confirm. "We're going out for drinks after this works out."

Before he can reply, you're already hollering into the phone and shooing him away. 

"Gabi! Hi! How's the baby doing? Still keeping you and Samuél up all night?"

He ambles back to his desk and slumps in his chair, pretending to look over a report. In reality, he's watching you through the glass door, your over-expressive face and your widening grin. He really had meant what he said to Stoddard earlier: you are the best person in the entire office, maybe in all of Colombia. You are far better than he deserves, that much he knows. More than just a capable assistant, you're the lifeblood of the DEA in Bogota: competent, organised and meticulous to a fault. 

He frowns to himself as he remembers how he made fun of you, back in Medellin, for those same traits. Attractive, and more than a little intimidating, he had envied your charm and likability. Even worse, he had despised the fact that you barely gave him a second glance, rebuffing his flirtations and throwing out his shoddy paperwork in favour of Murphy's neat handwriting. He had seen you as a bastion of bureaucracy, everything that was the problem with the government and the DEA. Messina's pretty assistant, who demanded excellence and challenged him, constantly. He knows now that you are anything but a stickler for the rules. In reality, you believe in order and in systems, not unlike Martinez. You bend rules, but only when you know it is right. You make sure everything looks good on paper, because you know that good actions mean nothing in this world without the paper trail to back them up. You are good, and Javier, as much as he tries to be better these days, can never forget how he once was anything but. 

He sighs and returns to his work, giving you one more longing look since he knows you aren’t paying attention. He's lost in his documents when you come bounding in, not bothering to knock. 

"Good news or bad news, first?" you say, beaming as you lean your forearms on his desk. He clears his throat and is proud to say that he barely glances at your chest. Barely. 

"Good news, please," he says. 

"You have a meeting. His new secretary is Peruvian, and she’s doing us a huge favour, so you're going to buy her a box of alfajores and some flowers on your way in to the judicial offices at 8am, tomorrow. Get there fifteen minutes early, parking is a bitch."

Javier is on his feet and hugging you before he can really think about it. You came through, because, of course you did. You were right, he was ridiculous to doubt you, competent, capable, wonderful, you. You're laughing in delight at his over-the-top reaction.

"Wait," he says, holding on to your shoulders, "what's the bad news?"

You sigh, pouting exaggeratedly, "Gabriela's cousin's bachelorette party is on Friday, and I need to give her that fancy bottle of tequila, so we have to postpone our celebratory drinks."

He's trying and failing to bite back his smile, and yours doesn't falter, even as he steps back and the space around you empties of his electricity. 

"What a shame," he drawls, already pulling his fancy whiskey and two glasses out of the drawer of his desk. "Guess we'll just have to celebrate now, instead."

He pours you a glass and hands it to you, ignoring the familiar spark when your hand brushes his. 

"A tu salud," he clinks it with yours, and you take a sip in tandem. The whiskey is rich and warm on your tongue. Despite it all, you can't help but miss the burn of the cheap, shitty liquor you once shared with him. 

The warrant comes through, because of course it does, and the operation to arrest Miguel Rodriguez is a success. Javier does his press interviews and you stand off to the side, watching the way he commands the room when he speaks. He wishes he could tell the world how he owes this success to you, to your fucking rolodex, your support, your charm. Even now, as he is trying to be a better man, he knows he does not have the words for all you are to him. Instead, he just smiles at you as he walks away from the platform. He leads you away from the clamouring journalists into an empty hall, wraps you in a bear hug, and whispers "Thank you," over and over again into your hair. He hopes you understand everything he means, hidden below the simple words. You hug him back, tight and firm, and he thinks that maybe you do. Maybe you understand his words, his meaning, him, better than anyone ever has before. 

A few days later, he is working in his office, trying not to look at you through the glass doors. You’re a vision in that red dress – your Friday dress, you call it – and he knows that if he glances up at you, he won’t be able to look away. In his periphery, he sees someone approach your desk. Probably Stoddard, he guesses. Except, you were usually pretty good at shoo-ing the kid away and this person is lingering. He looks over just in time to see you throw your head back in laughter at something Feistl – fucking Feistl ­– is saying. He’s talked to Feistl plenty, and Javier knows for a fact that he is not that funny. 

He frowns, and strains to hear your conversation, striding across the room to fiddle with his filing cabinet, where he thinks he might hear you better. He’s just curious, he tells himself. 

“–dancing? Next Friday, around eight. There’s a cute new place on Calle 83 that I’ve been meaning to try.”

“Yeah, that sounds great, though I’m not much of a dancer,” he sounds sheepish. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Maybe after a couple of drinks, I’ll even teach you how to cumbia,” you smirk at him, and now it’s Chris’s turn to laugh. 

Javier is squeezing the door of his filing cabinet so tight that he thinks he might warp the metal. Feistl and… you? Dancing? Drinks? His stomach hurts a little at the thought of it, and he wishes he hadn’t been so curious, so nosy. 

He huffs and goes to sit back down at his desk, tries valiantly to focus again. But he can’t stop thinking about you in that dress, about you dancing, laughing with someone who isn’t him. In the end, he needs to stay late to get through all the work that he couldn’t focus on. Though his concentration isn’t any better in the evening, because you’re working late too, and you’re so close that he feels like his body is humming. You’ve taken your heels off and you’re sitting on the little couch in his office with your feet tucked under as you survey paperwork. It’s busy work that any intern could do, but you pride yourself on quality, so you insist on triple-checking everything, even if it means staying late. It’s become a sweet little routine, which is why you get so comfortable in Javi’s office when the department clears out for the night. 

He realizes that he doesn’t know your relationship status, or Feistl’s, for that matter. He had assumed you were single, as crazy as the thought is. You’re often in his office, working late and he doubts any self-respecting partner would let you stay away so frequently. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on his part. Feistl, on the other hand… Javier knows he has a kid, but not much else about the agent’s personal life. Though, Javi guesses that Chris is probably closer to your age than he is. Less of a dark past, too. Maybe you’d make a good match. He winces at the thought.

"You know Feistl has a kid, right?"

It's the first time Javi has spoken in maybe an hour. You're correcting paperwork, filing documents and trying to align meeting schedules for the next few weeks. Javier is supposed to be poring over financial documents, trying to find a witness who might testify against Miguel.

"Oh, he does? Must be hard being away all the time," you reply, indulging Javier's unusual attempt at small talk with a response.

"I just thought it's something you should know since you and him are... You know," he continues, awkward as anything.

"Me and him are... what?"

"I, uh, heard you guys talking at your desk this afternoon. You're going, um, dancing?" he continues, putting a strange emphasis on the last word. 

It takes you a few seconds to catch on to his meaning. 

"Javier, do you think there's something going on between me and Chris?" you ask, incredulous. 

Javi's eyebrows raise and his eyes widen. It would be comical if it wasn't so stupid. 

"I just— I heard you and him talking about going dancing this weekend and, you know, workplace relationships and all that and I just thought I should mention it to you, in case you don't know and now I did so... Yeah. You know." His rambling is bizarre, and out of character, and you can't do much in response except let out a shocked little laugh. He winces at his own inability to string a fucking sentence together. 

"Javier. Seriously. I invited Chris to go dancing with me, and the entire office, like we do once a month, and have been doing since we started working here in Bogota. You know, the team building that I suggested we do to build morale, that I invite you to every month, and every month you say..."

"Too much work, maybe next time," he intones, finishing your sentence, still wincing.

"Yup. I'm not going out with Chris, or anyone for that matter. Not that it's any of your business," you sniff.

"Oh," he breathes a sigh of relief, "good," he says, before he can stop himself. You look at him sharply and his brown eyes look a little panicked. "I mean, good that you're not dating Chris because, I guess, dating in the workplace isn't really a good idea," he continues. The plastic pen in his hand looks about to snap.

"Huh," is all you say back, and he knows you well enough to know how dangerous the neutral expression on your face is.

"What?" he says, quickly, defensively.

"I just think it's funny that you're worried about me dating in the workplace like you didn't fuck the secretaries in three different departments back in Medellin.”

"Oh, c'mon," he says your name, "that's different."

"Oh, is it? Different? Because the rules don't apply to Javier Peña, right? So you can break hearts all over the office, and I'm getting fucking interrogated for being friends with my colleague? Is it because I'm a woman, or because I'm an assistant? Is that why it's different, jefe?" you huff, sarcastic and upset. 

"You know that's not what I mean. Don't be ridiculous," he replies, and you balk at his tone. He's using the voice he uses on the younger agents, talking down to you like he has any right to do so. All too quickly, you are back in that stuffy office in Medellin, listening to him condescend and patronise you. 

"You know what," you stand up quickly, dusting off your skirt, and slipping your heels back on. "Maybe I will go see if Chris wants to go out with me, or maybe I'll ask Van Ness, or anyone I want to, because I can," you march out, forgetting that it's only you and Javier left in the office at this time. 

He's up and following you before he knows what he's doing, grabbing on to your arm to stop you. Your skin tingles where he's touching you, especially when he says your name in that soft, dulcet tone. 

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, when you turn around to face him. "I shouldn't have assumed, and I shouldn't have said that. You can date whoever you want, of course you can," he pauses for a second, takes a breath. "Just please don't date Feistl, he's like a short little version of Murphy. It freaks me out," he breathes out in relief when you smile at his stupid joke. He tries not to linger on how tense his chest felt at even the prospect of your ire. 

In those early days in Medellin, he would have expected nothing less than your biting sarcasm, your quick, mean retorts. But everything had changed since that day he showed up at your door. Since that day he begged for you. Things had been changing before then, maybe. That night he couldn't forget, no matter how much whiskey he drank, that was the moment things shifted. 

"Fine," you say, caught between a smile and a pout, "I won't date Feistl."

He still hasn't let go of your arm, and you still haven't pulled away from him. Javier isn't an idiot, he knows when a woman wants him. And he knows you're attracted to him, just like you know he's attracted to you. His hand slides up your arm to cup your face. The way his thumb strokes your cheekbone is familiar. 

"Don't—" he starts to say, before shaking his head. He has no right to you, and yet. You look at him with a question in your eyes. He wants to step back, out of your space, but he can't. 

"Don't date anyone," he says, all too aware that he is being possessive, that he has no right to ask anything of you.

You don't step back, or move away. Instead, you take him in. Your eyes are searching, scanning his face for something. 

"Why not, Javier?"

The question is so simple. Not for the first time, he curses at his own inadequacy. He wishes he could put it all into words, wishes he could explain this need he has for you. He wishes he could explain the way the smell of your perfume sometimes lingers in his office, the way he craves it when it doesn’t. He wishes he could tell you that you are his best friend, his best asset, the best part of him. He wishes he could explain how you are part of him, how your thoughts and interests and desires have weaved their way into his heart, and now he will always comprise him-and-you. He wishes he could say that you dating someone else would mean not dating him, and that would damn near kill him. 

"Because," he says.

"Because?" you prompt him for more. 

He hesitates, and the air between you sparkles with possibility. The tension between you and him is familiar, but this feeling – this string between you pulling tight, like it might soon snap – is something you’ve only felt once before. 

Javier’s chest is heaving at the intensity between you, and, before you know it, you are leaning up into his space. He is so close that his warm breath ghosts over your lips when he speaks.

“Because I—” 

A vacuum cleaner sounds, and you both start, moving away from one another quickly. There, in the dim light of the main office is Imelda, one of your favourite cleaning ladies. She notices you both a moment later, and waves cheerfully, beckoning you over and switching the vacuum off. You glance back at Javier, but he is looking down, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. You paste on your smile, and walk over to Imelda. 

Javier watches you as you interact with the kind woman, though your Spanish is just passable, and she barely speaks English, you are communicating with such warmth and openness. He smiles, despite himself, despite what he had almost admitted to you. Imelda reaches into her purse and hands you something homemade in a packet, and waves you off so she can continue vacuuming. 

Javier is leaning against his desk when you walk the short way back to him, and he doesn’t miss the way your hand nervously clenches and unclenches. He wonders if you even know that you have a tell. You give him a half-smile as you stop in front of him, more distant than you were before, but close enough that he could probably touch you with an outstretched hand. 

In your hand is a packet of polvorosas, made by Imelda herself. It makes sense to him that she would give you something, you are more likable than he thinks fair. You’re kind to all staff members, regardless of their rank, and there is something about your self-effacing warmth that inspires gift-giving. 

You look up at him, worrying at your lower lip and he is suddenly struck by how little he deserves you. You told him once that you thought he was a good man, but he knows that however good he is, you are a million times better. 

“Sorry, you were,” you smile sheepishly, “before, you were saying something.”

He is quiet for a long moment as he regards you, and you feel naked in the warmth of deep brown eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He turns back to his desk, sitting and picking up a report with clinical casualness. “We should get back to work.”

He doesn’t dare glance up at you, even as you hover near his desk, where he left you standing. You stand there for a long moment, caught between shock and hurt. And then, you shake yourself out of it, mimicking his nonchalance and picking a report back up. If Javi would have looked at you, he would have seen your hand tremble.

Medellin, 1993. Before.

In the wake of Carillo's death, in that godforsaken barrack room at Carlos Holgúin, Javi is caught somewhere between grief and blinding rage, as he so often is these days. He could hardly stand it, the way loss felt new every time, no matter how many times he'd felt it. He’s angry at Carillo, for failing him, for doing such dark things in war time and leaving Javier alone to sit with it all, for not seeing it through to the end with him. He’s angry at himself, for not stopping Carillo before it went too far. He misses his mother. He hurts for Carillo's wife, for his children, for that poor kid in that goddamn alleyway. Carillo, he had always thought, was the very best of them. Uncompromising, always; going too far, sometimes. If Carillo, imposing and militaristic as he was, could not be a good man, then what chance did little Javier Peña have?

You come to see him after Messina leaves. Ever her opposite, you don't know the right things to say. You don't say much at all, just hover behind him and gesture to his steadily emptying whiskey bottle.

"You in a sharing mood, tonight, Peña?"

He passes the bottle over and watches you, eyes maybe too heavy, as you take a swig and wince at the burn of cheap liquor. You hand it back. He still hasn't said anything. He's not sure there's anything he can say.

You exhale and perch at the edge of the thin regulation mattress, leaning back on your hands as you observe him. Red-rimmed eyes, a full ashtray on the table in front of him and another cigarette, not yet lit, held between his teeth. The silence stretches between you like taffy. 

"You gonna say anything, or did Messina just send you in here to stare at me?"

"Messina didn't send me here."

Javier scoffs. "Yeah, I'm sure after months of bein' a pain in my ass that you're here because you care about my wellbeing, right?" 

You don't reply. You know when Javier is picking a fight, and you're not in the mood to give in to him, not after the day you've both had. After a few more beats of silence, Javi takes another swig, emptying his whiskey glass. Then he stands up, all sharp, abrupt movements, and lingers where you're seated, handing the bottle back as a kind of fucked up peace offering. You accept. 

He's still watching you as you take another sip, and he complies far too easily when you pat the open space beside you and gesture for him to sit. He sighs; it sounds jagged, wrecked. 

"Do you think there are any good men?"

If you're surprised by the question, you don't show it. Javier is grateful that you don't show it. 

"I think," you hesitate, before carefully continuing, "I think someone's actions, their choices –  that's what makes them good. Good intentions, good thoughts, they don't count for much. The good things you do, that’s what makes the difference."

Javi swallows, parsing your answer in his mind. The silence that blankets you both now is less comfortable than before, it is thick with something unsaid. 

"Carrillo before he— before what happened tonight, did some things that...” he trails off. “I don't think he was always a good person. He wasn't Escobar, but he hurt people. That story about the child in Medellin, it's true. I was there and I... I let it happen. If Carrillo isn't a good man, then what does that make me?" His voice is thick and watery, weak with pain. His head is bowed, like he's praying or like he’s ashamed.

For the first time since you've met him, Javier seems human, vulnerable. No machismo, no tough mask. It pulls at your heart and tears prick at your eyes. You put the bottle down and touch his arm, feeling the muscle jump. 

"Oh, Javier," you breathe out, not sure what else you can say.

He moves quickly, suddenly and you almost think he might kiss you, but he doesn't. He just crumples into your arms, and you hold him, let him pretend he's the one holding you. You stroke the hair on the back of his head as you sit and breathe with him. 

"It's gonna be okay, Javi. It has to be," you whisper, voice muffled.

You don’t know how long you sit like that and pretend not to notice the wetness on shirt as he cries into your shoulder. Just as suddenly as he leaned in to you, he sniffs and pulls back, wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. His other hand is still at the small of your back, fisted in your shirt. For a moment, you both just look at each other. Months of bickering in the office hallways, of posturing and competing, pass between you in that look you share. Your throat feels dry. 

Your eyes flicker down to Javier's pretty pink lips as his tongue darts out to lick them. You hope he doesn't see your slip, but his eyes have already darkened. He pulls you closer to him with the hand at your back and the other goes to your jaw. For all his fire and intensity, the way he holds you now is tender, almost delicate.

You lean closer just as he does, and he presses his forehead to yours, lips just a breath away. Your eyes flutter closed, so you miss the way his eyes dart over your face like they're searching for something, or committing this to memory. Just as the moment feels like it's lingering a little too long, he kisses you. 

Javier kisses you like he needs you, not delicate but not quite vicious either. As he pulls you impossibly closer to him, you wrap your arms around his neck and scratch at the soft hair at his nape. He gasps, and moves his lips against yours with all the intensity he can muster. Somehow, the hand cradling your jaw is still tender, even as he slips his tongue between your lips and you moan at the taste of him. He pulls you into his lap and you grind against him, lost in the feeling of him all around you. His hands are everywhere, running through your hair, grasping at your thigh. The way he kisses makes you feel boundless; overwhelmed and stunned, all at once. 

He pulls away, resting his head in the space between your shoulder and neck and mouthing at the skin there. He sighs, hot breath fanning against your neck. His big, warm hand slips under your shirt and runs over the clasp at the back of your bra. 

"Need this so bad, querida," he whispers against your skin, and all too suddenly the feelings of the day come back to you.

"J-Javi," you breathe out.

He hums affirmatively against your skin and ruts up a little at the sound of his name. You can't swallow your gasp at his hardness under those tight denim jeans.

"Javier, I— wait. Stop."

His body goes still, fills with the tension that your touch had been soothing away. His voice when he says your name is wrecked, guilty and mournful. 

"What's wrong?" he lifts his head from your shoulder, but doesn't dare look up at you.

"I just—" you start to say, cradling his face like he held yours. "I just don't think this is what you need right now, Javier."

He makes a sound, something like a frustrated grunt but dirtier, angrier. Not at you, you don't think. Angry at himself, more likely. He drops his hands to run them through his hair. 

"Querida, I want—," he sighs at himself, at the words he can't put together. "I want you."

What he really means is that he knew he was attracted to you the first time he saw you, standing a little behind Messina in that godforsaken conference room, in a work-appropriate dress with sensible heels. He means that he's known he wants to do more than fuck you since that first conversation, where you refused to take his shit, rejected his flirting and put him in his fucking place. He wants to say that he likes the way you don't cower away from him, the way you demand that he deliver his best. The way you look rumpled when you work late, filing the paperwork he and Murphy pile on you unceasingly, without apology. He wants to tell you that he thinks he might be able to fall love with you, one day; in love with the sweet moments he sees when you let up on the sarcastic comments. There is so much Javi wants to tell you, but the words get stuck in his throat. He thinks it might all be too much, that he might be too much, so instead he shakes his head and lets you climb off his lap. 

He thinks you're going to leave without another word, until you pause in the doorway.

"I think you're a good man, Javier. You worry about your heart; only good men do that."

He doesn't show up for Carrillo’s funeral. You don't see him again until you almost collide in the hallway at the office. You both pause for a moment, and you take him in. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, his hair is unkempt. You open your mouth to say something, asks if he’s alright, if the whispers around the office about him and Los Pepes are true, but he's already pushed past you. 

It isn't until he's boarding the plane back to Texas, away from Colombia, that he lets himself think of your words again. He wishes you were right. He wishes he was a good man. He gives himself a moment to regret the way he acted. He regrets the way he pulled away from you in the weeks after that kiss, getting Murphy to file his paperwork, avoiding the break room on the third floor that he knows you like, not even saying goodbye when he knows he might never see you again. He thought you would be able to sense it on him, the stink of his broken principles, the stench of his betrayal. He regrets everything but the kiss and, even then, he regrets how it happened. You deserve so much better than him at his most broken, him at his weakest. You deserve so much more than him. Javier Peña knows that he isn't a good man, and he refuses to wait around for you to realise it too. 

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed 12 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, illusions to past self harm/suicide attempt, mentions of miscarriage (all very brief compared to previous chapters), the drug war, Narcos season 3 spoilers

Notes: no surprises here! All the love for my beautiful beta reader and wife @guiltyasdave

Words: 2879

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry

March 3rd, 1995

I think I’m back to where I was before Javier. Trisha has been reminding me that progress isn’t linear, but it’s hard to go back so much. I made it through the grocery store last week and by that marker I’m further ahead. I cried in the car after, but I still made it in. I’m going to try a couple summer classes.

Emily didn’t tell the kids to stop calling Javier. She caught them leaving trailing voicemails from time to time, mostly Ale, sometimes Mateo, never Miguelito. He seemed to know what was going on. That Javier was out of their lives.

Emily couldn’t help but reflect on it. How one person could come into your life for such a short period of time and play such a significant part in it, leave such a big space behind.

Alejandra was the one who asked. When Emily picked her up from school, or when she saw Chucho for riding lessons. He always cast her a questioning look. Emily would shake your head, never asking if he’d heard from Javier. It wasn’t her business. It would hurt to know.

Yet, she didn’t stop replaying that last conversation. He was convinced he wasn’t enough. He reminded her of when he blamed himself for her panic attack. Was there a chance he was as broken as she was? That’s what had bonded them. That’s why he’d felt safe, but how could two broken people be good for each other? Emily had gotten her answer. They weren’t. He’d only hurt her. Set her further back on her goals.

Worst of all, he was hurting her kids. He’d abandoned them too, and Emily wasn’t sure how she was supposed to handle that.

Journal Entry

April 18th, 1995

I can’t close my eyes without nightmares in the best times, but the days are easier than they’ve been in a long time.

Jaime had seen the changes in his daughter, the way Javier’s silence impacted her. It was hard to miss. Emily hadn’t told him much about their lack of communication. He knew what the beginning was like, Emily’s questions, the information he could parlay to her, but those had stopped within the first couple of months. The phone bill was lower than he anticipated each time with most calls outbound when Emily wasn’t home, but the kids were. He hated that too. Javier had become an extension of their family. He made Emily smile again, and then he left. He didn’t keep his promises.

Her father still struggled to understand it all. Emily hadn’t told him alot about what happened to her in Mexico either. What he knew was mostly second hand information and the facts, but the day to day horrors she faced, he had limited knowledge about. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand. He wanted to be that person for her, but he understood that Javier had in some magical way, been the person in her life that understood, and for that Jaime mourned his daughter’s loss with her.

As upset as he was with Javier, he found his pride in Emily increased by the day as she continued to work towards her goals, having to re-reach some in the process. As she progressed, it further set a plan in motion.

One Saturday, Jaime pulled Emily out, taking her for a drive. It was rare they got afternoons one on one. Usually one of the kids was tagging along, but this was something he wanted to do just the two of them.

Emily stared out the window, quietly as the radio played softly. Jaime glanced over at his daughter. She hadn’t asked a lot of questions when he pulled her out of the house, but he had the feeling she hadn’t been sleeping as well the last couple of weeks. It made him a little bit nervous about his plan. He wasn’t sure how she would react. They’d only talked about it in theory, as a hopefully one day. There hadn’t been a timetable.

He turned down a residential street, about ten minutes from home. Emily perked up beside him. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve been thinkin.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, lifting above the frames of her sunglasses. “About?”

“You’ll see.”

She let out a long sigh. “Dad.”

“You been having nightmares again?”

Emily’s head snapped toward him in rapt attention. He was never very good at easing into this stuff. “I’m always having nightmares.”

“Em.”

Emily sighed, running a hand through her mop of curls. She looked back out the window, biting on her thumb nail. “I’m doing better.”

“Just because you can go to the grocery store again doesn’t mean you’re not having nightmares.”

She continued to bite at her nail, picking at a hangnail that had developed. “Turns out, I’d been blocking some stuff out. It’s not very fun when your worst memories aren't your worst memories anymore.”

Jaime parked the car on the side of the street, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head so Emily could see his eyes. She didn’t move hers. “You can talk to me about it.”

“Dad…”

“When you were a little girl. We used to ride around town.” He smiled. “Just driving. You loved sitting shotgun with me. Your mom wouldn’t let you. She said it wasn’t safe.”

Emily chuffed. “That’s ironic.”

“Yeah.” He feigned a smile, nodding along. After a beat of silence, Jaime took the opening before him, the one he’d been waiting for for years. “What happened that she didn't stop it?”

Emily paused. Had they never had this conversation? That first year home was so foggy in her brain. She wasn’t sure what she did and didn’t tell him. Emily swallowed, closing her eyes to keep the tears back. To this day, she wasn’t sure how much her mother had and hadn’t done, and how much was just him.

“She encouraged me… saw a rich man and his interests. She didn’t see any issue with it”. Her nails bit into her palm, Jaime gripped the steering wheel in front of him, knuckles turning white.

“If I had known…”

“I know, Dad.”

“I want to know more if you’re ready to tell me.”

Emily let it sink in, not moving for a minute. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you everything.”

“I’m not asking to know everything. Just some things. You don’t have to keep it bottled up inside.”

Emily inhaled sharply. Her thumb grazed under her watchband. The one that hid her scar. She couldn’t talk about that. She wasn’t ready for him to know what she had attempted. She thought about the events leading up to it. She wasn’t sure her Dad or Anna knew about her miscarriages either. Those were just facts, things that had happened, it didn’t include the trauma that each event was wrapped in, the mounting pile that led up to each event.

“I guess I haven't thought about how much I haven’t told you.”

Emily let her mind take her back for a second, eyes glazing over with tears as she thought about the beginning. The vacation to Mexico that turned into six years of hell. She could never figure out why he’d picked her. There was nothing special, nothing that stood out about her younger self. At least, nothing she could pinpoint, but maybe that’s why he’d picked her.

“Mom was all too happy to have our trip extended indefinitely.”

“You were at his hotel.”

“Yeah.” Emily paused. “When I found out I was pregnant, I told him before mom. He moved me in with him before I even got the chance to tell her. I remember feeling relieved, like I would be okay.” She looked down. “Things weren’t bad at first, but that almost makes it worse. I mean, I was 15. What did I know?”

Jaime watched, silence ringing in his brain, but it was one of the first times it truly clicked for him. He’d struggled to comprehend it at times. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but the thoughts still ran through his head. How she hadn’t seen the signs? How she’d let it happen? but it finally clicked in a concrete way. Emily hadn’t let anything happen. If he hadn’t been able to control or predict Felix, how could a 15 year old girl? He felt a rush of shame that it took this long to understand it. “You didn’t know anything.”

Emily’s head snapped back to him, a vulnerability in her eyes. The one that reminded Jaime of when his daughter was a child.

“You were supposed to be worried about homecoming and algebra. Not raising a baby. Not going through…”

Emily nodded. “I don’t really want to go more in depth right now.”

“That’s okay.” He turned off the vehicle. “Thank you.”

“So you didn’t drive me across town just to talk?”

Jaime shook his head. “I wanted to show you this.” He pointed out the passenger window to the house. A simple, single story rancher. It had a nice front porch and a garage. From what Emily could tell, the backyard was already fenced in. A “FOR SALE” sign sat proudly in the front yard.

“Dad…”

“I saw the listing last week. It’s got three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The backyard sounded like it’s got enough room for a nice garden.”

Emily fought against the panic rising inside of her at the thought of living anywhere else but with her parents. Her chest tightened as she inhaled sharply.

“Hey,” Jaime reached for her hand. “I’m not saying you have to move, or that it has to be this house, but we’ve talked about this, Sweetheart. I think you might be close.”

Emily looked between the house and her father, eyes darting back and forth like an animal not sure which path to take. “I’m not where I was last summer.”

“No, but you’re in a better place than you were last spring. You sat through the whole Christmas program this year. Not just the kids’ portions.”

“Barely-“

“But you did.”

Emily bit her lip. She knew she was doing things she couldn’t do on her own a year ago. She was grocery shopping alone now. She made it through the zoo last week, just her and the kids. She’d pulled them out of school and it had been relatively quiet, but it was still something. Trisha had told her to celebrate it.

She sighed. “No pressure?’

“No pressure.”

She looked back at the house. Something about it called to her. She loved her parents, but she didn’t want to live with them forever. Emily’s fingers found the door handle before she had time to fully comprehend it. “Okay.”

Her dad followed her up, pulling a key out of his pocket. “I know the realtor.”

“Of course you do.” She smiled as he let them in.

The house was empty. It hadn’t been staged yet, but that didn’t matter too much. Emily walked through the house almost silently, like speaking would break the tug in her heart. The living room, dining area, and kitchen all ran together in a loop. The bedrooms sat off a hallway. She knew which one would be Alejandra’s and which one would be the boys’. The master suite had a large bathtub, but the back patio was the selling point. Her swing would fit, and so would a firepit. The backyard spread out, large enough for a garden and a playset for the kids.

She could see it all in her mind. The garden. The kids playing. Looking up at the stars on those sleepless nights, talking to Jav- She cut off the thought. Just stargazing, just her and a bottle of something.

Emily inhaled deeply. She liked this house. She wanted this house. Could she actually be ready to do this? They’d talked about it. Planned for it, but it was still a year earlier than they’d talked about.

“What do you think?” her dad spoke, standing beside her.

“You knew I’d love it.”

He grinned. “I am your father.”

“How would it work?”

“We’re ten minutes away if you need us. Anna and I would take the kids once a week overnight.” He smiled at her. “We’ve got the down payment saved up for you. We paid the house off a couple years early, so we’ve got some more wiggle room to help you out.”

“Dad.”

“It’s yours if you want it, Sweetheart.”

Emily felt tears well in her eyes “And if we do this and I can’t handle it?”

“Then you move back and we’ll rent it until you’re ready.” Jaime said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Was it really that easy? All she had to do was say yes? That she wanted this?

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

Jaime nodded. “Of course.”

Journal Entry

May 25th, 1995

My birthday is tomorrow. Dad asked me what I wanted to do, and I couldn’t come up with anything. I can’t stop thinking about last year. It felt a lot more hopeful, but there are things this year to look forward to. Ale has a riding lesson with Chucho. I think I’m just going to ride Paz. We’ll have cake when we get home.

Emily closed her eyes, inhaling the fresh air as she sat on top of Paz, taking the familiar paths through the woods of the Peña ranch.The past year ran through her mind. Everything had looked so promising only for it to come crashing down. One single person did that. Maybe it wasn’t fair to pin it all on Javier, but maybe it was. He’d made her feel safe and that opened doors. Doors that shut the moment he pulled away. She was slowly starting to pry them open. Some were budging, others weren’t.

She found herself in the back pasture at the river’s edge. There were no sign of the drug runners at the moment surrounding her with only the sounds of nature. Cattle grazed behind her. The river rushed in front of her as she stared across it. She liked it here. It was quiet, serene.

Paz shuffled under her. A fly landed on the horses’s coat. Emily watched as she twitched the muscle on her shoulder to chase it away. She smiled, running a hand over her shoulder. “You’re such a good girl.”

Paz knocked her head up and down as if in agreement causing Emily to laugh. She leaned forward in the saddle. “Today is my birthday you know.”

Paz turned her head back to look at Emily. She offered the mare a soft smile. “I thought birthdays would be different after last year. I thought-“

She let out a sharp breath as the rest of the thought cut through her mind. She thought Javier would be there for her other birthdays, for the rest of her birthdays. She had expected it, wanted it, anticipated it…

Her eyes fixed on the river as her mind raced to break records on what that meant. Javier had been her friend, her best friend, but something else nagged at her. The expectation of forever, the desire for forever…

Before she could get lost in it, the rustle of trees and crunch of underbrush jerked her out of it. She twisted in the saddle, Paz slowly turning around with her. Gracie’s muzzle popped out of the woods first. Emily furrowed her brow, trying to ignore the anxiety coursing through her.

The rider ducked under a branch as he cleared the tree line. Emily felt the world around her go quiet as her eyes met with soft brow irises she knew by heart.

Javier froze the second their gazes met, pulling Gracie to a stop with a soft “woah.”

Nobody said anything. Neither of them moved, eyes pinned to the other’s. So many things roared in Emily’s ears. He was back? For how long? Why hadn’t he called? She had hoped he would when he got back. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know if she was going to forgive him or not. He hadn’t given her the opportunity to make that choice. He hadn’t given her the opportunity for much. Hadn’t bothered to return her children’s messages.

Even now, he offered nothing. He didn’t apologize for blocking her out. He didn’t even try. He just stared at her like she was some stumbling doe bleeding out. Anger filled her, and before Emily knew it, she kicked Paz forward, jogging past Javier without giving him an opportunity to make up some bullshit excuse or offer up an apology. She was half way back to the house before she realized there were tears on her cheeks.

Journal Entry

May 26th, 1995

He didn’t have anything to say, just stared at me like I wasn’t supposed to be there! He was the one who’s not supposed to be there. What the fuck?

Javier dropped his head with a sigh. He hadn’t expected her. Hadn’t planned through his apology. In Colombia, he’d been convinced he’d done the right thing, but being home, seeing her, he wasn’t so sure anymore, but Javier didn’t know if he could fix this.

……………………………………………………………………

Tag List: @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @burntheedges @southernbe @fanyyoouu

@greengirlwurld @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @weho2kcmo @missladym1981

[joelsmochi]

Playing Dangerous

SUMMARY: female Reader, who works for the Cartel, received instructions to burn down a house for her boss. Javier went to arrest her, but once she realized he wouldn't play the same games as her, she knew she needed to offer up something else as her ticket to freedom... WARNINGS: 18+, no use of Y/N, power play, prostitution & bribery if you look close, unspoken degradation, handcuffs, unprotected piv sex, creampie, lots of good girl bombs, car sex (one day i’ll write good smut in a bed…one day) WC: 4.9k - It is finally here. The second story in my LDR series. So sorry for the long wait, but I hope you enjoy ♡

masterlist

You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?

You were standing on your small porch with an admirably handsome DEA agent questioning you about a fire. You knew you had the upper hand here when you noticed his eyes casting over your half-naked body that glistened with a light layer of sweat.

“Do you know anything about that, ma’am?” He asked you softly; you knew he knew it was you, but what proof did he have?

You just smirked and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “No, sir,” you cooed while pursing your lips.

He cleared his throat hastily and his eyes narrowed. “Really? Because witnesses say you’re the one responsible.”

Apparently, he had enough proof.

You shrugged, maintaining eye contact with him. “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

His body tensed at your voice’s softness but he maintained his composure for the most part. A breeze passing by gave your skin goosebumps and made your nipples perk up; he briefly daydreamed about his tongue twirling around it, feeling annoyed that he was thinking about something like that during a stressful time for him.

“It’s Agent,” he corrected.

Your eyebrows raised and you gave him a fake apologetic look. “Oh, my apologies.”

“So… It wasn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

And it was mostly true. You preferred a less obvious way of taking out enemies and outposts, but your boss’s boss wanted everyone to know who was still in charge here. You disagreed with the approach but didn’t argue. After all, they do pay your bills.

“Are you sure?” He edged, sensing how you wanted to play games with him. He was over it, and to be frank, your short and thin nightgown had his head full of inappropriate thoughts that made him want to hurry up and get home to fuck his fist.

He hated how pretty you were in the moonlight with your makeup from the day still on, but his wandering eyes saw how fresh your lipstick was. He perceived it as your way of trying to seduce him, or whatever officer came by, and being turned on by it pissed him off even more.

“I heard from the neighbors that the house was already on fire,” you said simply with a swift shrug, but his warm and inviting eyes suddenly turn shallow and cold; you were thrown off of your game of lies so you attempted to change the subject. “Gosh, I’m all exposed here in my nightgown… Do you mind if I go and cover up? You’re more than welcome to come inside.”

Yeah. Right. Javier may be attracted to you, but he’s not stupid. You could take this as an opportunity to shoot him or kidnap him.

As harmless as you look, you were still one of Escobar’s employees and they typically did whatever they needed to survive with confidence. This just wasn’t a chance Javier could take.

“Nice try. Come on, hands on your head,” he said contemptuously while unveiling his handcuffs.

You frowned feeling confused at the sudden shift of his energy, stuttering over your own words as you defiantly obliged.

His eyes avoided yours as he readied the cuffs and stepped closer to you to make the arrest official. He didn’t care to be gentle with you either — why should he?

After all, you did almost kill someone tonight.

His slender fingers jabbed at your ribcage as his hand forced your body to turn around; you felt a few knuckles crack uncomfortably from how hard he pulled your hands from above your head to the small of your back.

“Do you really have to put those tight handcuffs on me?” You asked when he clicked the cuffs a little too far. He didn't respond.

He tried to keep his eyes off of how plump your ass looked beneath the thin gown, but it was hard when the force of his hands moving your body as he cuffed you made your ass jiggle effortlessly.

But still, he maintained composure.

You accepted your fate, but you still wanted to try to earn your freedom. Something you’d never done before but weren’t ashamed to do. Not when a man this handsome wears his heart — or rather, his cock on his sleeve.

He pulled at your arm roughly and began walking you to his car. The lack of communication from him only prompted you to speak even more.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you said.

Still nothing.

“Please, officer, I will do anything.”

Fuck… How he would give almost anything to bend you over and—no.

He knew that you were just trying to get off scot-free, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t let that happen.

“Anything you like, sir,” you cooed oh so sweetly it nearly gave him a toothache.

He stopped you right in front of the car to glare at you. At least he tried to. Your smile was smug yet innocent, and your eyes expressed an eagerness foreign to him.

You weren’t a prostitute, and he knew that from your record. You weren’t the type to sell your body, so… Why do it now? He wondered if you were trying to be let go or maybe…? No, no, it can’t be that…

He realized he’d been in thought too long when he looked back into your eyes, and that eagerness hadn’t left. Was it possible you really just wanted to have sex with him?

The light in your eyes gleamed different than most of the women he’d been with — he just couldn’t put his finger on the particular emotion.

“Nobody has to know if that’s what you’re worried about,” you whispered as your eyes faltered to his partially exposed chest.

Oh.

The excitement and eagerness and anticipation he was picking up from you? It was rebellion. You didn’t want to have sex with Javier. What you wanted was to lay in bed with the enemy. It all made sense.

And it made him undeniably weak in the knees. His stomach flipped just thinking about it.

“Sounds like that’s what you’re worried about,” he retorted.

A flicker of vulnerability highlights your eyes that wasn't unnoticed by him. He didn’t understand why his body was under so much hesitation by your damsel in distress act.

Maybe it was how you called yourself a good girl even though everything about you screamed otherwise. Your short gown and your evilly beautiful smile… Your cockiness and playful personality…

Or maybe Javier had just gone too long without any.

“Let’s get in the back of your cop car, officer,” you keenly propose; though the repetition of officer had him gritting his teeth, he no longer wanted to hold off your fantasy of betrayal. “You can ask me anything you want.”

“Anything?”

You simpered at the way his eyebrows raised and nodded. “Anything.”

He didn’t hesitate with your negotiation, using his broody arm to swiftly pull you to the side of the Jeep before he opened the door for you.

He shouldn’t be doing this. No, Steve is gonna kill him. What kind of person takes sex from an arsonist as a bribe? Had his standards for morality really dropped that low? But he caught a glimpse of the still-burning fire in the distance and decided: what the hell?

He climbed in after you and shut the door, thankful you live in a more than secluded area. He could have been a gentleman and taken you to your bedroom. He just didn’t want to.

He studied you like any of Escobar’s other men — and you surprised him tonight. You were notorious for being hardheaded (that had only been proven correct tonight), but you also had the reputation of making men your bitch.

So he couldn’t help but wonder… What made him so different that you’d degrade yourself for an arrest that probably wouldn’t have even held up anyways?

Were you that desperate? Didn’t matter. He was going to find out.

“Do you have a girl?”

Your question threw him off. “Hmm?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” you said instead of repeating yourself.

“Uh, no,” he said though he wasn’t entirely sure what the truth was at this exact moment. “No Misses… Is that seriously where you draw the line?”

You grinned and giggled loudly, shifting to find comfort within your current restraint. “No, but that does make this a little less fun.”

He couldn’t ignore how his cock antagonized his jeans, enthusiastically twitching against his zipper. He cleared his throat and spread his thighs to try and give his member some room to breathe, to no avail.

His tone was mean and cold as he spoke. “Is that what this is? Fun?”

Your smile faltered almost entirely, replacing itself with a much more shy one. No man who was only minutes away from fucking you had ever spoken like that. You couldn’t deny the insecurity that suddenly rose inside of you.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said bashfully, unintentionally batting your eyes at him and cowering your head down. As embarrassed as you were, you almost enjoyed it: the shame and the submission eradicated any impulsiveness within you. 

This was no longer an escape plan but a mere effort to make him remember you.

“…I can ask you anything?” He asked after squinting at you. He tried his best not to smile when he realized he was getting to you.

“Anything you want,” you said just barely above a whisper.

He watched you look at him through your eyelashes with admiration glowing in your pretty eyes. He took your chin between his thumb and index finger to tilt your head up a little; he gave you a crooked smile before asking, “Are you a good girl?”

Your heart leaped inside your warm chest. You wanted to stoop to his level and be mean and taunting right back, but you just fucking couldn’t.

God, he was handsome. So dark yet so bright. With a mysterious charisma that no other man could possess, he had you wrapping yourself around his finger. So… You try to appease him.

“That’s what I said, isn't it?”

You didn’t hear how harsh it came out, so it was a surprise when his gentle fingers wrapped tightly around your jaw below your chin. You whimpered and leaned your chest to his forearm, giving him goose skin.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Shh,” he whispered, “I know.” He teasingly moved your head around and half-smiled again. “Did you set the house on fire?”

“I—“

His grip tightened, resulting in your cheeks and lips being squished up a little. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Y—yes. I did.”

“C’mere.” His hand remained clamped around your jaw while he managed to guide you atop his lap; he used his free hand to undo the button and zipper on his jeans and then reached beneath your nightgown and rubbed your panty line. “Good girl… Right?” You could only nod at his question, untrusting of your voice. His grip loosened so that he could trace his thumb over your tinted cheeks. “S’this what you really want?”

You gave him a daunting smile and nodded once more. “Yes.”

His hands disappeared below your gown; his right arm wrapped around your hips to lift you slightly while his left hand reached for his semi-hard length, pulling it out with a hard tug.

He kept his pouted brown eyes on yours the entire time, wanting to see every movement your face made. He pulled your panties to the side and let his swelling head meet your entrance.

Javier admired your patience — even dragging the head of his cock back and forth along your pussy lips for a minute wouldn’t make you act out of line. You wanted to prove to him how good you were so that he could forget all of the bad things you did.

He carefully placed his cock head at your entrance and slowly let go of your hips so that you could take your time to adjust to him.

A contentious sigh fell from his lips when he felt how tight you were compared to his girth. He took the liberty of undoing the rest of his shirt while you tried to gather enough stability to fully sink onto him, but with the lack of foreplay, a pain-filled hiss was heard by you.

“Take it slow,” he instructed confidently. “Take what you can.”

A sense of relief washed over you, and for the time being, you only took a couple of inches inside your needy cunt. You exhaled softly as you raised your hips kindly and slid back down.

Javier watched with attentive eyes, finding the little frown forming on your face adorable. Your eyes were shut with focus as you tried to maintain balance and a slow but consistent pace.

“Fuck,” you whispered, feeling the slight burning sensation of him stretching you out slowly dissipate into pure pleasure as your slick walls relaxed around him, allowing you to take more of his length in.

Even though his eyes were on your face, all his focus was on how tightly your sopping pussy squeezed around him. He loved how your pussy clenched around him to adapt to his girth. If your pussy felt this good now, he couldn’t wait to know how much better it’ll get when you come.

“Why’d you set the house on fire?” He asked randomly.

“What?” Your movements faltered, and you frowned at him. Is that seriously what’s on his mind right now?

“Did I say you could stop?” He said darkly.

You hesitated, stuttering out a, “N—no.”

But you were too lost in his stern eye contact to start riding him again.

So with one brief movement, he forced your hips down so that his cock filled you. A cry of pain left your lips, and you unintentionally tightened your knees against his thighs, which he didn’t seem to mind.

You were sure to not waste another moment, so you lifted your hips and took everything in again, but he filled you to your brim.

The bulbous head of his dick grazing against the peak of your cervix became more comfortable within a few more movements, and you finally gained enough composure to answer his question.

“I do everything the boss tells me to. Mnh…” You breathed heavily and settled at a steady pace, feeling your arms beginning to lock up behind you. “I don’t question it. I just do it.”

He surprised you by thrusting into you once as you were lifted, but he was careful not to go too deep. “Okay… I believe you.”

You grinned and sank onto him completely. “What’s your real name?” You asked him, leaning your face closer to his.

He stared plainly at your eyes and held his breath for a moment. “Javier.”

You rewarded him by going up…then down again. You watched how his body responded to the slow but forceful movement. “What a pretty name,” you complimented. “Do you prefer Javier… Or something else?”

“I’d prefer it if you stopped teasing me,” he groaned through clenched teeth. You felt his body tense up despite the lack of physical contact.

Your eyes battered back and forth in brief ponder. You wanted to tease him a little longer, make him beg for it even, but you had to remind yourself that he was in charge whether you liked it or not.

“Can you hold onto me for a second?” You asked, which he seemed happy to do.

Something about feeling up the smooth fabric that clad your body sent shivers down his spine and straight to his dick.

His long fingers found their way around your waist, and you trusted his grip enough to shift onto your feet so that you were squatting on him.

“Okay,  now I need you to put your arms under my thighs,” you instructed, praising him when he listened. “Just hold me steady, okay?”

You didn’t give him much time to respond before raising your body until his cock was almost entirely out of you, then you slammed your hips back down so that he filled you again.

He couldn’t prevent the pathetic and loud whimper that escaped his throat. The slight change in the position provided more than enough pleasure to make his entire body jerk. His hands instinctively grabbed the cuff of your ass as you repeated the motion at a relentless pace with an intense force every time you squatted.

At this angle, your walls gripped around him so much he grew afraid he would come too soon, but he couldn’t stop — he didn’t fucking want to.

Everything felt too good. You were so wet for him, and he felt your hot precum leak out of you and coat his balls. Your ass was warm but still covered in goosebumps from how his cock stretched you out so sweetly — nothing was painful anymore. Not even your handcuffed wrists.

Seeing the pure bliss spread across his face was motivating you to continue. His eyes were shut, and his eyebrows were raised with concern. You watched as his tongue flicked across his bottom lip between the helpless moans he let out.

When he noticed how quiet you were, he looked at you worriedly, but you were just focused on being good for him. He saw how heavy your eyes were and how you were almost biting back your moans.

“That feel good?” You asked when you saw him look.

His eyebrows stitched together as he profusely nodded and gripped even more of your ass. “Yes, fuck yes, keep going,” he encouraged.

The strap to your gown slipped down your shoulder enough to reveal part of your nipple. Javier was inclined to fully unveil your breast, but something about almost seeing all of you was more invigorating, at least for the time being.

All these feelings were too much: he had to come, but he didn’t want to stop. But your velvety walls only felt like they were getting tighter and tighter.

You felt him getting close with how his body kept twitching, flinching, and tensing up with every squat. His moans grew breathy and hitched rather than full of bass. He wouldn’t be able to hold off any longer.

He let you get him as close as possible. So fucking close. His body was on fire, and his head fell back against the seat again.

His cock was tortured by the slickness of your walls that dared him to empty himself inside of you, but when an inch of his orgasm had begun, he was quick to push your hips up and slip himself out of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he shouted. You chuckled, shifting back to your knees for comfort, then leaned forward to kiss him. He looked up at you again and gave you an embarrassed smile. “Fuck, sorry,” he laughed against your lips. His laugh was so sweet and gentle.

You loved the way he talked and how hollow his voice sounded. His words were bitter, but his voice tasted so sweet.

He gave you another kiss while lifting you off his lap; he guided your body so that you were on your knees facing the window before pulling your panties aside again to slip back into your glistening pussy.

You gasped at the newfound depth and rested your head on the seat, smiling when you felt him tug at the link connecting the handcuffs.

This was wrong.

The lack of respect you had for your colleagues and bosses got you here. Fucking ‘the enemy’. It felt so good to decide on your own, to betray them. It was like Javier took a lighter and ignited every flame inside of you again.

He pleased parts of you that he wasn’t aware of, and you couldn’t be bothered to let it end so soon. Not when rebellion tasted so sweet and fucked you so good.

Javier noticed you biting your lip again to quiet yourself — yet another habit you picked up on from previous partners — and hated it. He loved having vocal partners, even if words weren’t being said. He felt a little insecure, wondering if he wasn’t doing a good job, but your trembling body told him otherwise.

“Com’ere,” he said, lifting your upper half from the seat. His clad chest pressed against your back with the cool metal of the handcuffs hovering over your ass, and he kissed your jawbone before trailing a lick up your ear. “Don’t hold back for me, baby. Let me hear you,” he pleaded weakly.

Shivers trickled down your body, and you shuddered at the feeling. He smelled of expensive cigarettes, a light layer of musky cologne, and sweat. His scent was so intoxicating and made you even more needy for his touch. His calloused hands grazing over your ass beneath your pajamas tickled your skin and made you exhale loudly.

You felt his hand snake between your bodies before he lined his dick up with your entrance. He pushed it in at an achingly slow pace, making you whine and pout.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he said in a way that sounded like he was laughing at you. His hand palmed your hip as he began thrusting inside you, filling you up nicely each time. “That feel good?”

You nodded and held your breath, making him punish you by reaching around your hip to land firm a smack against your clit. You yelped and flinched, yet found the pain to be a turn-on.

“Yes,” you said, not wanting to be scolded by him any further. “Yes! It feels good.”

He chuckled wryly and began pounding into you at a relentless speed. His thighs slapped against yours, and his grip on your hip tightened.

You let out noises you didn’t even know you could make. Squeaks, yelps, falsettos — all this for Javier, and oh my God, did it bring him close to the edge again.

He wanted you to feel him, touch him. No. He needed you to. He needed your hands to undress him. To tug at his hair and claw at his back. He needed you to hold his face in your soft and clammy palms. He wanted to watch your pretty fingers work patterns on your clit while he bent your legs to your head and fucked into your stomach.

Then, suddenly he began uncuffing your wrists. You were thankful for the relief but tried to contain your excitement. He held the handcuffs in front of your face, then whispered, “You misbehave, and they go right back on. You understand?”

You nodded, shouting out, “Yes,” before gripping his hand on your hips as he still pounded your squelching pussy.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he began hitting your favorite spot at a new angle, fulfilling your need for pleasure in the deepest parts of your heart.

He moved his hand to grip your jaw and pulled your head back so your forehead pressed against his chin. Your back was in discomfort from the arched position, but his cock made up for it.

“Look at you…” He grunted. Your mouth was agape, and your eyes were clenched shut as your raspy moans filled his ears. “So fucking helpless,” he whispered, leaving soft pecks against your forehead. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby girl. Oh.”

You cried out his name as he continued to speak sweet nothings to you. Your nails clawed at his hand at the rise of tension building inside of your stomach.

“You treat me so well, Javier,” you breathlessly spoke. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He kept his momentum up as best he could when he felt your walls flutter around his shaft. It made his head feel dizzy, and his cock ached from wanting to release inside you.

The pressure began to release itself, and you weren’t sure how much longer it’d be before you came. “Can I—fuck! Can I cum? Can I please cum?”

His plump lips neared your ear as he said, “Yes, yes, yes, you can cum for me, pretty girl. You’re such a good girl for me.”

You screamed embarrassingly loud as your pussy flexed and contracted against him at his words, amplifying the orgasm peacocking throughout your body. He released your neck and ran his hands over your shoulder blades as you bent over and fucked him back to ride out your orgasm.

He looked down where you two were connected and saw a thick, white ring of cum wrapped around the base of his cock. He listened to your lowering volume carefully, waiting until you were finished as he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

At least not yet.

“Good…” He paused to land a firm smack on your ass cheek. “…Girl.” Another smack.

You flinched both times, making you both lazily giggle. He nibbled at your earlobe and kissed your neck before directing you to lie down.

You made sure to slouch down a little so that your back was against the seat and your legs up in the air; he rid you of your panties before cupping the back of your knees. He kept your legs pushed back and spread wide open for him as he slowly dipped his cock inside you without assistance.

You watched in awe as he stretched you out again, humming when he filled you and yelping when he pulled out. You laughed when he repeated the action a few times: fill you up, leave you empty…

He loved watching your muscles twitch due to his movements, such as your clit throbbing and your entrance clinging to him.

Finally, he went as deep as he could reach and watched the peak of your belly rise a little. He looked into your eyes and gave you a reassuring smile.

“You okay?” He asked quickly.

“Yeah,” you assured, “that feels good.”

His smile turned to a smirk, and he rocked his hips slowly. “Yeah?” He laughed.

You reached out to hold his face in your hands while biting your lip. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. He allowed himself to fall into the euphoric feeling of you.

His mind wanted to remember how all this felt: your walls were so warm with soft edges, but your hands were so smooth against the grain of his beard. Your moans were intoxicating and addictive.

It was all he wanted to hear at this point in time. Who you were before didn’t matter anymore. Fuck no. You were Javier’s newly founded favorite priority, and he’d do anything to feel this good with you again.

He felt he was also rebelling against his morals and nature. How could he resist you, though? Standing there in your cute little nightgown and fresh lipstick on… So naughty and daunting yet so beautiful and obedient.

He reopened his lust-filled eyes and watched you moan and cry for him and for more. Your eyes were narrow, and your lip was swollen from where you were biting. You looked so pathetic beneath him, and it stroked his ego a little too much.

“Look at you.” He leaned his chest down to yours and gave you a sloppy kiss. “Look at you taking my cock like a good girl, hmm?” He laughed bullyingly and smacked the back of your thigh while he rose again. “Play with your pussy, baby girl,” he told you; you obeyed without a second thought and gave yourself the added pleasure. “That’s it, good job… Yeah, keep doing that. Oh-ho, you look so pretty like that.”

You rubbed your clit like you do any other time you touch yourself, but your nerves were already so overwhelmed that you went in a little more rough than usual.

You twisted, pinched, smacked, and rubbed relentlessly at your innocent clit, almost like you were punishing yourself. Javier saw how needy you were to come again and couldn’t hold out much longer.

He was preparing himself to ask you where you wanted him to finish, but he felt you gather some of your cum up from around him before you shoved your slicked fingers into your mouth while maintaining eye contact with him.

He couldn’t control nor stop it.

He was a whimpering and moaning pathetic mess above you.

He collapsed on top of you and finished his orgasm with lazy thrusts, feeling overstimulated sooner than he would have liked to admit.

He lifted his head shamefully and rolled his eyes when he saw your arrogant ass smile.

“Shut up,” he said though you hadn’t said anything. He felt guilty for not giving you a second orgasm, but you were already reaching for your panties and slipping them back on. He sat beside you and tucked his faltering erection in his jeans before zipping them up halfway.

“Gonna keep you inside of me as long as possible,” you whispered seductively in his ear after he lit his cigarette. He rolled his eyes more playfully this time and simpered bashfully. “You still gonna arrest me, Javier?” You chirped after facing him and sitting on your knees.

He breathed out the smoke from his lungs and looked at you while rubbing your half-exposed thigh. “I thought everybody said you were a good girl?”

You grinned, a blush spreading rapidly over your cheekbones. You responded to him by subtly nodding.

“Come ‘ere.” You two shared a kiss that was full of post-sex love and excitement. “If I have to put these handcuffs on you again, I won't be so nice."

[lokischocolatefountain]

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

[mybworlds]

Chapter 4

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

A/N As requested by you, here is the fourth chapter of ODLS ✌🏼 I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. 🔎 I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. 📖 If you didn't like this story, it's okay, be kind and move on 🙂

If you want to leave a comment and tell me what you think, thanks ❤️

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624 @harriedandharassed if you want to be added let me know.

Thanks @saradika for the divider.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

The next day when you open your eyes you feel wrapped in something incredibly warm. You open your eyes and realize that you are completely surrounded by Peña's arms.

You turn towards him and you see him. He's sleeping, his breathing is a little heavy, his lips are half open, he frowns every now and then and you can't help but smile. He seems almost normal in this circumstance, he doesn't seem to be the hardened seducer or the man who uses cutting words towards you. He even seems to be sweet.

You can't stand him and yet you have to admit it to yourself, he's like a magnet. You want to slap him and hug him at the same time. He mutters something unintelligible and all your thoughts of him stop.

“Lorraine.” he mutters.

Who is she? One of many?

He is still sleeping when he continues to mumble in his sleep “Why?” his expression becomes one of pain and so you decide to wake him up.

“Javier,” you shake him “Javier! Peña!” he opens his eyes “It’s okay, you were dreaming.” you reassure him.

He rolls over onto his back and looks at the ceiling. He starts breathing normally again, covering his face with one hand.

“It was just a dream,” you repeat.

But his expression doesn't soften. It must have been a terrible nightmare.

“What did you dream? Do you want to tell me about it?”

He takes a deep breath and exhales, then turns his head away, “Don’t worry too much about me. I’m fine.”

“All right.” you simply answer by sitting in the middle of the bed and turning your head towards the balcony from which the sunlight filters.

You run a hand through your hair, “I’m going to wash myself,” you tell him, but it’s as if you were talking to yourself because he doesn’t reply or say anything.

The jet of cool water gently caresses your skin, freeing you from that strange pleasant warmth that Peña's arms had left on you. A strange growing uneasiness spreads within you, today you will have to actively search for El Diablo. You don't know what to expect. You just know that he has inhuman ways and that if you go against him and his business, you're dead.

You hear the door open and then close. You turn off the water for a moment and open the shower door, “Peña?”

You wait a few moments, but he doesn’t answer. You finish washing yourself and then get out of the shower, you wrap yourself in a towel and then open the door and find your room completely empty. You are perplexed.

Where did he go?

As you search for a dress to go around the resort, you hear the door open. You turn your head slightly to see if Javier is back. He has two large glasses in his hands that you imagine contain coffee and with one foot closes the door behind him.

You stand up with the towel still on, while he seems to want to devour you with just one look. You clear your throat, “Coffee?”

“Uh? Yeah,” the man replies, realizing he was staring at you and handing you the cup.

“Thanks.” you sip your coffees in silence while constantly observing each other. It's strange, but not as strange as yesterday or two days ago.

“Um,” you try to focus on the reason why you are here in France “we have to find him today.” you say looking into his eyes “We have to. Or it will all have been for nothing.” you add.

His eyes have a serious, concentrated expression and then he nods, “Okay, so what's the plan?”

Maybe it's trivial, but you want to look around better. It's likely that El Diablo has booked some exclusive seats and if so, you have to find out today. Javier nods, but he seems to be perhaps too much focused on your still bare legs.

You notice how he stares at your legs, how he lets his gaze wander, how he grits his teeth, how he contorts his mouth. By now you've learned to recognize those little facial movements that let you know he's not thinking about El Diablo, but about something else entirely.

“So, are you okay with this?” you ask him.

“Huh?”

“I knew it!” you exclaim, sighing. “Okay, I’ll get dressed and explain the plan to you, again. Give me a couple minutes.”

Javier hadn't dreamed of his soon-to-be-fiancée for a while and doing so had left him with a deep state of anguish that, despite your attention to him, shows no signs of passing.

Javier truly loved her. He would have married her. He would have even given up his job if she had asked him! She was expecting a child from him, it was obvious that family would come before his work.

Then, the truth came out and Javier felt like he had been punched in the face. Lorraine, his Lorraine, had lied.

From that moment on, he no longer believed in love. From that moment on, he only focused on his physical needs and how they could benefit his investigations.

Even when he met you, he thought he could have a good time by having useful information for his investigation, but you surprised him. You have repeatedly said no to his proposals, allusions and this on the one hand has made you detestable in his eyes, but on the other even more fascinating.

He knows that there is nothing between you except a room that forces you to stay together in a few square meters and a mission in which he wanted to participate strongly. But deep down, Javier also did it because he wants to know you. He wants to know the real you. Not the lonely bitch who barely says hello to anyone when she comes into the office. He knows there's more. If only you'd let go. He knows he upset you by telling you that you need hugs and caresses, and that you are your own worst judge but if he said those words it was because he felt them and was convinced of them.

The night before you fell asleep while whispering a name, you turned over a couple of times in bed and a feeling of great tenderness was unleashed in him, he hugged you tightly in your sleep telling you to stay calm and you started breathing regularly again and you also held onto him.

He doesn't know if you have feelings for him, if it's just physical attraction or if Javier is just imagining it all, but what he notices is that you're not embarrassed about being in his presence almost completely naked as you were on the first day.

When you come out of the bathroom you look enchanting: the dress you chose is blue, your hair is styled in a high bun and you smile. You smile at him. He can't help but smile back with a knowing expression.

You are beautiful.

You are so sure of yourself, you hold his hand with such naturalness that for a few meters, Javier forgets that this is a farce and that there is nothing between you. You're faking it so well. Your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, it all seems so real.

He's even thinking about kissing you, when he sees you as if enraptured by something and you, taking his hand, pull him towards a disco.

“¿Qué es? (What's up?)”

“Ven, Diego. (Come on, Diego.)”

After a moment of recovering from your gestures, Javier realizes what has really caught your attention. You saw one of El Diablo's henchmen enter.

You approach the entrance where you see a brochure inviting the resort's guests to this themed evening. Women must wear a black dress and a small mask, men in white shirt and a mask too.

“That’s perfect.” you whisper in his ears and then looking for his eyes after you leave the club.

“We don’t know if…” he pauses, looking around, “if he’s really going there or if it’s just a trap for us agents. He knows we’re after him.”

A few moments later a man bumps into Javier, “Oops sorry.” he just says before continuing to walk after giving you several glances.

“It'll be fine.” you tsk “What happened to the daredevil man in you?” you tease him as you sit down at a table and have breakfast “I thought you were a man of action!”

He rolls his eyes, “I am, but we were always well equipped, never like this.”

He barely drinks a coffee, you take a croissant and share it. He refuses for the first time, but when you almost put it in his mouth, he can't refuse, smiling at you with his eyes.

When you get up from the table, Javier checks his jacket pocket and frowns.

“What’s up?” you ask him, mimicking his expression.

“The CIA guys are here. That man gave me the same brochure as before. He’s here.” he whispers showing you the flyer that had been written in pen, he is here, eyes and ears open, we don't lose sight of you.

You nod.

“It can be done.”

You take off the ring, he frowns. “What. . . What are you doing?” he asks you.

He had already experienced a similar scene and the result was the same: a punch in the stomach and the sensation of acid rising up.

Lorraine....

“We have to be credible and with a ring on our finger we won’t get very far.”

Javier places a hand on your wrist, “We’ve been pretending to be a married couple here. We made all this fuss and now we have to pretend to be each other’s business?”

“Javi,” you say, placing your hand on his, “it’s just for tonight, then I’ll put it back on.” You reply with a small smile.

Night comes and you and Javier are ready to take the stage. There are really a lot of people, the alcohol flows freely, the music pierces your ears, the lights color all of you in patches.

Javier is particularly nervous. You can see it in the way he looks around, in the glances he throws at you and in the way he lets his gaze wander from you to the others who look at you almost hungrily.

You wore a short black dress that left almost your entire back exposed, a pair of vertiginous heels and red lipstick. Javier a white shirt and a pair of black pants. He’s so fucking handsome.

You grab a beer leaning on the bar and wearing your sexiest look, you’re a bomb.

Peña is at a certain distance from you, but not so far as to lose sight of you.

He is afraid. He didn't want to admit it, but he is afraid. Not so much for himself, he knows how certain things go. He is afraid for you. You never did this, you never pretended to be someone else just to catch a criminal. You always went in company and with a gun in your hand.

“A whiskey.”

You are so fucking beautiful and Javier knows he should be looking anywhere but at you constantly, but tonight you are a delicious distraction.

You are constantly surrounded by groups of young men and you act so naturally as if you have always been undercover, you know when to laugh, when to touch your hair and when to look at "your husband" who is tremendously charming tonight.

It would have been a normal night at a disco if at a certain point Peña hadn't recognized one of El Diablo's henchmen coming towards you and that's when all his senses went on alert. He sees the guy whispers something to you and you, looking away for a moment at your partner, walk away with the stranger.

Peña knows that now he just has to trust you and wait. He can't follow you, he'd put you in serious danger.

Some girl approaches him, tries to seduce him and, if he had been alone, he probably would have even given in, but he can't.

He waits for you for what seems like hours, then he sees you again. You stand still for a moment and then head towards the bar again.

Peña sees the same guy from before still scrutinising you as if to understand whether you are who you said you were or whether you are someone else. Javier loses count of how many drinks you consume, when he sees you half staggering he approaches you placing an arm on your hip.

“Hey, hands off!” you exclaim before turning to him “Oh, it’s you, my husband!” you exclaim, leaning against him and burying your head in the crook of his neck, smiling.

“Don't worry, I'll take you away.” He whispers in your ear, holding you tight and placing a hand on your back.

The two of you walk side by side, or rather you walk completely next to him and several times you rest your head in his hollow, stopping every now and then. He caresses your back, now your hair, in a gesture of affection.

When you enter the room, you lean against the door and look at him, Javier takes off his watch and puts it on the nightstand.

Then you look into each other's eyes for a long moment, "Thank you." you tell him walking towards him and wrapping your arms around his neck before you find yourself kissing each other sometimes gently, sometimes a little less so.

You are still entwined on the bed, he is between your legs, his hands on the sides of your face so as not to weigh too much on you, you have your hands in his dark hair.

“Don’t.” you say perhaps in a flash of lucidity and then resume kissing and being kissed.

“I was scared for you,” he confesses, giving you a kiss first on the cheek, then on the side of your neck.

“I know you have a soft heart, Javi,” you murmur, holding him close.

The next day when you open your eyes and find yourself wrapped in his arms, you almost jump.

You move him away from you and he jumps, opening his eyes with a annoyed look, “What the fuck are you doing?” he asks, looking at you with an annoyed expression.

“No, what the fuck were you doing holding me tight to you?!” you blurt out, adjusting the strap of your dress that had slipped down your arm.

He sits up and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, “Nothing happened between us. Okay? Don’t worry.”

“You better!” you exclaim.

“What the fuck can you be such a bitch when you first wake up!” he exclaims.

“Fuck you.” You tell him, turning your back on him.

For a while you remain silent, “What happened when you walked into that guy in that private room?” he asks.

“He wants me to go to his private room tonight.”

“He?” he asks you, raising his eyebrows as if to make sure he understood correctly.

You nod, “Himself.”

“Fuck.” he whispers, placing a hand over his mouth “Okay, and how did you introduce yourself to him?”

“That’s the problem. Um, I… I said I was an escort.”

“You, what?! Jesus, you couldn't have been that stupid!” he exclaims “And what will you do if he asks you for a blowjob or a fuck?!” he blurts out, widening his eyes “Or worst?!”

“It’s my, our chance.” You tell him. “Don’t worry.”

“I won’t let you do this,” he says, placing a hand on your forearm.

You look at his hand on your forearm, “It’ll be okay.”

“If anything happens to you…” he tells you and you notice all concern in his voice.

You swallow, “I know what I’m doing.” You pause, “But I hope you and the others will have my back.” You add by placing a hand on his.

“I will.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Self Control.

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Pairing - Javier Peña x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, mentions of blood and death

Word Count - 3429

Author's Note - hello lovely people, hope you're all well. i've been a huge fan of pedro pascal since his narcos days, so all of this love for him happening currently is making me very happy. javier peña is perhaps my favourite tv character of all time, so i'm very excited to share this story with you. i'd always love to write more javi stuff, so if you ever have any thoughts, please send them my way. i'm happy to write for all pedro characters actually!! as always, much love x

Masterlist. Requests.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. 

It was supposed to be simple. A routine raid. Get the information and go. 

How did it all go so wrong? 

Gunshots. Blood. A sea of green uniforms scattering the ground. Escobar had somehow known about it. He was taking no prisoners. 

The Search Bloc had lost men. The Colombian Police had lost men. You were just praying that you hadn't. 

Javier Peña and Steve Murphy were still out there. You had no idea if they were okay. They could be shot, bleeding out. Kidnapped. Or worse. 

No. 

You're driving yourself insane thinking of all the possible worse case scenarios. Your mind can't help but go there. It's instinct. 

You're sat waiting. Hoping. Praying. You've made your home at Javi and Steve's desks - they're more central to the action than your own. You're watching the front doors, sat in Javi's chair. It smells like cigarette smoke, and musk, and him. You let the familiar scent envelope you, allowing it to bring you comfort. You breathe him in. He'll be here soon. You know he will.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Javier Peña was a complicated man. An enigma. He was tough, but gentle. Rugged, but tender. Commanding, but reserved. He was one big juxtaposition. Impossible to read. 

Or so he thought. 

You came along, and challenged every single one of his existing beliefs. You turned him soft - more understanding, more empathetic. He'll tell you he hates it. He lies. 

You weren't supposed to be here. Not really. You'd followed your brother, a DEA agent, all the way from Texas to Colombia. He'd told you he was being sent to South America to assist with the Pablo Escobar situation, and you'd packed your bags without a second thought. You had no one else. Wherever he goes, you go. Except one place. 

He'd died two months into the job. Shot dead by Escobar's men, in a situation that he shouldn't have even been in. And all of a sudden, you were alone. Alone in an unfamiliar place. Alone in the world. 

Javier made sure that wasn't true. He took you under his wing like an injured baby bird, slowly but surely nursing you back to health. He'd been there, when Carrillo had told you the fate of your brother. He'd caught you in his arms when your knees had given out, held you like he was scared you were going to shatter into a thousand pieces. He was holding you together. He has been, ever since. 

You were just a secretary. The odd one out. The only woman. Looked down on. People pitied you, really. You heard the things they said. Even if you didn't understand, you heard. You could take a guess. 

The world was a terrifying place for a woman. It was a terrifying place in general. But it seemed to be less scary knowing that Javier and Steve were at their desks just across the precinct every day. Your safety blankets. Your protectors. Which is exactly why the thought of losing either of them was currently ripping you apart from the inside out.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your eyes shot up every time the door opened. Slowly but surely, members of the Search Bloc filtered in - many of them bloody, and injured, but alive. You weren't taking your eyes off the entrance to the precinct. Not for a second. Not when any minute, Peña and Murphy could walk in, and everything would be okay again. Any minute now, you reassure yourself. Any minute now. 

You hear steel toe boots on the linoleum floor, and your breath hitches… but it’s Colonel Carrillo. He spots you from across the room and strides over, ignoring any pleas for his attention from the Search Bloc guys. He envelopes you in a hug - professionalism be damned.

“Are you okay?”, you ask when he pulls back. “What happened? I’ve been going insane listening over the radio.”

“I’m okay, mi amor. We’re still trying to figure out what went wrong. He knew, someone had to have told him.”

You’re just about to ask him about Murphy and Peña when he says,

“We got separated in the chaos. I don’t know where they are, but I’m sure they’re fine. Try not to panic, okay?”

He’s looking at you carefully, and you’re nodding, but you know you aren’t going to take his advice. If anything, now you’re panicking more. Men are filtering through the door every minute, but none of them are the two you’re looking for. Anxiety creeps into your stomach, wraps its claws around your insides. You can’t shake it. You feel like you’re being swallowed by dread - it’s all too familiar. You know exactly what it’s like to have someone you love go into the field and not return.

Carrillo strokes your cheekbone with his thumb gently, and leaves to attend to his men. You sit back down in Javi’s chair, trying to burrow into his scent, the warmth of the leather. You can imagine his big strong arms wrapping themselves around you, the way he nuzzles his nose into the crown of your head when he hugs you, how he traces patterns on your back when he holds you when you’re particularly upset. 

You think about Steve, and the way he winks at you when you catch eye contact across the room, or how he throws an arm around your shoulders whenever he sidles over to your desk to bother you. He’s always stealing candy from your top drawer, and then acting innocent when you call him out on it. You feign annoyance, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You know you’re lucky to have the two of them looking out for you. You know you’re lucky to have Carrillo on your side too - life would be undoubtedly more difficult without his protection. They make you feel less vulnerable, more equal. You no longer feel like a lamb at the slaughter every time you walk into work. 

Drops of water hit your lap, and you realize you’re crying. Warm, wet tears slide down your cheeks, taking streaks of your mascara with them. Your lipstick has smudged where you’ve been peeling at the skin of your lips, and your nail polish has been incessantly picked at for hours. You know you look just as much of a mess on the outside as you feel on the inside. You close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Calm down, you tell yourself. You’d know if something bad had happened to them. You’d feel it. 

It’s as if time has become molten - sticky, warm molasses. Minutes feel like hours. The world is moving in slow motion, and it’s making you dizzy. Your breath is coming in short, sharp pants, and the urge to curl up into a ball grows stronger by the second. If the boys don’t show up soon, you’re convinced you’re going to crumble into a thousand pieces. You feel like you’re shattering, splitting apart at the seams. Fear sits on your chest like an ugly, relentless creature, choking you with each passing minute. The world is getting colder, darker, and you’re defenseless.

And just like that, your sun appears. Battered, bruised, bloody, but alive. Standing in the doorway, panting and breathless, is Javier Peña. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re leaping out of his chair, and practically running to close the distance between you. You collide with the solid mass of a man, and he wraps his arms around you like it’s second nature. He smells like cigarettes and musk and gunpowder and the outdoors and smoke and home. Relief fills your body, and the weight of it almost knocks you off your feet. You settle further into his chest like you belong there, pressing your nose into him and inhaling. 

You pull away, and notice that his chest is damp. The tears from before are back with a vengeance, sprinting their way down your cheeks, forming puddles wherever they can reach. You’re not sure if you’re crying due to happiness, or fear, or relief - perhaps a mixture of all three. You’re both still panting, looking at each other in disbelief. You fist your hands into the front of his shirt, as if to ground yourself to him. Checking he’s real. In the flesh.

“Don’t cry, cariño. I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

He’s murmuring quietly to you, as if you’re the only two people in the room. He reaches out, and gently uses his thumbs to swipe away the tears that are still escaping. Cradling your face in his big, calloused hands, he looks at you earnestly.

“I’ll always come back, bonita. You know I will. Just like I promised.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and for the first time in hours, you relax. You stay pressed together like that for what feels like an eternity, until you hear familiar footsteps approaching. 

You break away from Javier to get a good look at Steve. He too is battered and bruised - hair mussed, shirt torn, blood staining his jeans and his hands. But he’s alive. That’s all that matters.

“Murphy,” you breathe, before wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You’d go out there and take down Escobar yourself if you could. If it meant you didn’t have to see your friends in pain anymore. This job is killing you all from the inside out, slowly but surely. You’re all shells of yourselves. You wonder how much longer you’re all going to be able to cope before you snap. You have a feeling that these two men in front of you are closer to their breaking points than you think. 

“God, I need to shower. I’ve never sweat this much in my life,” Steve remarks, and now that you’re looking at him, you can’t help but agree. You nod, smirk etched on your face, and the corners of his lips turn up. A slight smile from Steve. That’s a win.

A voice rumbles from behind you in response to Murphy’s statement. Jesus, Javi was closer to you than you thought.

“Yeah, me too. You go. I’ll drive her home.” He places a hand on the small of your back, and you can feel the warmth of him seeping through his palm.  He always runs so hot, you think to yourself. Your sun.

Murphy squeezes your arm and heads out the door, leaving you and Javier standing in the middle of the precinct. Everyone seems to be heading home, the room becoming increasingly quiet. You figure the two of you should follow suit. You gesture at Javi to give you a minute, and make your way over to the Colonel’s office, popping your head in the doorway. 

“You should go home, Carrillo,” you say softly. “You need to sleep just as much as the rest of us.”

He smiles at you tentatively, his face dampened with worry. You can see clear as day that he’s blaming himself for the events of the evening. You also know that there’s nothing you can say to make it better.

“I will, querida. I will.”

And with that, you grab your things from your desk, and make your way over to where Javi is waiting for you. He returns his hand to the small of your back, and guides you to his car.

✵  ✵    ·　 ��� 　　 *  · ✵

Your hands are shaking when you try to unlock the front door to your apartment. You can’t quite get the key in the lock, and it’s becoming frustrating. Why are you acting like you were the one being shot at tonight? All you had to do was sit at your desk and wait. Get a grip, you tell yourself. You’ve had it the easiest.

Javi can see you’re struggling, so he reaches out and opens the door for you. You step inside, immediately kicking off your heels and throwing down your purse. You turn on the lamp in the corner of the living room, and draw the blinds. All the while, Javi stands in the doorway, watching you complete your nightly rituals. It’s disarming to see you like this, he thinks. So domestic. So at peace.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and places his hand on the doorknob.

“Let me leave you alone, cariño. You need to rest. The adrenaline of tonight is going to wear off any minute, and we’re all gonna crash.”

He takes a step, but you lunge forward in his direction to stop him.

“Wait! Wait. I - I don’t… I can’t - please.” You can’t find the right words. In fact, you’re not even sure what you’re asking for.

He steps back inside your apartment, and shuts the door behind him gently, making sure to lock the deadbolt. He’s never been a man to take stupid chances when it comes to your safety. When it comes to you.

“What is it, mi amor?”, he asks carefully. “What do you need?”

“You,” you answer without a second thought. “Please don’t leave. I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight if you leave.”

He looks at you for a moment - carefully surveying. He takes in your appearance, the pain in your eyes, the way you look so small and fearful standing in front of him. It’s not even a question.

He kicks off his boots, and takes his wallet and his cigarettes out from the back pocket of his jeans, placing them on the counter. Then, he strides over, across the room, and smothers you in a hug that he’s convinced he probably needs more than you. 

You stand like that, embraced in each other, for what feels like forever. Two people breathing each other in, trying to absorb the other person. If you could crawl into Javier’s chest, bury yourself into his ribcage, you would. No hug is ever close enough. Never enough. It’s never enough.

“I’ll stay,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’ll always stay.”

You pull back to gaze into those big brown eyes, warm and sweet like chocolate. He looks serene, peaceful, almost. You don’t get to see him like this very often.

“You should shower,” you tell him quietly. You’re worried that you’re going to spook one another, so you both keep the volume to a minimum. “I’ll make us some tea.”

He nods gently, and makes his way to your bathroom. Moments later, you hear the water running, so you begin to boil the kettle, reaching for two mugs from your cabinet.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You place a mug of tea on each nightstand either side of your bed, and slip out of your skirt and blouse. You opt for a tank top and shorts - the Colombian heat still unrelenting, even in the early hours of the morning. The sun will be up soon, you think. A new day.

Javi stands in the doorway of your bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. Droplets of water are journeying down his chest, and your eyes follow, as if on instinct. He smirks when he catches you, watching your face heat up slightly.

“Cute bedsheets,” he remarks. “I like the love hearts.”

He’s still smirking, so you get up to smack him on the arm.

“Shut up, Javier,” you threaten, with no real malice. “Your tea is on the nightstand.”

You turn your back when he changes back into his black boxers, which only amuses him further. He can’t help but admire you from his place across the room. The way your hair blows slightly with the breeze from the opened window, the band of skin between where your tank top ends and your shorts begin, the sweat at the nape of your neck. He knows you’d taste like salt and sugar simultaneously. It takes everything in him not to run his tongue up your spine. You shiver from your spot on the edge of the bed, as if you can read his mind.

“I’m dressed, querida,” he almost whispers. You turn around, and shamelessly let your eyes rake over his golden skin, wishing so badly to reach out and touch him. He’s wearing significantly less clothes than you expected. Not that you’re complaining.

He lays down carefully on one side of your bed, stretching himself out on his back. You turn off the lamp on the nightstand, and lay down on the other side, careful to keep some distance between the two of you. You thought that having him here would relax you, but it seems to be doing the opposite. You feel like your nerve endings are on fire - the room is too warm, you can’t seem to get your lungs to fill with air, you’re hyper aware of every little movement in the room. You’re on edge.

Javi’s breathing is deep, calculated. He’s trying to keep calm. Everything in him is screaming to reach out and touch you, to throw an arm around your waist, to tangle his legs in between yours. He’s not sure he’s ever shown this level of self control.

“Javi,” you breathe. “Relax, please. I can feel how tense you are from here.”

He takes a deep breath before he answers you.

“Sorry, mi vida. I’m just - I’m… I’m trying.”

“Trying?”

“Trying to use every inch of restraint that I have.”

Your breath hitches, and he hears it, clear as day.

“What for?” you whisper.

“To resist the urge to touch you.”

You’re breathing quicker now, and so is he. The air in the room is thick with tension - it’s a miracle you’re both still conscious. 

“You’ve never really been one to deny yourself of the things you want, Javi," you whisper. "You’re not usually the patron saint of self control.” 

And with that, he snaps. He grabs your hips, and uses effortless strength to pull you so you’re straddling him, settled in his lap. He sits up to bring your faces level, and presses his forehead into yours, just like he did mere hours ago in the precinct. 

You know that tonight has changed everything for the two of you. You also know there’s no going back from this - you can’t uncross this line. The friendship that exists between you and Javi, a relationship that’s been so carefully built on trust and support and boundaries - permanently altered if you continue. You just can’t seem to find it in you to care. Not really. You want Javier Peña for all he is, all he has. Consequences be damned.

“I love you, cariño,” he breathes into your mouth. “Fuck, I love you.”

You’re convinced that any minute, you’re going to wake up from this beautiful dream. But for now, you make the most of it.

“I love you, Javier Peña. I love you so much it hurts.”

And with that, he’s kissing you. It’s desperate, and it’s needy, and it’s so full of love you’re worried that you’re going to pass out. His lips are on your lips, and he’s got one hand firmly at the nape of your neck, holding you in place. As if I’m going anywhere, you think. I’d happily stay here forever.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t notice the sunrise. Dawn hits the window, casting an orange hue across the room. Javi looks like he’s glowing, the sunlight glinting off his hair. Golden boy.

He pulls off your shirt, and presses his chest to yours. He’s convinced you’re tethered to each other - he can feel the connection through your skin. It almost makes him want to cry, this feeling. It’s never felt like this before. It never will again. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist, ensuring that there isn’t a centimeter of space between you. You don’t know what today holds. You know it won’t be easy. But you’re comforted by the fact that you know Javi will be right there beside you. No matter what happens from this moment on, Javi is always going to be right there beside you.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you breathe into his mouth.

“I love you, mi alma,” he breathes back. “Mi corazón, mi alma.”

My heart, my soul. It’s as if he took the words right out of your mouth. 

Mi corazón, mi alma.

My heart, my soul.

[redahlia-writes]

stand by me. | javier peña

Abstract: You’d be better off without him, he thought. Knew. Because he was greedy, and selfish, and he tended to ruin all the good things life ended up handing him, and you were the best thing that had happened to him in a while.

Words: 1.7K

Content: f!reader; unedited, angst (sorry), hurt/comfort, mentions of death, bruises, a situationship (it's javi so what'd you expect), unrequited feelings (not really reader just believes it), love confession

A/N: i did write this at 5am on little to no sleep so if you see a mistake no you don't. please. would recommend listening to stand by me (florence welch's version)

also on AO3 - masterlist

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

It was not the first time Javier woke up to a weight on his chest.

The early morning lights filtered through drawn curtains cast a feeble glow in your bedroom–he blinked slowly, taking in the whole room, its furniture, its decor, so starkly different from his own. Yours was a lived in home, compared to the blankness of his apartment–he always felt at ease as soon as he walked past the threshold, as soon as he was in your arms, as soon as he was kissing you.

Perhaps it was the reason why he’d come to you the evening before, after all the shit of the day–his ears ringing from the shot, his chest hurting where the bullets had dug into his vest, just a few inches from his skin, from his heart. He’d thought that was going to be it: a flash and no more home, no more warm meals, no more embraces, no more kisses.

He’d sought to drown everything out with you rather than alcohol, and you’d welcomed him with glazed-over eyes and soft words, a hand through his hair and a brush of lips to his temples.

He often thought he did not deserve you. He wondered what the fuck you were doing with someone like him–it caught him off guard each time he woke up in the cradle of your thighs, in the circle of your arms. But he was greedy, and he couldn’t let you go. Hadn’t even tried.

You stirred slowly–perhaps he should’ve. Weren’t you going to be better without him after all? With your tranquil house, and your homely life, and someone who could give you all that you’d deserve and then some. You didn’t need–

“I can hear you thinking,” he sighed at the gentle sound of your voice, not even realizing his breath had picked up until he exhaled and tightened his arm around your shoulders.

Your hand skimmed up his naked side as he glanced down the crown of your head, the tension building in his body giving away when you reached for his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, trapping him close.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, a delicate caress down your arm and then up again, following the bent of your shoulder, the curve of your neck, your head still bowed and gaze turned from him, ear pressed to his chest. “It’s early, you should get some more sleep.”

“Are you going to be here when I wake?” you asked, and his heart stuttered, a sharp intake of breath that had you shift a little against his side.

No–he rarely stayed, walking out before you woke, turning himself into a creature that inhabited your life only at night. Because he was greedy, and also a coward.

“I should go, I gotta get to work,” he hummed, easing his hold on you.

In return, you tightened yours–he felt your fingers digging into his shoulder, the legs draped over his almost hooking around him to pull him closer, your nose brushing his chest, your lips skimming one of the bruises dotting his skin. He closed his eyes.

“Take the day off,” you protested, words spoken right against his skin.

“Can’t,” his argument felt weak even before it left his lips. He could take the day off–he’d been told to do so, actually. Rest a day or two, recover, go to that girl of yours.

But he couldn’t stay.

“Please,” he felt you turning in the loose circle of his arm, hand coming to rest over your shoulder while resting the other between the two of you to lift yourself up. He caught a glimpse of his bruises and looked away quickly, focusing on your expression instead. “You almost–” he could almost see the words get stuck on the tip of your tongue, gaze flickering down to his chest as your breath shuddered. “Please, Javi.”

In your whisper he suddenly realized the reason why you’d been holding him so tightly–why your head had not left his chest for the whole night, still awake as he dozed off.

You were afraid for him.

He’d always known you weren’t immune to the scares of his job–when he was away longer, when things went south, when he got injured, you always failed to hide the way it affected you, too. He didn’t expect you to, either. But you’d never shown such overt concern, you’d never looked at him the way you were now–with worn out eyes and a trembling lip and a plea on your tongue again and again.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he shook his head, felt your breath shudder again when he brushed your cheek. “I keep putting all this shit on you, you–”

“Why did you?” you moved closer–he didn’t believe it could be possible without the two of you bleeding into a single being. He brought his arm around your waist, hand brushing up and down your spine

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, never ceasing to let his fingertips wander across your skin. He hadn’t even realized he was coming to you until he’d seen the door open in front of him, until he’d tried to burn the day away into your kisses. “Shouldn’t have–”

“I love you,” he froze, movements stilling as he inhaled sharply and looked back at you–when had he looked away? For a fleeting moment, you looked like you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Then you brushed your hand down his chest, traced the outline of his bruises with a careful touch. “You don’t have to say anything, I just–if anything happens to you–”

“Cariño–” before he could continue, you shook your head, glancing away.

“I know your job is not easy, I know there are risks, I know there’s nothing I can do and I know there’s nothing you owe me,” a breath he almost interrupted to tell you how wrong you were. “But you coming here–I’m glad you did. Because I feel like I can’t breathe whenever you’re away, when I don’t know how you are, and there’s this weight on my chest that goes away only when I see you.”

“I’m sorry,” he couldn’t help it–guilt clawed at his throat as he watched the tears well up at the corners of your eyes, and all he wanted to do for a split second was jolt away, as if burned, leave you there and spare you all the hurt he could.

But you were shaking your head again, forcing yourself to even your breath that had started coming in small bursts. He tightened his arms around you at that, a desperate attempt at soothing you, soothing himself, and when your hand reached his face, a delicate brush of fingertips over his unshaved stubble, he was rooted to the spot again.

“Don’t be,” you whispered, head lowering as if to kiss him–but you didn’t, and his chest ached where your other hand rested, right above his heart, right over one of the bruises. “I’ve known from the beginning it was going to be like this. I knew that letting you in meant making myself vulnerable, and I still wanted to. I always want you to, even if it’s just a night. I’m okay with that, Javi.”

“You really shouldn’t be,” he scoffed, and you just shrugged, his hand on your back following the curve of your spine up to the nape of your neck. He wasn’t even aware he was trying to bring you closer, even when his words said the opposite. “You deserve–”

“No, don’t,” your thumb caught the corner of his mouth, then shifted up to brush the ends of his mustache back in place–they were always messed up after the night, and in that moment in desperate need of a trim. “Don’t tell me what you think I deserve, because whatever it is, it’s not what I want. Even if it’s not the same for you, I don’t care–I knew it was going to be like this, too.”

“It’s not,” the admission sat heavy on his tongue, and he couldn’t even meet your eyes. “I just think I wouldn’t forgive myself if I ended up hurting you.”

He closed his eyes at the feeling of your lips against the hollow of his throat, a shuddering breath leaving him as if you were simultaneously trying to take his breath away and give him new air. He curled his fingers at the nape of your neck.

“It hurts more when you try to keep me out, and push me away, because I do love you,” repeating it was easier, lowering your head a little, just enough to brush your lips to his bruises–you’d done the same the night before, in darkness, and he’d almost shattered under your touch. Perhaps he would shatter now, thousands and thousands of pieces weaving themselves into your bedding, remaining there forever. “I’m not the one that needs protecting, Javi. I just need you to–”

“I’m sorry,” it suddenly felt like the only thing he could say, holding you even closer–by then one of your legs was slotted between his, half your body draped over his, your weight a comfort he didn’t know he was seeking.

“You came back to me with wounds that tell me I could’ve lost you,” another gentle brush against his chest, where he felt like the skin was about to split open and reveal all of himself to you. “Right here. Right over your heart. And I don’t know what–you’d be gone, and I–” he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, lest he saw your tears that wet his chest when you lowered your forehead to it, exhaling slowly. “Just this once, please, stay.”

You’d be better off without him, he thought. Knew. Because he was greedy, and selfish, and he tended to ruin all the good things life ended up handing him, and you were the best thing that had happened to him in a while.

But he guided your head back gently to kiss your forehead, felt the exhale escaping you and hitting his chin–lowered his lips to the bridge of your nose, then to your mouth, a harsher kiss that had you press your body against his with another broken sigh.

“I’ll stay,” he said, lips still to yours.What he meant was, I love you too.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XIX.

GIF by azertyrobaz

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: A lot of change in such a short amount of time.

WORD COUNT: ~14.2k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: fluff x10 (these two are in love), smut, oral (f), unprotected p in v (try at your own risk), a peek into domesticity, javi wears a cowboy hat, religious content, suicide mention, talks of grief and depression, angst x1000, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, spoiler tags listed at the end of the chapter.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: okay, not to get all rambly and stuff here but i feel like this chapter best emulates the vision i had in my head when i started writing this fic *cries* it was one of those things that was already thought up before i even had an outline, lmfao. this just fits the song thoroughfare so well (at least the way i've interpreted it for our little story :p) like i kid you not... i was crying writing some of this. this pairing means the world to me and i want to thank everyone who's taken a chance on this like ahhh i was beyond nervous when i started posting my shit publicly, but the support truly has made me a lot more confident and overall improved and left me content in my writing abilities 🖤 anyways, imma stop before this note ends up a million words (nooo kat don't stop yapping, you're so sexy aha 🫦) feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

What follows is nothing short of perfect. 

She moves into Javier’s life bit by bit, her presence taking up space in the quiet corners of his trailer home until it feels like she’s always been there. Her clothes begin to mix with his in the closet, her little trinkets are scattered across his dresser, her scent lingers in the sheets. 

Her. Her. Her.

Javier can’t deny the comfort it brings. On nights when he works late, he’s greeted by the sight of her asleep on the couch, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows across her face.

His heart swells at the sight every time, the weariness of the day evaporating the moment he steps inside. The kitchen always smells faintly of whatever meal she’s cooked, his dinner carefully wrapped and kept warm in the oven.

He’s used to solitude, but now he’s coming home to something more.

It’s not conventional by any means. They’re doing everything backwards, diving headfirst into a relationship that feels like it’s years old rather than what it really is.

Of course, amidst all the domestic bliss, there’s the physical side of things— something neither of them shy away from. Paloma, as it turns out, is even more insatiable than Javier ever imagined. He thought he had a strong sexual appetite; always eager to touch her, kiss her, pull her close, but her? She surpasses him with ease.

There isn’t a surface in his trailer that hasn’t been christened by their bodies tangled together— kitchen counters, the couch, the shower, even the porch steps under the stars.

She attacks him with the same wild eagerness every time, like a kitten who never tires of her favorite toy. Sometimes she waits for him by the door, barely dressed, ready to pounce the moment he walks in.

Other times, she sneaks up on him when he’s doing something mundane— washing dishes, folding laundry, and suddenly her hands are all over his broad body, tugging at his belt, her lips on his neck.

The more she’s around him, the more she craves him.

He’s convinced he’s never been wanted like this in his life, and he can’t help but give in every single time.

He never gets enough of the way her body feels under his hands, the soft, desperate moans she makes when he presses her up against a wall or when her nails dig into his back as she pulls him closer. She pushes him to the edge of control every time, and he loves the way she challenges him— how she matches his fire and fuels it even more.

It’s a storm of passion that neither of them want to temper.

Javier watches her move around the living room, laughing as she dances barefoot in one of his old shirts, and it hits him all over again how deeply he’s fallen. She is more than he ever expected, more than he ever thought he deserved, and the way she’s seamlessly integrated into his life feels almost like fate.

He can’t imagine it any other way.

“Got all of your stuff?” He lounges lazily on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm slung over the backrest. His eyes follow her as she sways to the rhythm of the song. 

She holds a glass of wine in one hand, taking slow, deliberate sips.

“All that I need, yes,” she replies with a small smile, turning slightly to face him. The soft glow of the evening light filters through the curtains, casting a warm hue across the room.

“Talk to your dad at all?” he asks, more gently this time, knowing the weight that question carries. He doesn’t push, but it’s there— the reminder that things still need to be resolved, even if they’ve been pretending like the outside world doesn’t exist.

She shakes her head, her lips pressing to the rim of the glass.

The memory of their fight lingers like a bruise that hasn’t quite healed. She knows she’ll have to talk to him eventually, but she just can’t bring herself to reach out. The sting of his accusations, his anger, feels too fresh.

The only time she goes to the house is to grab more of her things, slipping in and out when he’s not there.

Javier doesn’t say anything, letting the country song fill their silence. He understands the complicated knot of emotions she’s carrying, and he knows better than anyone how hard it is to face something like this head-on.

He motions her over with a wave of his hand. Paloma drains the last of her wine, setting the glass on the coffee table with a soft clink before climbing onto his lap. Her fingers thread through his hair the moment she settles.

“When you’re ready, we’ll go together,” he murmurs, in which she gives him a small smile, nodding and leaning in, lips meeting his in a slow, gentle kiss.

Their plan is simple— once the case is officially closed, they’re gone. They’ll head down to the Peña ranch in Laredo while he gets his affairs together before making the big move to California.

Javier has already told his father about it, something that had him feeling more anxious than he cared to admit.

He was worried about Chucho’s reaction, how he would feel about him running off halfway across the country with a girl he’s only been seriously involved with for a handful of months, and officially dating for a shorter amount of time. 

But when his pops picked up the phone, Javier didn’t need to explain much. The older man could hear it in his son’s voice— the warmth, the adoration, the way Javi couldn’t talk about Paloma without his tone softening.

It was a feeling Chucho recognized, one that reminded him of how he’d spoken about his own wife all those years ago. So instead of the lecture Javier had been expecting, all he got was a warm chuckle on the other end of the line and a simple request:

“Bring that girl home already.”

She is beyond excited for the trip to his hometown. She’s talked about it more times than he can count, her eyes lighting up whenever she imagines what it’ll be like on the ranch. There’s a spark of curiosity too, a genuine desire to understand where he comes from, to see firsthand what shaped him into the man he is.

He’s been giving her a rundown of all the names, stories, and family dynamics, painting vivid pictures of boisterous holiday celebrations.

It’s everything she never had— being an only child of two only children made growing up feel lonely at times. But now, the thought of being wrapped up in a lively, bustling, large family fills her with a sense of belonging she’s always longed for.

He smiled to himself as he watched her ramble about her plans to help his pops. The enthusiasm she exudes when talking about tending to it all is infectious. “You’re more excited about the horses than meeting my family,” he teased.

She laughed softly. “Maybe a little. I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by animals. It’s like getting to live out a little childhood dream. As you can tell, I had a lot of those.”

“Well, you’re gonna get your fill of horses, cows, chickens— you name it.”

Paloma doesn’t have a concrete plan for California, and Javier doesn’t press her for one.

She’s still figuring it all out, trying to navigate the delicate balance between who she wants to become and the life they’re about to build together. It’s why he’s been searching for a job that not only keeps him grounded but also provides enough stability to take care of her.

He’s determined to carry the weight of their future on his shoulders, even if she resists the idea.

“You don’t need to worry about some part-time job, Paloma. I want you to focus on your music,” he told her one night as they sat across from each other at the dinner table.

She shook her head, her brows furrowing slightly. “I want to pull my own weight, Javi. I don’t want you feelin’ like you gotta take care of me.”

“You are pulling your weight. Your music is your weight,” he countered gently, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I just don’t want you wasting your time on some job that doesn’t mean anything when you’ve got so much talent. You’re too good for that.”

She bit her lip, still not fully convinced. But there’s something so different about how Javier cares for her. It’s not about control or dominance; it’s about how he wants to see her succeed. 

To be taken care of like this isn’t completely foreign to her, but the depth of his desire to protect and provide is different to how her father had approached it.

Javier is solid, dependable, and she knows— without a shred of doubt— that she can fall blindly into his arms, and he’ll always be there to catch her.

His resignation letter is already printed, sitting on his desk at the station, ready to be dated and signed. Yet every time he considers turning it in, he hesitates. He knows the moment he submits it, the wheels are set in motion.

Romeo will likely be relieved that Javier’s leaving, but the fact that he’s taking his daughter with him?

It’ll be worse for them if he acts before she has the chance to speak to him.

Their culprit may be dead, but there’s still evidence to sift through, a case to finalize, press to deal with— and every passing day keeps them busy enough to avoid any serious confrontation. Still, Romeo finds small ways to needle him, little comments here and there that Javier swallows down for Paloma’s sake.

He’s biting his tongue more than he’s used to, and it grates on him. But a promise is a promise.

“Just don’t say anything to him,” Paloma had murmured one night, her voice lazy and sweet as they lay in bed together. She was tracing small, invisible shapes on his chest, her chin resting between his pecs, looking up at him with those half-lidded and dreamy eyes that have him wrapped around her finger.

“I mean it, Javi. No use in stirrin’ the pot just t’ get the last word in.”

He’d been in no shape to argue. Still recovering from the way she’d ridden him into oblivion, leaving him breathless, his body spent, he would have agreed to just about anything she asked at that moment. He nodded, a tired smile tugging at his lips as his fingers trailed down her spine.

“Okay, baby. I won’t.”

Since then, he’s done his best to keep his head down, ignoring the digs.

But it’s not easy. He’s a man of pride, unfortunately. Yet, every time he feels the urge to snap back, he remembers the look in her eyes, the softness of her voice as she asked him to keep the peace.

For her, he would do anything.

“Do we really have to go?” Javier’s voice carries a slight grumble, his eyes trained ahead as they drive toward the church.

“Yes, Javi,” Paloma replies with a playful sigh, barely looking away from the small mirror on the visor where she’s touching up her lipstick. “I promised Tammy. S’been two weeks since I’ve been.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

He’d abandoned all of it— the hymns, the prayers, the rituals— the second he set foot in Colombia, a lifetime ago. He never looked back.

Churches are just places steeped in sorrow.

Now, he’s supposed to sit in those old pews with the stuffy building smelling of musty wood and incense, trying to keep his head straight for over an hour. The thought alone feels suffocating.

But when she casually mentioned she was going, something in him felt the urge to tag along.

He glances over at her and finds her rubbing her lips together. Her hair is soft and brushed out, framing her face like she’s stepped right out of a dream, and that dress— modest, sweet, clinging to her curves just right— shouldn’t have this effect on him.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out lookin’ like that.”

She glances over at him, a knowing smile lighting up her face. “Oh, come on. I’m not even tryin’ to be sexy.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the problem,” he replies, shaking his head. “You don’t have to try.”

She lets out a soft laugh before turning her attention back to the mirror.

“If I combust into flames the moment I cross the threshold, you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself,” He can’t help but comment, eyes narrowing at the looming cathedral as they approach.

“You didn’t have to come, you know?” She counters, tossing him a sideways glance as she puts in her earrings. She knows this isn’t his scene, hell, it’s only hers because it’s all she’s known, but she made a promise to Tammy and she has to make good on it.

“I wouldn’t be a very good boyfriend if I stayed home.” The way he says it, so matter-of-factly, makes her heart swell.

Leaning over, she plants a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek. “You’re the best boyfriend,” she murmurs, trailing her lips over his skin before landing another kiss, this one just at the corner of his mouth. “I promise it won’t be as bad as you think.”

He grunts in response, parking the truck with a resigned sigh. He spits his gum into the wrapper and steps out, circling around to open her door. Because, of course he does, ever the gentleman— and before she slides off the seat, he leans in and kisses her softly.

“You really do look beautiful,” his eyes linger on her, full of that quiet admiration she’s come to adore.

“Thank you.” She scrunches her nose playfully, placing her hand in his much larger one. “Now try ‘n keep your hands to yourself. Please.” she adds, her voice teasing, but she means it. They are about to walk into a church, after all.

As they step through the large doors, the weight of every gaze in the room falls on them immediately. It’s impossible to avoid in a town this size, where everyone knows everyone— and everyone’s business.

Especially with Paloma showing up with a man on her arm. And not just any man, but the ex-DEA agent who’d swooped in like some kind of hero, playing a key role in solving the string of grisly murders that had haunted them for far too long.

The whispers are quick to follow. They ripple through the church like wildfire.

“I heard he knocked her up ‘n Romeo went ballistic.”

“Word is, she’s livin’ with him now. Bet they eloped— got hitched in secret. Do you see a ring on her finger?”

“I think it’s about time she found her a man. Can’t be young ‘n pretty forever.”

She can feel every glance, every sideways look, but it doesn’t rattle her. She’s been on the receiving end of this gossip way too many times, and Javier’s steady presence beside her is all she needs to keep moving forward. Still, it annoys her— how quickly people jump to conclusions, spinning stories based on nothing more than their own imaginations.

He seems entirely unfazed. His hand is firm in hers, fingers laced together. If he’s heard the whispers, he gives no sign of it, shoulders squared and head held high.

The man’s been through far worse than small-town rumors, and it shows in the way he carries himself, like none of this could ever touch him.

And maybe that’s why she feels so at ease despite the scrutiny. Let them talk, she thinks. They don’t know the half of it— the tenderness, the quiet moments, who they really are.

Her gaze sweeps across the room until she spots Tammy, Kristy, and Lola, already waving them over from a pew near the front. Their excitement is palpable, all big smiles and enthusiastic waves.

“Saved you a seat right next to us, pretty girl! Didn’t know you were gonna bring company,” Lola says with a grin, absolutely shameless as her eyes rake over Javier’s tall, broad frame. She’s practically fanning herself, and Kristy has to tug at her arm, reminding her with a sharp whisper, “We’re in the Lord’s house.”

She can’t blame her, honestly, he is looking extra handsome in his dark jeans, buttoned shirt and cowboy boots. “Last-minute plus one,” she jokes, leaning in to give them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Tammy, being the warm, welcoming force that she is, pulls him into a hug without a second thought. “Oh, you two are so good together,” she coos, her voice full of approval as she steps back to admire them. Then, with all the subtlety of a freight train, she adds, “Your babies are goin’ to be the cutest gosh darn things, I swear.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Tammy,” Paloma manages to say, her cheeks heating up at the comment, shooting her friend a pointed look.

The older woman just grins wider, clearly proud of her little proclamation. “What?” she says, feigning innocence. “I’m just sayin’. You both got good genes.” 

Javier finds it amusing, chuckling beside her. “Let’s not give Romeo another reason to want to kill me.”

“He can kick rocks, for all I care.”

They settle into the pew after that, Javier’s arm resting comfortably around her shoulders and he pulls her just a little closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “She’s not wrong, you know.” His lips brush against her skin, making her shiver. “And with the way you’ve been actin’, won’t be long ‘till we see if she has a point or not.”

She glares up at him playfully, elbowing his side, “Not helping.”

And damn it, the way he’s looking at her, like the idea of a future with her, a family, doesn’t seem so crazy at all… it makes her feel something deep in her chest. 

Her eyes move over the now-crowded space, gaze flitting from one familiar face to another. 

She doesn’t quite know what she’d even do if she spotted her father sitting among the congregation.

Javier, ever in tune with her, picks up on her subtle tension without missing a beat. “He’s at the station all day.”

“Right…” she echoes, her voice barely a whisper as she shifts in her spot, sitting back against the bench.

Before he can offer her any reassurance, the opening chords of the organ echo through the church, signaling the start of mass. He exhales quietly, already bracing himself for what he knows will feel like the longest hour of his life. 

Once mass is dismissed and they say their goodbyes to the sisters, Paloma gently grabs his arm before he can leave. “Gotta go use the ladies’ room. Meet you outside?”

He nods, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Sure, I’ll be waiting.”

With a warm smile, she turns on her heel and heads towards where the restrooms are tucked away. After finishing, she slows to a stop on her way back as something catches her eye.

Through the soft hues of the stained glass windows, she spots a familiar silhouette, unmistakable even from afar. Her breath hitches slightly as she bites her lower lip, hesitation bubbling to the surface. A crossroad.

Her feet decide before her mind does. They guide her to the back door, pushing her out into the small stone patio beyond.

The courtyard is quiet, the sunlight filtering down gently, a rare mercy in the typically unforgiving Texan heat. The large angel fountain at the center casts long shadows, its soft trickling sound almost calming.

There, on a weathered stone bench, her father sits. His head is bowed, a cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke curling lazily in the air. She stands frozen by the doorway for a moment, studying him.

“Hey, Daddy...” Her voice is soft, tentative as she finally steps forward, announcing herself. He doesn’t react immediately, but his head tilts up, and his gaze finds hers.

There’s no anger or bitterness in his eyes— just the same stubbornness she’s always known. He nods, acknowledging her in that quiet, unspeaking way that’s so familiar it hurts.

She walks over slowly and sits down beside him on the bench. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the space between them filled with the soft gurgle of the fountain.

“Didn’t think you’d be here today.” He says, voice gruff from smoking.

“Surprised you weren’t. You never work on Sundays.”

“Yeah, well, needed to do somethin’ to keep my mind occupied.”

A quiet settles and birds chirp in the distance, but even they seem hesitant to break the tension. Paloma picks at the lint on her dress, her fingers twitching to keep herself from fidgeting too obviously.

“Congrats on closin’ the case,” she blurts out awkwardly, still staring at her lap.

“‘Bout time we caught that piece of shit. Did us a favor by offin’ himself,” he grunts, ashing the cigarette. He blows the smoke away from her, their eyes still avoidant. “People can finally stop livin’ in fear... things can go back to the way they were.”

There’s a pointedness to that last part of the sentence she can’t ignore. She finally lifts her gaze to him, heart twisting at the sadness in his eyes that he’s trying so damn hard to bury behind his gruff exterior.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice softening in a way that almost breaks her. “Please... come back home. It’s so quiet without you there.”

She quickly looks away, focusing on the path that leads to the cemetery just beyond the church. She wants to say something, anything, but the words refuse to come.

“That fight we had… it hurt,” his words drip with so much sincerity, she feels like she could drown in it.

Her father has never been one for grand apologies— he’s more of a man of looks and gestures, the kind of man who expects things to go back to normal after a few quiet, wordless days. But she can tell this time is different.

There’s no easy return from the things they said to each other that night.

“I shouldn’t have talked about momma like that.” She pivots the conversation.

“And I shouldn’t have called you what I did.”

She flinches ever so slightly, still feeling the sting of it.

“We both said things we didn’t mean,” he continues, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to walk back the pain. “And I’m so sorry. I was angry ‘n out of line. Broke your windchime that night… swept up the pieces after, but I couldn’t bear to throw ‘em out.”

Her lips form into a pout at the remembrance of the broken sentimental item.

“… It’s been haunting me— that thing,” he says with a dry laugh, shaking his head. “It’s like she’s standing there, right over my shoulder, reprimanding me for how I treated you.”

Paloma sucks in a breath, not knowing how to react.

How is she to tell him that she appreciates his apology, but that she isn’t coming back home?

“I never should’ve said what I did,” he repeats, tossing the cigarette butt into a nearby ashtray tower. “But I need you to understand, I’ve been sittin’ in that house with nothin’ but my own guilt for company. It’s been eatin’ me up.”

“You’re forgiven, Daddy.” She turns her head, catching the way he’s already watching her. “You’re right, we both said things we didn’t mean. Caught in the heat of the moment. But I meant what I said about not putting my life on hold to stay here.”

His brows knit together, and now it’s his turn to sit in silence. The frown deepens as she continues.

“I’m not doing that anymore. I can’t.”

“What are you saying, Paloma?” His words are thick with something she can’t quite place— anger, sadness, frustration. Maybe all of it.

She swallows hard, her eyes darting between his, attempting to read the emotions building there.

“I’m moving to California.”

At that, he lets out a laugh, but there’s nothing warm or amused about it. It’s sharp, cutting, before his face hardens into a look of disbelief. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means what I said,” she snaps, immediately going on the defensive. “Me and Javier— we’re going to California. We’ve got plans to live there. Together.”

He shakes his head, another condescending laugh escaping his lips. He stands abruptly, his annoyance palpable.

If she wasn’t so worried about ruining her manicure, she’d dig her nails into the stone bench.

“Javier, of course,” he spits the name like it’s something foul, his lip curling in disgust. That’s when her resolve snaps, and she’s on her feet, squaring off with him.

“You know, if you’d set aside your damn pride for just a second, you’d see he’s not doing anything wrong! He treats me right, Daddy. He cares for me. And here you are, acting like he’s some kind of—”

“Some kind of lowlife?” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “You have a thing for those.”

That apology from before has officially been tossed out the window.

“You are so unbelievable!” Her voice trembles, her own frustration boiling over. “I thought we were havin’ a moment and here you go, actin’ like you always do!”

Romeo’s eyes narrow, his jaw tight as he spits back, “It’s hard not to be hurt when your daughter tells you she’s skippin’ town with some guy who slept his way through a whole fuckin’ country, worked alongside murderers— then came into town and seduced her right out of our house!”

She runs her hands down her face, absolutely exasperated.

Hadn’t he been the one who jumped on the welcome wagon first? He was the one who loved Javier right off the bat— talked him up like he was the best thing since sliced bread. But now that they’re together, suddenly Javi’s the enemy.

She can’t believe they’re doing this here, at church, of all places. They haven’t started shouting yet, but she knows it’s only a matter of time. She needs to end this before it gets to that point.

“It was my idea,” she snaps. “He’s skippin’ town ‘cause of me. I want to leave. I’m the one chasin’ the dream. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

Her voice breaks on the last word, heart cracking open.

He just stares at her, eyes hard, jaw set in that obstinate way she knows all too well. The silence between them stretches painfully until the static of his walkie-talkie breaks it, some garbled voice calling him back to the station.

“We’ll finish this another time,” he mutters, his voice hard, already turning away from her.

Paloma grits her teeth, her whole body shaking with exasperation. Why does it always have to end like this? Why can’t they just have one conversation that doesn’t feel like a war?

“Whatever,” she hisses under her breath, the word bitter in her mouth as she watches him leave.

As soon as he’s out of sight, she sinks back onto the bench, deflating like a balloon that’s lost all its air. She buries her head in her hands, fingers threading through her hair as she attempts to steady her breath.

She needs to recompose herself before she returns to Javier— who, by now, must be wondering what the hell is taking her so long in the restroom.

Just as she’s preparing to leave, a figure emerges from the surrounding greenery. Her eyes widen in surprise. 

“Gabriel.”

He nods, tipping his tattered baseball cap, his clothes streaked with dirt, likely from a long day’s work. His usual quiet, rugged demeanor is as familiar as the earthy scent of soil clinging to him.

“Didn’t mean t’ eavesdrop on you,” he motions vaguely towards where she had been sitting moments before with her father. “Was workin’ when y’all started, uh...” He gestures again, not knowing what to say.

She nods, quickly wiping away some of the dampness beneath her eyes, her heart still hammering from the emotional upheaval. “It’s alright. Surprised you’re still workin’ here, though,” she says, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. “Heard Sloane quit the bar.”

The mention of her ex-best friend sends a flicker of discomfort across her face, her lips twitching with a grimace. 

He shrugs, looking down at the dirt under his boots. “Ranch is really kickin’ off. August needed her there more. The hour drive wasn’t worth it no more.”

The sudden openness from him catches her off guard. This was more than she’d heard him say in all the months that she knew him.

“And you? Aren’t you needed there too?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes flicking around for a brief moment before he answers. “Yeah, just… not in the same way. Plus, I like bein’ here. S’real peaceful.” Away from them, he thinks, the words bitter in his mind, though he doesn’t dare say that out loud. There’s a heaviness to him, like he’s been carrying them for far too long.

“More peaceful than all that beautiful land y’all got?” She presses, tilting her head, genuinely curious.

“Yeah… crazy, right?” He forces a chuckle, but it comes out awkward, like the sound doesn’t belong to him.

She shifts her weight, feeling the unease creeping between them. This conversation is starting to feel weirder by the second, and she’s ready to get out of it.

“Well, I have to get goin’—” She starts, thumbing over her shoulder toward the doors.

“Right, yeah, yeah,” He blurts, stumbling over his words. “I just, uh, overheard you sayin’ you were leavin’?” The statement comes out as a question before he rushes to continue, before she has a chance to respond. “That’s… awesome. California, huh? So far. I can see why you’d wanna ditch this shithole. S’not very fun here. It can feel… stale.”

She narrows her eyes, not sure what to make of his sudden shift in tone. “Yeah. M’real excited.”

A beat of silence passes, yet it feels like it drags. He should say something— warn her— but August’s looming presence, the consequences of stepping out of line, keep him in check. Fear clings to his skin like sweat, holding him back from doing what he knows is right.

“Well,” she breaks the tension, her voice clipped with polite finality. “Have a nice day, Gabe.” She forces a small smile before turning to leave.

“Just—” He almost steps forward, as if to stop her. She halts mid-step, her back stiffening. “Be careful. Stay safe.”

Her heart skips a beat but she keeps her face calm. “Thanks. You too,” she responds, giving him one last look before walking off, her pace quickening.

She feels flustered and unsettled. All she wants now is to find Javi and get the hell out of here.

Javier leans against his truck, chewing on a new stick of gum as his eyes anxiously scan the church’s entrance. His posture tenses every time the door swings open, but when he finally spots her stepping outside, he straightens up.

Pushing off from the hood, he meets her halfway with a worried look already forming on his face.

“Saw your dad was here, and you took a minute comin’ out. I assumed...” His voice trails off as he takes in her expression. His brow furrows, and he cups her jaw, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “Hey, everything okay?”

She shrugs, placing her hands on top of his, grounding herself in his touch. “Dunno. Talked to Daddy about us leavin’. It started off strong— apologies, the whole woodworks,” she bites her lip, “Then I mentioned the move, and well, he got like he always does.” She rolls her eyes, still feeling frustrated by it. “Divine timing when his walkie went off. He got called back to the station. Pretty sure the whole damn town would’ve heard us arguin’ if he had stayed.”

He sighs heavily, frustration knotting in his chest. This shit always happens when I’m not around. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he feels partially guilty for being the catalyst to the emotional tug-of-war between her and Romeo.

She shakes her head, her tone resolute. “No need to apologize, honey. I’m not gonna change my mind. I know what I want. He’s either gonna have to suck it up and get with the program, or he can wallow in his sadness. S’not my responsibility no more.” Her voice breaks a little at the end, but she’s firm, determined.

She moves his hands from her face down to her waist, stepping closer, resting her cheek against his chest. The steady beat of his heart soothes her, the rising anxiety easing under the warmth of his embrace and the smell of his cologne. “Just... hug me, please.”

Javier doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around her tightly, pulling her against him, his chin resting atop her head. He rocks them gently, his thumbs brushing the small of her back in slow, comforting circles.

He’s proud of her— proud of the way she’s standing her ground, making choices for herself despite how much it clearly costs her.

It kills him that she’s had to fight for her independence like this, but life is cruel and has a harsh way of teaching lessons. He should know.

The weird interaction with Gabriel fades entirely, forgotten in the feel of being in his arms.

“C’mon,” he murmurs after a while, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go home.”

She moans sweetly as Javier’s lips ravage her neck, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, hiking her legs around his waist. Her fingers thread through his hair as she tries to steady herself, arching into him. “Javi, we’re gonna be late,” she gasps, though the protest lacks any conviction.

He responds with nothing but a low grunt, lips dragging hotly along her neck, the scrape of his teeth making her shudder. His tongue flicks against her ear, the nibble on her lobe sending a wave of pleasure down her spine. 

“I can’t leave without gettin’ a taste first,” he mutters, kissing his way down her body.

Her breath snags in her throat, anticipation building as he drops to his knees before her. She props herself up on her forearms, watching him with dark, lust-filled eyes as he disappears beneath the hem of her new red dress— a gift from him.

Javier had picked it out himself, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw it in the shop window. He knew then he had to see his in girl it. 

And she did not disappoint. The way it adorned her body had him nearly losing his mind. His pulse had jumped, and his jeans got tighter within seconds, the sight of her owning the room in those matching red heels making his mouth water.

His hands slide up her thighs, bunching the fabric as he goes, but when he sees the barrier of her underwear, he lets out a dramatic sigh of disappointment. “For once, you’re actually wearin’ these?” he grumbles, teeth nipping the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his breath hot and teasing.

She shivers under his touch, legs trembling slightly as she smirks down at him. “I’m gonna be up on stage tonight, Javi. You want everyone gettin’ a good look at my snatch or somethin’?”

Javier snorts, lifting his head briefly to meet her gaze with a wicked smile. “Your snatch?” he echoes, amused by her choice of words, his laughter a low rumble that sends a new wave of heat between her legs.

She shrugs playfully. “Well? Do ya?”

It’s this balance of passion and lightheartedness that keeps her craving every second she can spent wrapped up in him.

“As pretty as she is,” he murmurs, returning to his spot, his curved nose trailing along the skin he’s just kissed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I’d rather keep this beauty for my eyes only.”

He sneaks his fingers up to tug at the band of her underwear and she instinctively lifts her hips, helping him peel them off, the rush of desire pushing any thoughts of being late far from her mind.

His touch is confident, decisive— he doesn’t tease, his impatience evident as he buries his tongue inside her. A sharp gasp escapes her lips, her legs instinctively clamping around his head, and he groans against her, the warmth and pressure of her thighs enveloping him.

They lose themselves in the pleasure, savoring this stolen time, but soon, the insistent ringing of his work phone breaks through their bliss, left forgotten on the dresser in the bedroom.

“Y-Ya gonna get that?” she manages to whimper out between breathy pants, the last thing she wants is for him to leave her on this table without getting her off.

Javier hesitates, half a mind to ignore it completely and continue eating her out, but the sound is persistent, and he knows it must be important. With a reluctant groan, he pulls back, trapping her clit between his lips for a final, wet suck before placing a gentle kiss on it.

“Yeah,” he grunts in displeasure, rising from his kneeling position. 

He hovers over her, leaning down to kiss her deeply, his hand moving to grip her jaw, his touch both possessive and tender. “Quédate aquí,” he whispers, their lips brushing.

She nods, still reeling from the intoxicating sensation of his tongue and the musky scent of herself lingering on his mustache, feeling her pussy flutter at his words. “Okay. Hurry,” she breathes, heart racing.

He moves quickly, and she’s left there, feeling utterly boneless, lust thrumming through her veins as she waits for his return. Am I dreaming? she wonders, hardly able to believe that a man like Javier Peña actually exists— and that he’s hers. 

She half-expects to hear the annoying sound of her alarm, pulling her back to reality.

The call keeps him longer than he’d like, but when he finally returns to the scene he left behind, the sight takes his breath away. She’s still perched on the table, her dress riding up her thighs, legs partially spread, beckoning him to return.

She looks like a breathtaking piece of art, a masterpiece crafted just for him.

“Hmm,” he hums, the sound coming from deep within his throat, and he can’t help but lean in, kissing her again and again, each peck igniting the air between them.

“Everythin’ okay?” she asks, her voice laced with breathless anticipation as she chases after his lips, not really caring for his answer— at least not right now.

“Yeah,” he responds tersely in a low rumble. His lips are swollen, aching for her as he sinks to his knees again, eager to resume where he left off.

The sultry sounds of her moans and his lewd, wet noises fill the air, creating a symphony of pleasure that dances off the walls.

When she comes, it’s with a sharp cry of his name, and he can’t help but smirk against her cunt, savoring every drop she has to offer. He lingers there, lapping her up before showering her with gentle kisses until he finds his way back to her mouth.

Her lipstick is smeared across his face, and she giggles breathlessly at the sight, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. She brings her thumb up to wipe away a smudge. “The color looks good on you,” she teases.

“Likewise,” he counters, squeezing her hip possessively, a goofy, lovestruck grin spreading across his face.

He gently pulls her panties back up, kissing each knee as he helps her off the table. As they both head into the bathroom to fix their appearances, the mood shifts.

She leans over the sink, fixing her hair, and can’t help but break the silence. “Who called?”

“One of the guys at the station. The girl from the hospital has finally been identified.”

Her heart sinks as she blinks quickly, turning away from the mirror to face him. “And?”

“Runaway reported missing from Louisiana. No wonder we never got any hits from anyone around here,” he continues, brows pulling together in a thoughtful frown.

Something curls in her gut at the news, her proximity to the neighboring state bringing back the god-awful memories of that night at the swamp— the ones she thought she was doing a good job of storing away. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Her grandparents are on their way to be with her. Aside from that, nothing has changed.” His voice lowers as he adds, “She still hasn’t woken up.”

Paloma nods slowly, turning back to the mirror for just a moment. She allows her face to reflect the uncertainty swirling within her, the worry etching lines of concern across her features. Despite her efforts to mask it, Javier’s keen eyes catch her reflection, but he says nothing.

It's much later on in the night and she’s on the last song of her set, nerves gnawing at her insides like it’s her very first performance. The familiar crowd blurs into a haze, her focus narrowing until it lands on him.

Their eyes meet, and an electric smile spreads across her face, an intimate connection amid the sea of faces.

“This last song is new,” she says, her voice trembling just a little. “Came to me in a dream.” This dream, of course, being him. “For a special someone.” Her nose crinkles with a soft laugh, part nerves, but mostly because he has this effect on her— making her feel like she’s drunk on love, intoxicated by the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.

Javier’s brows shoot up, surprise dancing in his eyes, his heart leaping at her declaration. The flush creeping up his cheeks is hot, and he tilts his head slightly, still planted in the familiar table where he sat all those months ago, always drawn to her.

Front and center, just as he always intends to be.

As she strums the opening chords, the audiences distorts into a gentle blur. These are the chords she agonized over for hours, the lyrics she metaphorically vomited in her notebook, words that only made sense when she thought of him.

Her band is here too, in perfect harmony, amplifying the depth of what she’s trying to convey. They’ve helped her make this moment feel as big as her heart— a reflection of the way he makes her feel.

Music is something that has always just been there, a backdrop in his chaotic life. It’s strange to admit, but he’d given up on enjoying that small pleasure of life a long time ago.

Sitting in this uncomfortable bar stool, watching her sing her heart out about him has a warmth spreading through his entire being like a fucking fever.

She’s using the one thing she’s best at— her music— to tell him, in the clearest way possible, that she loves him.

He’s never felt more alive.

She looks perfect under the stage lights, the guitar pressed against her body, her dress flowing like a cascade of silk.

An angel, sent down from the heavens to alter the course of his life forever. 

“‘Cause in your pickup truck with all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be.”

Once the song ends, the applause jolts her back to the present, the warmth of the spotlight melting away as she realizes that she’s not alone in this moment.

The crowd cheers, but it’s his gaze she feels most. A soft blush blooms on her cheeks, and she quickly thanks the audience and her band, her voice catching slightly with a shy laugh.

As she steps down from the stage, a few regulars come up to compliment her and she appreciates it, she does, she’s just more focused on getting over to Javi right now.

The moment she’s close, he is out of his seat, sweeping her up into his arms without a care for who’s watching. He kisses her with such fervor that the nearby patrons break into whistles and teasing cheers. But he doesn’t hear any of it.

It’s just her— her lips, her warmth, the soft press of her body against his. His hands are firm on her waist, drawing her closer, like he never wants to let her go.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and dazed, his eyes shine with the depth of his emotions spilling over. “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known,” he says, his voice heavy with meaning.

She can’t help but laugh softly against his mouth, her chest swelling with a joy so pure she feels dizzy from it. “So, I’m guessin’ you liked the song?”

“I loved it, Paloma,” he says without hesitation. Before he can stop himself, the words slip from his lips. “I love you.”

She bites her bottom lip, the shimmer in her eyes giving way to the incoming happy tears. “You mean that?”

Javier’s expression softens even more, his hands cupping her face. “I do,” he declares, “I love you, and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Her heart feels so full— it might burst. “I love you too, Javi. So much.”

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone like her, but right now it feels like the universe has aligned just for them.

Paloma spots his cruiser as she pulls into their little secluded spot, a thrill of excitement bubbling up inside her.

It’s just a picnic, a simple one before her closing shift at the library. She smiles to herself, glancing at the basket she’s packed with all their favorites.

Javier finally put in his letter of resignation, getting nothing but a scoff out of the sheriff and nothing more. It had surprised him, but he let it go, not wanting to give him an in to continue to berate him. 

She tried getting in contact with her dad, to have that final talk like he had said they would that afternoon at church. But he slipped through her fingers like sand, dodging every attempt to communicate.

Every unanswered call, every ignored voicemail— it all piled up until she realized he was resolute on dealing with things by simply not dealing with them at all.

That hurt, more than she let on, especially knowing in just one week she’d be gone, moving on to the next stage of her life without mending that broken piece between them.

She cried in Javier’s arms the night it really hit her, the weight of it all too much. He held her tight, whispering soothing words about letting time heal the wound.

He had faith her father would come around— eventually. “He loves you, Paloma. He just needs to figure his own shit out first,” Javier had said, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. She nodded, letting herself believe it because she had to. She’d leave him a way to contact her when the time came.

He wouldn’t stay like this forever— he couldn’t.

Now, here she is, walking past her boyfriend’s cruiser, her mood brightening as she catches sight of something unexpected.

There, sitting in the backseat, is a cowboy hat. Her eyebrows shoot up in amusement. She knows it’s part of his work uniform, but he’s never actually worn it.

The image of him in that hat— oh, she just knows he’d look so damn good. A slow grin spreads across her face as she pulls open the door and grabs it, placing it on her own head with a playful flourish. It’s way too big for her, of course, but she likes the way it feels.

She shuts the door with her hip and practically skips toward the familiar clearing. The sun is warm on her skin, and the light breeze carries the scent of wildflowers. She feels light, almost carefree, with the hat bouncing on her head and the picnic basket swinging in her hand.

Javier leans against the towering oak, his back to her, a cigarette perched between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. She spots him, her eyes narrowing as she tsks at him with playful disapproval. “Javi,” she shakes her head, though there’s a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

He flicks it to the ground. “Alright, you got me. First one I’ve had in weeks though.” He turns to face her, the sight of her in his cowboy hat making his heart stutter in his chest.

She’s all soft curves and sunshine, the wide-brimmed hat too big on her head but suiting her in the most unexpected way. He removes his aviators, his dark eyes taking her in as if he’s seeing her for the first time all over again.

“You were doin’ so well,” she comments, stepping up to him with a mock scolding tone, though there’s no bite behind it. She’s already on her toes, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips, her fingers grazing the stubble on his chin.

“Sorry.” Javier smirks against her mouth, flicking the brim of the hat. “What’s all this?” he grabs the picnic basket from her hand as he begins to set everything up.

“Saw it sittin’ in your car and it got me wonderin’ why the hell you don’t wear it more often,” she says with a grin, bending down to help him fan out the blanket over the grass.

He scoffs, “Because I look stupid in it, that’s why.”

She lets out a sound of bewilderment, her voice raising in mock outrage. “Oh, be so serious, Javi. Ain’t no goddamn lick of truth anywhere in that statement!” She toes her boots off, settling comfortably on the blanket beside him.

Javier rolls his eyes at her in exaggerated exasperation, playing along. “I am so serious,” he mimics her, though a simper dances on his lips as he starts unpacking the lunch she lovingly prepared.

She takes the hat off her head and, without hesitation, places it on his. The moment she sets it on him, she’s breathless, her pulse quickening at the sight.

He grumbles, rolling his eyes again as he reaches up to take it off. “See? Told you— stupid.”

But she’s quicker, biting her lip and halting his hand mid-motion. “No, wait,” she whispers, her voice suddenly more insistent.

He’s confused at first, his brows furrowing slightly as he watches her climb into his lap, her flowy maxi skirt spreading out around them like a blanket of its own.

“What?” he asks, his voice low, hands instinctively resting on her waist as she settles against him, the proximity having his skin tingling.

Her fingers trace his jaw, her voice dropping to a seductive purr as she leans in close. “Tan guapo,” she murmurs, her lips brushing his chin before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

The heat between them flares instantly. He groans softly when her lips meet his, their kiss deepening quickly. She moans into his mouth, grinding down on his hardening bulge.

Javier feels the tug on his belt just before his balance gives way, body tipping back onto the blanket with a muted thud, his brown hat still perched crookedly on his head.

He lets out a breathless laugh, a grin spreading wide as he gazes up at her, catching that mischievous spark in her eyes. “So eager, bella. Thought this was supposed to be a picnic.”

Paloma’s fingers are already deftly working at the belt, tossing it aside as she bites her lip, her cheeks flushed from excitement and the warm sunlight bathing them both. “Yeah, well…” she shrugs, “Gotta work up an appetite first, don’t we, cowboy?”

He licks his lips, dark brown eyes squinting slightly as the sun casts a soft halo around her, making her glow like some ethereal being.

It’s messy but also seamless, like an unspoken dance as they fumble to halfway undress— her camisole straps sliding down her arms, one breast spilling free as his pants get shoved down just enough to release his cock. She nudges her underwear to the side, wasting no time before sinking down onto him with a moan, welcoming the familiar burning stretch.

Javier groans deeply, one hand on her hip the other palming her breast. Her hands press flat against his broad chest, fingers spreading over the fabric of his shirt as she leans into him.

Her long skirt pools around them, and she takes a moment to find her rhythm, bouncing up and down with increasing urgency. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, wild and untamed, as she rides him with a hunger that makes his blood boil.

Her nails dig into his shirt, leaving faint crescent-shaped marks as she moves faster, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of them.

Javier’s hat tilts precariously on his head, but neither of them cares. His hold on her hips tightens, guiding her motions as their bodies sync in perfect, chaotic harmony, every gasp, every moan intertwining like a melody between them.

He can barely tear his eyes away from her— the way she throws her head back, her mouth open in ecstasy, her body arching as she loses herself in the moment. She looks like a goddess, every movement driving him closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck me, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he growls through gritted teeth, his hands moving to grip her ass beneath the skirt, guiding her movements.

His knees bend as he fucks up into her, driving deeper, and she mewls loudly into the warm, open air.

“All you, cowboy,” she slurs, feeling every inch of his cock stretching her and she grips his shoulders, using all her strength to pull him upright.

He follows without hesitation, his body adjusting as they shift into a seated position, her still in his lap. Now, she’s no longer bouncing, but rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, keeping him buried deep inside her.

Every slow grind makes her toes curl.

She catches sight of him beneath that damn hat, getting her soaking wet, even more than she already is. God, he looks sexy, too sexy. The way it sits slightly crooked on his head, the shadow it casts over his smoldering gaze— it’s driving her crazy. 

Their mouths crash together, tongues sliding messily as they kiss with unbridled need, moans escaping between wet, sloppy breaths.

She clings to him like he’s the only thing keeping her in this realm, their bodies pressed so tightly together she can feel every pulse, every twitch. Her hips work him expertly, finding that perfect rhythm that drives them both wild.

It doesn’t take long before they’re unraveling, pleasure building until it crashes entirely.

His hands tighten their grip on her ass and she clenches around him just as he fills her up, both of them gasping each other’s names into their mouths, riding out the peak together. Her body trembles as she takes every spurt, her walls pulsing around him.

When it’s over, they’re a panting, sweaty mess. Javier’s forehead rests between her breasts, and she holds him close, her fingers twisting around the longer curls at the back of his neck, feeling the felt texture of his hat brushing against her damp skin.

Their breathing slows, but neither of them moves just yet.

“Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days riding me like that,” he mutters, his voice muffled against her breasts as he places soft, lazy kisses there. His mouth finds her nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a gentle suck that makes her gasp, her overstimulated body responding instantly. She can’t help but squeeze around his softening cock still nestled inside her, earning a low groan from him.

“Gonna get a heart attack if ya keep smokin’,” she teases, despite the lingering haze of pleasure, and he’s too fucked out to argue with her.

Javi simply chuckles, his breath warm against her skin, and she pushes him back, gently laying him flat against the blanket again.

She presses a soft kiss to his lips before slowly easing off his cock, both of them hissing at the sudden emptiness. Paloma rolls over and grabs her bag, pulling out a baby wipe. She wipes herself down first, then hands him one.

Once they’re cleaned up, the next hour drifts by in peaceful conversation under the shade of the towering tree. They share bites of lunch, talking about anything and everything, letting the simplicity of the moment soak into their bones. 

She lies with her head in his lap and Javier wears the cowboy hat, still at her request, and she can’t help but grin every time she glances up at him.

His hand strokes through her hair, lazily tucking a strand behind her ear as he admires the earrings she has on. They glimmer in the sunlight, but it’s her thoughtful expression that holds his attention.

“Baby,” her voice is soft, almost hesitant.

“¿Qué, nena?” he responds as he continues running his fingers through her hair.

She swallows, her lips twitching slightly before she takes a breath. “I think I’m ready to tell you ‘bout my momma.”

His hand pauses mid-stroke, eyes sharpening as he looks down at her, sensing the weight of what she’s about to share. “Yeah? You sure?”

She nods gently, her gaze shifting to the space around them before she sits up, pushing herself off his lap. He moves too, adjusting to give her more room, knowing she needs the space to speak, to let whatever’s been weighing on her heart finally surface.

Clearing her throat, she fidgets with her skirt, her fingers trembling just enough that he notices. “I just figured… since we’re about to leave… it’s kind of like closure to me, you know?” She pauses, her voice a little shakier now. “I don’t ever really talk about her. But she’s on my mind. A lot.”

He watches her closely, his chest tightening with quiet concern. He doesn’t know what to say just yet, so he remains quiet, letting the silence sit between them in support, giving her the floor to spill whatever is locked in her heart.

“Her name was Abeline— well, Calmana… it’s complicated,” Paloma frowns, her voice already tinged with the weight of the memory. “She killed herself when I was thirteen. Daddy found her with her wrists slit in their bathtub.”

Javier feels the words hit him like a punch to the gut, the sudden heaviness wrapping around his chest. He tries not to let his shock show, but the revelation shakes something inside him.

He noticed the lack of photos of her in the Leighton home, never once asking why. The only picture he ever saw on Romeo’s desk was Paloma’s— the man never spoke of his late wife. 

Now, everything about her and her relationship with him clicks into place with painful clarity.

“She was everything to me,” she continues, her voice growing quieter. “And she left right when I needed her most. Guess I should be thankful I even had her at all. She pushed me to be better, to raise my expectations, never let anythin’ feel like it was too hard…” She trails off, tone cracking at the edges. The vulnerability in her eyes makes Javier’s heart ache. He takes off his hat, setting it aside gently before reaching for her hand, bringing it to his lips with a sweet peck.

“And then she just went and did… that.” Paloma’s words come out broken, disbelieving. “It made no sense. It still doesn’t.” She looks at him then, and he can feel the depth of her grief, the unresolved pain she’s been carrying for so long. He hates seeing her like this, so hurt, but he knows this is a wound far too great for any of his words to balm.

He grips her hand a little tighter, offering her whatever comfort he can.

“It never makes sense,” he murmurs, careful not to overstep but wanting her to know he understands. “Only the person going through it really knows what it’s like… and that can feel very isolating.”

Paloma nods, even as her brow furrows slightly. She understands the logic, textbook reasoning, but it doesn’t bring her any real comfort. “I know, I know. But Javi… there were no signs before that. She was happy, sure, a little paranoid at times, but she was okay.”

Javier’s expression mirrors the sadness etched in her face, “It might’ve seemed that way,” he says gently, “but you never really know—”

“But I did know!” She cuts him off, her voice rising with frustration, with the raw edge of hurt that has lived inside her for years. “She had no reason to be sad. She had my dad, she had me…” Her voice cracks, and she angrily wipes at a tear that escapes down her cheek, pulling her hand from his grasp.

She sits up straighter, her breathing comes quicker, more uneven. Javier can see the edge she’s teetering on.

“Paloma,” he begins softly, his voice steady yet tender. “It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to feel like it doesn’t make sense.” 

Her shoulders slump a little, her lip trembling. “But it’s not fair,” she whispers, “It’s not fair that she left me…”

Javier reaches for her hand again, this time more slowly, giving her the space to pull away if she needs to.

“Losing her was the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” she admits. “I did everything I could to try and understand it. Read so many books, sat through counseling at the church, but that was a waste of time.” She scoffs, the bitterness of that memory evident. “Can you believe they almost didn’t bury her there? Because of her suicide. It was so fucked up. Only reason they did was through a loophole. Her grave technically isn’t on their grounds. That’s why hers is farther away from the rest.”

The church, something that was supposed to offer comfort, had only added to the pain of her family’s grief.

It just keeps getting more upsetting, “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you, mi amor,” he whispers and without thinking, he leans over, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him.

His arm around her feels safe and she leans into him, taking comfort in the strength of his embrace. “That’s when Daddy started gettin’ real mean. Our fights escalated, and it laid the groundwork for what our relationship’s like now.” She pauses, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. “He only talks about her when he’s pissed or hurtin’ or drunk. It’s like her memory only exists when he’s breakin’ down, and that feels like a disrespect to who she was.”

He can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose the love of his life like that, and as he gazes down at Paloma, the mere thought of her gone sends this dreadful fright up his spine.

The image of her lifeless in a porcelain tub, haunts him for a moment. He hugs her tighter, as if holding her now could protect her from that kind of pain forever. “Finding her like that must have broken him,” he tells her, though he’s not sure how to reconcile that with the bitterness in Romeo.

“From what I’ve seen, he’s not good at dealing with things.” He understands how hypocritical it sounds coming from him, given his own struggles.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I know. I understand his side of things, I really do, but I don’t think he understands mine.” Her voice wavers, a quiet sadness lingering in her words as she looks out over the field.

The wildflowers sway gently in the breeze, their soft movement a sharp contrast to the weight of the conversation.

He watches her closely, admiring her quiet resilience. Even as she shares the ugliest parts of her past, there’s still an openness he finds beautiful.

They sit together in a pocket of silence, her gathering her thoughts, while he watches, waiting to follow her lead.

She breathes deeply before continuing, her eyes tracing the ground as if searching for the right way to put it. “It wasn’t ‘till recently that I learned more ‘bout her.”

His brow furrows slightly, sensing the shift in her tone. She pulls away from him just enough so they can sit face-to-face again. “What do you mean?” he asks gently, trying to read her.

“Growing up, she was real cagey whenever I asked about her childhood. What it was like when she was a little girl. At first, I didn’t press, you know? I was just a kid. But the older I got, the more confused I became. I couldn’t ask Daddy, and the questions just sat there, gnawin’ at me.” Her gaze finally lifts to meet his.

“And then one day, I got the answers to them,” she adds. There’s an anxious edge to her words, and he leans forward slightly.

“What were these answers?” he’s curious, tilting his head slightly to encourage her.

“She grew up in an orphanage in Argentina. You were right, on that ride up to Dallas, when you picked out my accent.” He remembers it vividly, blinking a few times in surprise.

“Just dropped her off at the doorstep when she was a baby. No identification, no explanation—nothin’. She didn’t have many friends growing up. Kept to herself mostly. It reminded me of how I was when I was little, scared of the girls on the playground.”

Javier raises an eyebrow, trying to ease the tension just a little. “You’re telling me you weren’t the most popular girl in school?” he teases lightly, offering her a playful smile.

Her lips twitch into small but genuine grin, the tension lifting for a moment. “No,” she admits, shaking her head. “I was apprehensive when it came to makin’ friends.”

She pauses, licking her lips as if trying to decide how to move forward. “Anyway,” she continues, “she grew up wanting to be a nun. I guess it made sense, considering who raised her. They were the only family she ever knew.”

This is Paloma’s truth, her connection to her mother, the piece of her heart she’s been keeping to herself.

“She was invited to Europe to join a special convent— a real selective one. The kind that had members handpicked by the Vatican. Real elusive, you know?”

At this, Javier feels a faint pull in his gut, a strange, uneasy sensation settling there. Something about this revelation sends a ripple through him, but he tries not to let his apprehension show. “Sounds intense,” he says, keeping his tone steady, though his mind races.

When she speaks again, it’s like she’s unveiling the most earth-shattering truth. “Turns out, Javi,” she exhales his name softly, “my mom, Calmana, was a direct descendant of Cain and Abel. And I don’t mean in a metaphorical sense. I mean literally— part of her family tree”

He stares at her, biting his tongue to keep his thoughts in check. His gut reaction is skepticism, but he masks it, choosing neutrality. “That’s... a lot,” he says slowly, his voice even, hoping it won’t give him away.

But she doesn’t catch the undercurrent of doubt in his words. She’s too wrapped up in the whirlwind of her story.

“They believed she was meant to bring peace to the world,” she continues, her eyes wide with conviction. “No more wars, no more famine, no more suffering. But before anything could happen, the convent was defunded and disbanded. That’s when she moved to the States, met Daddy, fell in love, and had me.”

Javier’s stomach churns. The story sounds eerily similar to the case they just closed. The killer, the strange ties to Rome, the impossible connections.

There’s no way this could all be related... could it? They caught their guy. The evidence was there. But the motive?

He clears his throat, trying to steady himself. “Paloma, how do you know all of this?” His question comes out sharper than intended, and he immediately regrets the tone when he sees her stiffen.

“I found some things,” she lies, her voice defensive. “Hidden away in her stuff. In the extra bedroom.” She’s careful to keep August’s name out of it, knowing it would lead to a different type of confrontation that, frankly, she’s not prepared for.

“And you... you believe it?” His voice is quieter now, searching her face for any cracks in the story. But she lets out a scoff, her eyes flashing with offense.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

He presses his lips into a thin line, feeling the conversation slipping out of control. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to choose his next words carefully. “I’m not tryin’ to discredit you, or her, but—”

“But what, Javi?” Her voice sharpens, her heart pounding in her ears. The way he’s looking at her, the disbelief in his eyes— it’s like she can already see where he’s headed, and she hates it.

He winces, knowing there’s no easy way to say what he’s thinking. “She was sketchy about her past, and then she died the way she did. Is it possible that maybe... maybe it’s not all true?”

His words hang heavy in the air, and he immediately regrets them, especially when he sees the way her expression darkens, eyes narrowing like she’s about to rip him apart.

“You think that she just made it up?”

He sighs, trying to stay calm, though he knows he’s already in deep. But the words tumble out anyway, against his better judgment.

“Maybe it was something to help her cope with whatever she was dealing with when she was younger. Something that eventually caught up with her...” His voice trails off, and he flinches at his own clumsy attempt to make sense of it. 

And drove her to suicide? Yeah, great job at fucking listening to her, Javier.

Paloma’s laugh rings out, sounding every bit like her father. “You think this is bullshit,” she accuses, her eyes hard.

Javier feels the sting of her laugh. “I didn’t say that.” His voice is low, but he watches as she stands abruptly, brushing herself off with irritation.

He mutters a curse under his breath and rises with her, a sinking feeling in his gut.

“You didn’t have to.” Paloma’s movements are quick and precise, yanking on her boots as she avoids looking at him. “I’m real good at readin’ between the lines.”

“Baby, no—” Javier steps forward, trying to stop her, his hands reaching out in a plea. “Just listen—”

“I gotta get to work, Javi.” Her tone is cold, firm, and it shuts him down before he can say more. “We’ll talk about this when I get home tonight.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, soft but commanding. The tone halts her in her tracks, and she recognizes his frustration.

It’s the same as she felt when her father had pulled this kind of shutdown on her.

Her arms cross over her chest, and the disappointment in her eyes has him regretting running his fucking mouth.

“Your pragmatism wasn’t what I was expectin’ when I opened up to you about something so personal.”

“You’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry. It’s just that... it sounded so much like some of the stuff from the case, and I couldn’t help but think about it like that.” He can see her stiffen, her glare piercing right through him. “But that doesn’t matter, querida. I know how personal this is for you, and I don’t want to undermine it.”

She nods slightly, appreciating his apology, but her mood has already been soured.

She needs space, wanting to escape to the library, where at least the silence won’t push back. “I just... I need to be alone.” She looks at him, but her eyes are somewhere else. “Or as alone as I can be. Promise we’ll talk about it later, okay?” Her lips brush his cheek in a quick, almost mechanical peck.

Javier stands there, watching her go, knowing full well he just made a mess of things. “Paloma—” he tries again, but her silence stops him cold. There’s nothing more to say. Not now.

She throws a look over her shoulder, wordlessly telling him to clean up their picnic, and he’s left in the clearing with his hands on his hips.

The urge to light a cigarette gnaws at him, but he fights it off. He’s already fucked up twice today— he doesn’t need to make it worse.

Paloma rolls her shoulders back, trying to shake off the weight of the day. She’s down to her last few closing tasks, moving through the motions, though her mind is miles away.

The shift at the library had been fine— routine, even— as she’s been trying to enjoy the last few that she has before she leaves.

However, her thoughts kept circling back to the spat with Javier earlier. It needles at her the way his skepticism had stung.

She just wants to go home, to fix things, to talk it out. 

Finally, with her bag slung over her shoulder, she locks up and steps out into the night. Her car is parked across the street since the library’s lot is being repaved— long overdue, the cracks and uneven pavement have made even walking through it a hazard.

The streetlights do little to cut through the shadows of the darker lot, and she glances around, her nerves a little more on edge than usual.

She rifles through her bag as she walks, fingers brushing past lip balm and receipts before finally finding her keys. She fumbles with them in the dim light, the metal cold beneath her fingertips, and just as she’s about to unlock the car door— clang— they slip from her grasp, clattering onto the asphalt.

“Shit,” she curses, bending down quickly to pick them up. But when she stands again, her breath catches in her throat.

Leaning casually against the hood of her car is August, a joint lazily hanging from his lips, the tip glowing red in the darkness.

“August,” she clutches at her chest, trying to calm her racing heart from the scare he’s just given her.

His name feels foreign on her tongue, like something she’s meant to leave behind.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says smoothly, his thick accent curling around each word like smoke. He pushes off the hood, moving with a lazy confidence that makes her stomach turn as he rounds the car to stand at the driver’s side, too close for her comfort.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice trembles, though she works hard to keep it steady. She’s gripping her keys tightly now, her fingers digging into the metal grooves.

“Heard you were leavin’,” he replies, taking another drag of his joint. His eyes gleam with something predatory.

Gabriel must’ve told him, that rat, but she isn’t surprised.

“Yeah. Next week.” She nods curtly, hoping her clipped tone will get her out of this uncomfortable encounter.

“A shame to see you go, little dove,” August says, his gaze sweeping over her with unsettling familiarity, lingering on her chest and hips. It makes her skin crawl, and she shifts uncomfortably beneath his leer.

“It’s late. I really need to get home.” She tries to sidestep him, but his presence is a blockade.

He chuckles, the sound low and arrogant. “So icy, P. Thought we left off on good terms?”

He steps toward her, closing the space between them, and she instinctively takes a step back.

His grin widens, amusement flickering across his face like he’s enjoying this little game. “Why you steppin’ back? I just wanna talk.”

Her heart hammers in her chest, something in his tone setting off alarm bells. She takes another step, desperate to put more distance between them— only to collide with something soft and warm behind her.

“I think she’s scared,” a familiar voice purrs into her ear, and Paloma yelps, spinning around only to face Sloane, her countenance twisted into a smirk. 

She glances between them, feeling trapped.

“What do you want?” Her voice trembles despite her best efforts. Their eyes are watching, calculating.

“For you to come back with us.” August’s voice is casual, as if he’s proposing something harmless, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to scoff in his face.

Instead, she lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“I thought I told you I had no interest in that anymore.”

“Yeah, well, that’s on me for makin’ you feel like you had a choice.” He flicks the filter of his joint to the ground, the ember dying as it rolls away.

With a simple jut of his chin, three more figures emerge from the shadows, closing in like predators. Paloma’s throat tightens as the weight of her situation hits her full force— she’s outnumbered.

Her fingers curl tighter around the keys in her hand. Her mind races, trying to gauge if she could make a break for it— grab one of the weapons stashed inside her car and either fight her way out or get the hell out of here.

“Don’t be stupid, August,” she warns, “You try anythin’ ‘n we both know s’only goin’ to end bad for you.”

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head like she’s just told the funniest joke. “Oh yeah? And who’s gonna stop me? You? That pissy old daddy of yours?” His eyes gleam maliciously. “Or maybe your incompetent, narc boyfriend?”

The mention of Javier makes her jaw clench, her teeth grinding together as anger flares hot inside her. But before she can snap back, Sloane’s voice cuts through, dripping with venom.

“Don’t worry,” she coos, a smug smile playing on her lips as she tilts her head condescendingly, “I’ll make sure to stop by and check on him when he finds out you’re gone. He still likes his women on top, right?”

Before she knows what she’s doing, Paloma lunges at her, fury propelling her forward. But her body slams to a halt, restrained by the large, rough hands of one of August’s men.

Her keys and bag tumble to the ground as she struggles against his iron grip, twisting and kicking, but he’s too strong.

“Let go of me!” she shouts, thrashing in his hold, her boots scraping against the pavement in a futile attempt to break free. The man’s grip only tightens, his fingers digging painfully into her arms, and her chest heaves with frustration and fear.

August steps closer, his face inches from hers, and he wraps his hand around her throat, holding her steady as he leans in. His breath is warm and sickeningly close.

“Can’t do that, little dove,” he murmurs, blue eyes darkened with intent. “Been lettin’ you do as you please for too damn long. S’about time we finally get this over and done with.” His thumb presses lightly against her pulse, and she glares up at him with every ounce of hatred she can muster.

“You dunno know how long I’ve waited for this,” he says softly, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “To finally have you the way you’re meant to be had.”

Her stomach churns, revulsion boiling in her veins. She narrows her eyes, her breath ragged as she gathers every bit of defiance left in her.

Without a second thought, she spits in his face, her saliva hitting him squarely on the cheek. “Fuck you.”

For a second, he stills, disbelief flashing across his face. Slowly, he wipes the spit from his cheek with the back of his hand, his expression darkening.

Then, without warning, his hand swings back, and the sharp crack of his palm colliding with her face echoes through the lot.

Pain explodes across her cheek, and she whimpers involuntarily, her knees buckling beneath her. But the man restraining her keeps her upright, his grip never loosening.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Paloma,” August says coldly, shaking his hand out like the slap had been nothing more than a casual inconvenience. “I don’t like doin’ it.” He turns away from her, his voice indifferent as he gives instructions to the others.

Her breaths come in ragged gasps, the sting of the slap still burning across her face. But adrenaline courses through her now, sharpening her mind.

She needs to act, and fast. She lifts her boot and slams it down hard onto the foot of the man holding her, grinding the heel into the soft flesh. It’s enough for him to loosen his grip and let her go.

Without a second thought, she bolts, heart pounding like a war drum as she sprints away.

Hope flickers in her chest like a fragile flame, but it’s snuffed out just as quickly when she feels a sharp tug on her hair.

“Damn it!” she gasps, the rough pull yanking her off balance. But her father’s voice echoes in her mind, reminding her of the self-defense moves he drilled into her.

Thinking quickly, she drops into a squat, lowering her center of gravity and using the momentum to twist violently. She feels the man’s grip falter as she moves, and then—crack!—the sickening sound of bone breaking reverberates in the air, followed by a pained cry.

She can barely believe the move worked, running as the world blurs past her in a rush of shadows and moonlight. 

The sheriff’s department isn’t far, just down the street— if she can make it there, she’ll be safe. She darts down a narrow alleyway, the walls closing in around her, and for a brief moment, she thinks she might make it.

She can hear them shouting behind her, the thud of footsteps chasing after her, but she keeps running. 

But then, pain— sharp and blinding— slams into her temple. She crumples to the ground, her body suddenly too heavy to move.

Through the haze, she sees Sloane standing over her, a baseball bat in her hand, the exact one Paloma keeps in the trunk of her car.

“I got her!” Sloane shouts, her voice triumphant.

She tries to crawl, her hands weakly clawing at the pavement. Blood trickles down the side of her face, warm and sticky, and her vision swims as dizziness overtakes her. She feels the bottom of the girl’s shoe press down on her back, keeping her from moving.

“Fuckin’ hell, Slo,” August’s voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from underwater. “Did you have to wack her in the face? Always doin’ too much— just like that girl at the barbecue.”

Paloma hears the words, the memory of that poor girl flashing in her mind. Sloane had dragged her into the woods, and now… now she’s about to meet the same fate. Her heart aches with the thought of what this will do to Javier, to her father. How this will destroy them.

“The bitch shouldn’t have tried to run off.”

They bind her wrists and ankles with thick rope, her body limp as they drag her back to the lot.

She’s thrown into the bed of a truck, her mind slipping in and out of consciousness, her thoughts spiraling back to the people she loves.

Javier’s face swims in her mind, and she clings to it, even as darkness begins to swallow her whole.

“Sadie, you know what you have to do. Dump her car in the lake. Go down with it. Remember that you’re doing this for a good cause— for her. Don’t be scared. You’re brave; you can do this.” August’s voice cuts through the haze of her consciousness, a distant echo tainted with a chilling calmness.

The young girl, Sadie, shifts nervously, her hands trembling as she takes in the weight of the task assigned to her. 

The corners of the truck bed feel as if they’re closing in around her like a suffocating shroud.

Time seems to slow, every second stretching into an eternity as she fights to stay conscious.

After a moment of nervous hesitation, Sadie nods, her resolve crumbling.

Her pulse quickens as she feels August’s weight shift beside her.

He hops into the bed of the truck, looming over her frame, and she shrinks back, every instinct screaming at her to fight, to flee. But she’s too weak, her body betraying her with each shaky breath.

“Don’t worry, little dove. Soon enough, this will be nothing but a hiccup, insignificant as you cradle the entire world in your hands.” His words slither into her mind, tainted with a sickening promise.

He leans in closer, and she catches a whiff of his cologne mixed with something rotten. Her stomach churns, and she fights against the gag reflex rising within her as he presses a dirty rag against her mouth, muffling her cries.

The truck’s engine roars to life and begins to move. Tears spill from her eyes, hot and unrelenting, tracing paths down her cheeks.

She glances up at her captor, who is grinning down at her as he wipes away the blood and tears on her face, the moon looking menacing in the night sky behind him.

spoiler tags: slapping, kidnapping, depictions of violence. just a heads up, we are venturing into the more darker content era of this fic. i'll be tagging future chapters accordingly!