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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 4 months ago

Text

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.

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.

#javier peña x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña #narcos fic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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freshlyrage · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#fic!rlw #javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

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sunlitblue · 3 months ago

Text

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.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña x ofc #my writing #narcos

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dancingtotuyo · 6 months ago

Text

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

#scathed (Javier peña)#Javier peña #Javier Peña x ofc #javier peña narcos #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #Pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories #Pedro stories

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joelsmochi · 2 years ago

Text

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."

543 notes · View notes

redahlia-writes · 2 years ago

Text

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.

#redahlia #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x ofc #javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier pena #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña x y/n #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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nerdieforpedro · 5 months ago

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Empanadas and Chocolate

Part One of Foul Play Series

Javier Peña x Aria Davis (plus size female OC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: The meet cute between Javier Peña and Aria. The beginning of everything.

Warnings: Meet cute, adorable vibes, food, curioisity, (we’re safe this part - we had to start somewhere)

Word Count: a little over 1.8k

Notes: My smut fairy was gone for a very long time. Thanks to @magpiepills and a fic called "Aquarius" that she wrote that was all the right kinds of smutty filth, she inspired me to write this. It's from an old WIP I had started but never finished. Now it is in a completely different direction and one I like. She also beta read some (not the whole thing - gotta surprise her 😘). So here we are. Originally posted on A03.

Main Masterlist/ Javier Peña Masterlist

Together is what he told you. That you’d go on this journey together and help bring peace to an unsettled country. It’s been eight months and neither the government nor the American agencies involved in trying to take down Pablo Escobar were any closer to ending his reign. What did any of that mean for Aria?

Not much, just looking over the balcony of her small one bedroom apartment provided by the US embassy. Her fiance and her had decided on living separately since they were each entitled to their own places. It seemed like a weird idea at first, but the longer she stayed here, the more sense it made. She wouldn't have to hear him coming and going or worry when he would be home. He rarely was, only to have some mediocre sex, maybe sleep sometimes and leave again citing that he was needed back on the case. Aria sometimes was able to finish on her own, but increasingly she couldn’t even do that, getting tired in the middle of things and giving up to read a book, listen to some music and just sleep. Sleep was what she did best.

It was early yet and the sun was just cresting over the horizon, painting a golden pink across the sky, it was barely six in the morning. One positive for coming here, despite all the violence was the scenery, it was beautiful and so were the people, well those she had met. That was two. She sighed and entered her apartment readying herself for work and headed off to the embassy where she worked as an accountant along with four others in a small office. It was cramped but she got to know them well, all nice, sometimes a little too chatty. Her days were similar, rise, go to work, come home, sometimes see her fiance, fuck, sleep, repeat.

It was on a rare day off during the week where she decided to venture to her favorite little shop down the street. Here she didn’t wear the knee length shirt of buttoned up shirt that fit a little too tight, she could wear a flowing dress with sunflowers on it. It was a gift from an older woman a few doors down. She also often gave her rice, meat, vegetables and other foods, hence why her work clothes didn’t fit as well as they once did. Her build was stocky and dense from head to toe though she did have breasts that stuck out a bit farther than her belly and wide hips so that helped, but in her work clothes she was still self-conscious, she knew it hugged in all of the places good and bad. It was always a button down shirt and skirt. She could get away with a polo shirt or sweater depending on who was in the office but more often than not if their supervisor came in and they weren’t dressed appropriately it was a warning then could progress to a write up. So stupid.

Arriving at the shop, she spied her prizes, empanadas and chocolate cake. She went to order as another person placed theirs, a tall man whose skin had been kissed by the sun, wore dark aviator sunglasses, and had a thick head of hair with a mustache to match. He stood with his hands on his slim hips, a rose pink shirt on with medium wash jeans and what was likely a gun along his back. He was cracking a joke with the señora who ran the shop with her husband. The señora asked for her order again as she had lost her train of thought while looking him up and down.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the handsome stranger had taken the last piece of chocolate cake. Aria pouted but little could be done, she hoped he at least enjoyed it, maybe it was a reward to himself for something that happened that day or week? She just hoped he wasn’t the type to eat a few bites and dispose of it. Taking the three empanadas she ordered, she turned to leave as the señora pointed to her and said her name. Apparently, handsome sunglasses wanted to add empanadas to his order but didn’t tell señora when he got the cake. The accountant had the last of them. He walked over with a smile,

“Disculpe señorita (excuse me miss), could I buy one of the empanadas from you? I just need one.” He asked, almost pleading, how much did he need one? Aria raised a counter offer,

“If you’ll spit half of the cake with me, I’ll give you the empanada at no charge.” She raised a finger. He nodded and waved his hand toward one of the small tables with chairs outside where they could do the exchange. He pulled out her chair for her and Aria thanked him, he said there was no thanks needed, he should be thanking her. He’d been looking forward to the empanadas all week, the señora here makes the best ones. To that, she agreed and pulled out the bag with the rolled and fried goods. Señor brought them plates, some water and napkins, insisting that they eat here. Aria shook her head but aviators nodded and assured her he was alright with it as long as she was, that he would make for good company.

“Alright, let’s exchange and eat. Here.” She took one of the empanadas and placed it on the plate in front of pink shirt. He cut his chocolate cake in half and placed it on her plate.

“Here you go. We’re even.” He chuckled, quickly picking up his newly earned empanada and moaning as he took a bite. “Been thinking about these all day…” His eyes were closed as he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of the onions, chicken, potatoes and peppers. Aria nodded as she watched his mouth, he smacked his lips before taking another bite and another moan left him. It wasn’t long before she wondered if she should be watching this, it felt like she was intruding on a private moment. She picked up water and downed a few gulps before biting into her own empanada, humming with the flavor.

“Mierda eso esta bien (Shit that’s good).”

Pink shirt had momentarily forgotten that he was sitting in public, with a woman no less. He cleared his throat and drank some sips of his water before muttering sorry to his table mate. She shook her head and told him that the lovely couple who owned the shop would be delighted to know he enjoyed the food that much, plus it was fun to watch him eat. Shaking his head, he asked her how long she had been coming to the little shop and in Columbia in general. Her accent sounded similar to his partner’s - American. She told him eight months in Columbia and six for the shop. It took her a few months to get acclimated at work and to the slower pace. She appeared to indicate that she was enjoying herself but there was a large part he knew she was leaving out: the ring on her left fourth finger. There could be a few reasons she could be leaving out that detail, none of them were good for him. She was definitely easy on the eyes, well scratch that. He found her gorgeous, her smile and laugh and the fair trade was definitely a bonus. He would at least let her know his name before they parted. The city of Bogotá seemed larger than it really was. He learned that she did accounting at the Embassy, he told her that he was with the police - didn’t think she really needed to know he was an agent.

“My name’s Javier, Javier Peña. What’s your’s Mrs?” He finally asked as the stood and disposed of their trash. Her warm smile faded with the question. Did that mean she really was married? Peña wasn’t really up for all the drama that came with that even if she did have hips he wanted to see from the back, a very different angle than he was looking at them now.

“No, no. I’m engaged. It’s…I’m engaged. “ Her nod told him she needed to be convinced she was in fact engaged. Usually engaged couples are supposed to be happy. Not that he wasn’t familiar with how that could burn horribly. It wasn’t his business, though he wondered. “My name is Aria Davis. It’s nice to meet you Javier. Thanks for the cake.” Her smile remained warm, he may see her around at the embassy though he didn’t recall ever meeting her before.

“I see. Well congratulations hermosa (beautiful). He’s a lucky man. Gracias for the empanadas. The señor here makes some of the best ones in Bogotá. I may see you if you come again, I’ll try not to take all the cake this time. I usually don’t eat sweets.” Peña explained, it was true he did not. He’s had another failed raid with no new information found and it would be a day that he forgot to get a new carton of cigarettes. He was on his way to go buy some when he noticed he was passing by señora Hernandez’s tienda (store) so he figured he’d stop in and get the food on the way. He hadn’t eaten all day, plus he’d been meaning to come all week. “Today didn’t go so well so I figured I’d get something on my way.” He paused. Did she walk here?

“Do you need a ride home, Aria?” He tilted his head in the direction of his car to which Aria shook her head.

“Oh no I live close by. Thank you though. I’m going home after this. Just going to relax a bit before work tomorrow.” Aria’s smile didn’t falter and Javier was curious, shouldn’t she be mentioning spending time with her fiancée? He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bent card. He handed it to her and she took it reading it over, her eyes revealed her surprise but she didn’t mention that she’d heard of him. Aria assumed he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Here’s my card just in case. Bogotá is beautiful but can be dangerous. Call me if you need help okay?” The nod and grin that followed made her giggle. “I’ll come running and may speed a bit.” Javier cracked a small joke, it was a bad though but she didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll remember that Javier. I do pretty well at staying out of trouble though.”

“Trouble has a way of finding people Aria.” Peña took a step closer and spoke in her ear. “Call me Javi. Stay safe hermosa.” With that he turned and walked to his car, getting in and waving to her before putting one hand on the steering wheel and driving off.

Aria was left standing with Javier’s lingering words and his breath on her ear. The food in her belly wasn’t the only thing heating it from within. Peña wasn’t wrong. Trouble had found her.

Part Two

Dipping their empanadas in chocolate for Javi to lick off 🍫: @syd-djarin @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @guelyury

@yorksgirl @indiegirlunited @readingiskeepingmegoing @fhatbhabiee @javierpena-inatacvest

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x plus size ofc #nerdieforpedro #a short series

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lokischocolatefountain · 2 years ago

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Sundress

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+ (Fluff, slight smut, no angst for once, slutshaming but not how you think)

She laughed freely at something his cousin said, all her nervousness from their journey to Texas leaving her little by little when his family embraced her as one of their own within minutes of meeting her. Oh and the alcohol helped too. He took her hand and played with her fingers as he sipped on his beer, smiling as he felt himself relax in the presence of the people who knew him the best.

It was unbelievable really, being back in Laredo not as the former sheriff who ran out on his bride but as a federal agent with a beautiful woman on his arm wearing his ring. She was here in a pretty sundress, sitting on the sofa in his home, laughing with his cousins as they shared embarrassing stories about him. Pops loved her, just as he expected and he just knew that if Ma was alive, she would love her too.

It could’ve just been his beer-addled mind, but he was so happy with her right there, right then that he would quit his job and just keep her right there in Laredo. He never liked the damn place, always wanted to break free and run off to explore the big bad world. But he also saw the appeal of a small town as he stared into the old picture of his parents on their wedding day. He wanted love like that. And he had it. He wanted to take care of the ranch with her, work where he lived so that he could slip into the house whenever he wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to wake up in the morning without worrying about going elsewhere for work and just bury himself in her warmth, make sweet love to her, have the big family he’s always secretly wanted.

“Why can’t I have a baby brother?” He recalled asking his parents, wishing to have a playmate at home. They’d tried. For many many years, they’d tried. But he didn’t know that. “It’s because you’re a naughty boy and I don’t have time for more naughty ones.” Ma said, pinching his cheeks before getting back to work with the newborn foal.

All his cousins had siblings and though he was close enough to them to not long for more kids his age to play with, he was jealous of them and angry at his parents. So he told himself all those years ago that when he was old enough, he would give his son a lot of little siblings to play with. It was stupid and childish really, but the sentiment hadn’t worn off over the years. He would like a big family someday. When they were away from all the dangers his job brought them.

Family and friends flitted out one by one, making Javier grateful that he didn’t have to kick them out to take his fiancé to bed. He loved his family and all but he had been around her for hours without being able to touch her inappropriately and that was getting to him. Kicking his family out to fuck his girl wouldn’t have been nice. And it wouldn’t have done well for his ‘Javi who left his fiancé at the altar’ reputation.

“I really like them,” she giggled as she cuddled into him on the sofa. He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled back to find her smiling wide. He smiled back, unable to resist the infectious effects of her smile.

“Good. And they like you too. Especially pops.”

“Wooo!” She pumped her fist in the air, making him laugh. “‘S nice to have my future father-in-law’s approval.”

“Yeah well, let’s not rub it in my face,” he grumbled, recalling how unimpressed her father was with him. But he couldn’t fault the man. If his daughter came home with a guy who got shot at everyday for a living, he would be more than just unimpressed.

“Aww, Pobrecito,” she cooed before pressing wet kisses to his cheek. “He’ll come around. He’s just annoyed that you would be such a slut and have sex with his daughter under his roof before marrying her.”

“And whose fault is that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. She’d teased him all day, fucking grabbed him beneath the dinner table while carrying on conversation about work with her family.

“Whose fault?” She asked, making her eyes all soft and sweet just like the night she sneaked into the guest bedroom of her family home and begged him to fuck her. How was a man supposed to resist those sweet eyes and their filthy requests that contradicted their innocent act?

“Yours.”

“Mhmm?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay then,” she said, smiling sweetly. Nothing good came out of that innocent act. “I’ll be a good girl tonight. I’ll take my bag to the guest bedroom. Sleep there for our entire week here.”

He rolled his eyes at her and snatched her bottle of beer before emptying the contents in one gulp. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy.

“Rude!”

“Better rude than cruel, you absolute demon of a woman.”

“Cruel!? How dare you! I’ve been on my best behavior all day. I made your family fall in love with me faster than you made my family tolerate you. Miguel loves me so much that he would marry me if you didn’t. Linda invited me on a shopping trip and José didn’t move from me for hours.”

“José is two,” he said, laughing. Babies loved everyone, right? They were just innocent little creatures who loved everything. Or that was just what he told himself when his base instincts told him to take her to his room and put a baby in her immediately.

It wasn’t his fault. It was the goddamn sundress making her look all sweet and homely and just like something he’d want to put a baby in. He was going insane. Just the sight of her fitting in so well with his family and cradling his cousin’s kid while wearing a ring that declared her his was enough for him to stop thinking practically about all the things they needed to get out of the way before having kids.

“So? He loves me. I’m just so dang lovable,” she said, poking his chest with her index finger. “Not my fault that I’m perfect and you’re a big grump my father doesn’t care for.”

“He doesn’t hate me for being a grump. He hates me because he heard his innocent little girl screaming my name at night.”

“Asshole!” She gasped and shoved him away from her, but he returned right back and kissed her on the lips. Before she could call him more names, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, laughing as he felt her grab his ass immediately. Becoming boring was one of the reasons he didn’t want to get married, but with a girl like her who wanted him so openly, there wouldn’t be a boring day in his life.

“You make me fuck you in your family home, I get to have you fuck me in my childhood bedroom,” he said, carrying her to his room.

“Around all the posters of half naked women?”

“You offended, baby?” He asked, slapping her ass. He wasn’t the half naked women plastered all over his walls kind of guy anymore. But it made him feel giddy to think she might be…jealous?

“Nope! Just regretting taking down my John Wayne and Sydney Poitier posters. I had a John Wayne poster where he’s on a horse, wearing a cowboy ha—” she gasped as he dropped her on his bed.

“He was just a fake cowboy, baby. I’m the real deal. Got a ranch and all. I’ll put on the clothes if you want me to. Get on a horse, wear the damn hat. You want that?” He asked, hovering over her as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“I don’t know, Javi…” she tutted, twirling his hair around her finger. “You might look like a clown in it since you gave up the cowboy life to be a slut in Colombia.”

“I gave up the cowboy life to chase Escobar,” he corrected, giving her a pointed look.

“Yeah, but you spend more time being a slut than chasing Escobar.”

He pinched her ass, making her shriek and slap her hand over her mouth. “Javi! Don’t make me scream. I don’t want your dad to think badly of me!”

“Oh that’s one thing I can’t do, baby. Making you scream and making you cream comes naturally to me,” he said, making her gasp in horror. She had no reason to react so dramatically seeing that he’d definitely given her worse lines in the past. But it was fucking cute.

“Slut,” she chided, pushing him away but then pulling him down to her immediately. She gave him a peck on the lips before blessing the rest of his face with her kisses. It had him smiling like a kid, laughing like he used to when he was a permanent resident of this room.

“How many girls you fuck on this bed before me, Peña?” She asked as he shrugged his shirt off and got to work on her sundress. She looked pretty as hell in it, the white cotton with lemons printed on it giving her the look of the chaste woman she was not. But she looked the part in front of his family, hair down and neatly combed, pink on her cheeks and lips, and a pretty dress that made her look the part of a fiancée any group of Tias would approve of.

“You’re the first. The only one,” he said, pushing the elastic off her shoulders and kissing the swell of her breasts. He breathed in her distinct scent mixed with her sweat and took her breast into his mouth. She tasted salty from sweating, but he was not one to be disgusted by that. He came home to her sweaty and disgusting every damn night and she took him anyway. He buried his face between her breasts and took in her scent, groaning as his cock twitched in response.

Images of her with her knees bent by her head, still wearing the damn sundress as he drilled into her cunt filled his brain.

“Riiight. Totally believe that,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t trust me? You’re the only girl— woman, on this bed.”

“I don’t believe you. I know for a fact that you were a slut in high school.”

“Oh I was,” he agreed, hand diving beneath her skirt. “But I never brought girls back here. I sneaked into their bedrooms and sneaked out when we were done.”

“Of course you did,” she laughed, fucking herself on his fingers. It was sweet, having her in his family home, learning more about him and being delighted in what she found.

“It’d been a fantasy for a while actually, to bring a girl home, sleep with her on my bed. I just hated having to pull my pants up and run out before my girlfriend’s parents caught us and shot me.”

“You absolute menace!” She scolded and shook her head. He wondered if she would’ve given him her time of day had they gone to school together. He was quite the lanky kid with none of the muscles of his current body that she loved so much. He didn’t have much game either, not enough to impress her at least. She was a big city girl and all he knew at fifteen was Laredo and its oppressive walls. The Agent Javier Peña of now had slipped a diamond ring on her finger, but Javi from Laredo would’ve made a fool out of himself trying to get her to just talk to him.

Or not.

Maybe she would’ve liked him back. Maybe stupid boys with the worst pickup lines and too much confidence were her teenage self’s type.

“Would’ve sneaked into your room too,” he teased, bunching her skirt up at her waist before sucking her clit between his lips.

“Javi!” She squealed and not from pleasure. He apologized for hurting her with his desperation and placed a gentle kiss on the nub.

“My dad would’ve killed you for sure,” she said, running her hand over his arm. He flexed his muscles for her benefit and she took his offer, lavishing his arm with attention before moving a hand down his back as far as she could reach.

“Worth it for this pussy.”

He spent the night with his head between her legs, making her cry his name into her hand and then his pillow. In his head, he gave Javi from two decades ago a pat on the back. He’d gotten out of Laredo like he always wished, no matter the circumstance. He landed a pretty girl who wanted to fuck just as much as he did. He had love like his parents. He’d have a wedding he wouldn’t walk out on and someday maybe the grandchild his dad mentioned in passing.

Life was good.

Series Masterlist

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jedifarmerr · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 6

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader/OFC (no y/n or physical descriptions)

Rating: E (18+ blog)

Word Count: over 4k

Chapter Warnings: language, smut, very very light dom/sub undertones, pregnancy, anxiety, nightmares, discussions of parent death. (let me know if I missed anything)

Series Masterlist

Javier watched her eyes light up as she walked into the nursery. Her hand slid across the smooth white wood, clearly surprised to come home to this. She had only been gone a couple hours. Prenatal yoga, dinner afterwards with some ladies in the same class.

All the while, Javier’s Saturday night was spent hunched over vague directions. His knees ached. He’d squinted so much that it made his crow’s feet hurt. Clearly, the print was made with someone a decade younger than him in mind.

Instead of a regular standard crib, she had wanted something different – complicated. Circular cribs. He’d gotten tangled up in a flowy dual of sheer canopies. She’d thought they would be whimsical, fitting the theme: sweet dreams.

“Javi. I told you I would help.”

Javier rolled his eyes at her. Even if both his arms were broken, he would never let that happen.

At seven months pregnant, she was already uncomfortable enough without sitting on the hard ground for hours.

“I wanted to do it,” he assured her. Javier was never someone that liked to be bone-idle. For him, he needed to feel like he was actually doing something. This felt like the only way he could contribute.

They had moved in a month ago, and really this was the only room left to finish. So, he’d personally taken it on as his own project.

Last weekend, he painted over the custard yellow. A sage-y color; Granite Grey according to Benjamin Moore. Joe and him had lugged the changing table and dresser up the stairs. Luckily, those came practically assembled. Now, it was down to the little details.

Coming up behind her, Javier grasped her by the arc of her hips and pulled her flat against his chest. It was the only position that allowed him to get this close to her anymore.

He sighed as he nuzzled his nose into her neck, and inhaled. “Smell good,” he groaned.

“There’s no way. I’m all sweaty,” she protested, but that didn’t matter when he liked all her smells.

“So? I am too.” He kissed the nape of her neck then licked his lips. Salty. God – something was wrong with him.

His hands roamed across her belly as he perched his chin on her shoulder. Her belly button poked out from her shirt. Her beach-ball stomach was firm and swollen. He was weirdly obsessed with it. Slightly possessive about it.

His. His. His. Swirling around his mind.

“How’re they doing today?”

The babies responded to him with little kicks against his palm. Javier wouldn’t pretend to know the logistics of what was going on in there, but he liked to think somehow, someway they could recognize him. They always reacted to his voice. That couldn’t be purely coincidental.

Soon, the tiny kicks became a strong double wriggle. She winced at a particularly forceful one. Despite his primal instinct to hold on, he gave her space and let her go.

Still, his gaze stayed latched onto her. It seemed to be her shoulders, down to her lower back that was bothering her.

“Anything I can do?” He asked, wiggling his fingers into a loose fist at his side.

“Become a seahorse.” Her voice sounded like it came out of a clogged up pipe. She shut her eyes and paced around the room, working herself through the discomfort. Her yoga class had taught her helpful breathing techniques, calming exercises for times like this.

The tension drained from Javier’s shoulder when it finally seemed to pass.

“They’ve been really active today,” she explained, and Javier didn’t argue with her. If it was anything serious, he hoped she would tell him. She waddled to the door. “Have you eaten?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “I had a little something.”

Somehow she seemed to know that was code for a handful of chips around 6. She clicked her tongue at him. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought you back something then.”

A traitorous growl tore through his stomach. Theresa’s was some of the best Mexican food in Austin. It reminded him of his favorite spot in central Laredo. A hole-in-the-wall with top-tier mole.

“You’re too good to me,” he cooed at her, and she scoffed.

“You’re one to talk.” She swirled her finger around the room. “Now, go eat. I’ll be down after I shower.”

Javier did as he was told. Inside the styrofoam box was his order exactly how he liked it. She’d even remembered an extra thing of sauce on the side.

After scarfing down his food, they curled up on the couch and watched reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos for the rest of night.

Showering before bed, Javier scrubbed a towel through his damp hair. “What’re you reading there?” He asked.

She showed off a bubblegum pink cover. The Ultimate Baby Name Book. Surprise, surprise. That seemed to be all she read nowadays.

Javier threw his towel in the hamper, turned on his bedside lamp, then joined her on top of the covers.

She tapped on the page. “What do you think of Eva?”

Eva Peña. He shrugged. Not too bad.

“Yeah. If you like it.”

That must have been the wrong answer since she clasped the book shut, her hands stacked over the cover. “Your opinion matters just as much as mine,” she reminded him.

“Does it?” He asked, but she didn’t laugh. Her expression cinched, and he supposed it was best to agree with her. “Alright. Eva’s fine, but let’s hear another.”

She licked her thumb and flipped through the book. Each page was marked up. Names he must’ve blown off were crossed out, very few were highlighted, even less of them starred.

“Okay. Gabriela?”

“No.” Fuck no.

“Good. Definitive. I like that. What about….Mia?”

Javier hesitated, and made a low, drawn out thinking noise. “I knew a lot of Mia’s growing up.”

“I get that,” she said, and her face suddenly contorted into a tight grimace.

Every muscle in his body went rigid, until he realized it was her shoulders – again. He'd caught her messing with them all night. He wouldn’t let her suffer any longer.

He didn’t give her a choice, and plucked the book from her, throwing it on the nightstand. Once the pillows were adjusted, his legs spread out, he patted the space between his thighs.

“Come here.”

She usually would put up a tiny fight – assure him she was fine. But not tonight. She simply crawled over without a word.

His hands scooped underneath the flimsy straps of her nightgown, and immediately set to work. Slow and steady. With the flat of his palm, he started chiseling away at the tension in her shoulders. She let out a low sound of relief, her head drooped forward like an over-loved stuffed animal.

“Oh, right there,” she moaned when he hit a particularly sensitive spot between her shoulder blades.

Laser-focused, his thumbs kneaded at the tight band of muscle, drawing little noises and sweet little whimpers. Each one burned hotter in the pit of his belly.

“Let me get your lower back. Lean forward a little for me, baby.”

He didn’t expect his cock to twitch when she let him guide her into position. His hand on the center of her back ran along the curve of her spine, admiring the shiny satin that stuck to her skin like spilled sangria. Pliant. So soft. If he wasn’t careful it could easily go to his head – both heads.

Her lower back was especially aggravated. A web of knots had spun themselves around her tailbone that even the tiniest bit of pressure made her pretty lips part, panting.

Her breath hitched, tensed as he began to uncoil one embedded deep underneath the surface.

“Relax. Let me take care of you.” His voice was low and tainted by his swelling arousal. Luckily, she seemed too lost in his dutiful hands to notice.

“Oh, Javi,” she choked out, digging her nails into his thighs. His quads flexed under her palms.

Desire was now swirling in his gut, and when he glanced down, his cock was tenting the baby blue cotton. But he kept ignoring it, and continued his ministrations until not an inch of her back went untouched.

“What hurts the most?” His breath fanned over her ear, and goosebumps erupted across her skin.

He wondered if she was as affected by this as he was. He was starting to think he would find her soaked underneath the hem of her sinfully teeny nightgown with how long it took for her to respond:

“Shoulders.”

He discreetly tucked his cock into his waistband before urging her to lay back. She sank into his body instantly. Her head lulled around the shadow of his collarbone. When his gaze dipped to her chest, he licked his lips as her swollen breasts strained the fabric with each heavy breath.

As he kneaded the tops of her shoulders, her legs unconsciously inched apart until her feet tangled up with his.

“Feel good?” He skimmed his lips over the sensitive spot, just behind her ear.

That seemed to make her brain fizzle out. She went to speak, but unable to form a coherent word, she simply whimpered. It stroked something primal deep inside him to have her like this.

Daring himself to go further, he snuck one hand around her and rested it on her thigh. Just below the hem, her hips automatically bucked.

Her skin burned against his palm, but he didn’t move his hand, only his thumb in slow, maddening circles. He intended to take his time, to draw this out. He wanted to make her so desperate, so needy that she begged for it.

He brushed his fingertips across her shoulder. Like a feather, sliding along the column of her neck. “Javi,” she said – breathless. Whiny. God – she was so sensitive. So responsive to him. It was driving him insane.

“What is it, baby?” Her neck bent to his whim as his fingers danced along her jaw. “Tell me.” He thumbed the hem of her dress.

She didn’t answer, only squirmed around. Her ass was mere inches from his cock when he tsked his tongue, gripped her thigh.

Even though she stopped, it didn’t come without a whine. “Javiiiii.”

Her lips formed a pout, which he traced with his thumb. She opened up like a flower, let him feed one finger, then two into her eager mouth.

Fuck – she was a vision.

He applied pressure to the flat of her tongue, slowly dragging his fingers up and down the length.

“Suck,” he ordered, and her lips instantly formed a tight seal around his knuckles. Her cheeks hollowed out, and the throaty, wet moan she gave hummed through his veins. She looked absolutely depraved. “Fuck - look at you. So greedy. You like this, don’t you?”

Hooded eyes – long, fluttery lashes. She nodded, pushing his fingers deeper into her warm wet mouth. She used to get so embarrassed when she would get like this. She would try and hide from him, but not anymore. He’d snuffed out the voices, until it was only his own.

Javier made a strangled, growling noise when she nearly choked on his fingers, taking him up into the point that she was drooling. A trail of spit dripping onto the tops of her breasts.

“Your damn mouth is fucking heaven.” She mewled at his praise. Grinding her hips into the thin air, the mattress squeaked under her hips. Vaguely, he wondered if he could make her come just like this. If he weren’t so aroused, he probably would have waited to see.

His hand roamed further up her thigh, and “Fuck,” he hissed, finding her thighs sticky and wet. He gathered what he could on his fingertips. “I haven’t even touched your pussy and look at that.”

Her slick glistened in the low lamp light. Gorgeous.

“I bet your panties are ruined, aren’t they?” He taunted her, and his fingers left her swollen lips with a pop. He smeared the excess spit all across her lips. “Should we see?”

She dumbly nodded, and angled her gaze to watch him slowly reveal herself to him. The dark spot on her cotton-candy pink panties made his cock throb painfully, his pants felt like a cage.

“Holy shit. You’re soaked.” He clasped her tighter to him, burrowed his face into her neck as he teased the lacey elastic band.

Her chest expanded with a cry of his name. It echoed in the safe-keeping of their bedroom. He had to keep one hand on her hip to keep her still when his fingers formed into a V and rasped across the cotton. The dips between his fingers just barely missed her clit with each stroke. Every time her body would tense, then shudder in disappointment – desperation.

The tip of his nose nuzzled into her plush cheek. “Want me to touch you?”

She swallowed, insistently nodding. He swore he heard her croak - yes.

“Then beg,” he forced the word through gritted teeth. “Beg and I’ll give it to you.”

“Oh fuck. Javi.” She cried out. “Please baby. God. I need it - I need you. Oh, please! Please.”

She kept babbling until he hooked his thumbs into her waistband, and she helped shimmy them off.“Hold your dress and spread your legs. Let me see you.”

There was no hesitation. She displayed herself for him, then peered up with a glazed, glossy look in her eyes. “Please,” she whimpered, and that was it.

He sealed his lips against her temple and started to gently circle her puffy clit. Her whole body convulsed, twitched. Even with a gossamer touch, she still moaned.

Months ago, he would have kept her like this for hours. Bring her to the edge over and over until she withered into sheets and prayed for release. One time, she swore she blacked out from her orgasm. It was one of his proudest accomplishments.

“Do you want more?” He asked, continuing to tease her clit, softly swirling the swollen bud.

She opened her mouth, but all that came out was nonsense. So, instead she bobbed her head.

“You want my fingers?” She nodded even faster. “Can you be good and keep still? Let me do the work - let me take care of you?”

She must have known he would want a verbal response because she swallowed. “I - I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” he hummed, then without any resistance, slid a single finger inside her. Her walls clamped around him, and he growled, wanting to feel her wrapped around his cock.

Soon.

After only a few moments, she was already begging for more. “I can take it. Please, Javi. I need it.”

“Yeah?” His deep chuckle rumbled around his chest. He didn’t wait for a response, and sunk two fingers into her, curling until he hit that sweet, spongy spot.

Her legs twitched, fighting to keep still as he sped up. The wet squelch was nearly enough to send him over the edge, and when he stretched her out with a third, he was about to burst. He could feel his cock leaking with each thrust, smearing around his skin and shorts as she trembled for more.

“Fuck, you’re so good. So good, baby.” He slowed down, but kept a steady pace. “You gonna let me use your pretty pussy? Wanna cum around my cock?”

“Oh shit - Javi. Please. Please. God - I wanna cum. Wanna - fuck.”

“Hands and knees or on top?”

She didn’t answer verbally, but crawled to the middle of the bed instead. She yanked off her dress before presenting herself. Ass up.

“Goddamn,” he grumbled under his breath, ripping off his shorts. He glanced down and he was way too fucking hard. His cock bobbed heavily against his stomach. The tip swollen and red as jasper.

He squeezed the base of his cock. His fingers biting into her ass as he spread her apart. Everything was wet and swollen and all his.

“Fucking beautiful.”

He teased his cock along her slippery slit. The fat head bumped against her clit, and she scrambled to fist the sheets. His jaw went slack, watching her cunt drip and clench around nothing.

“Shit - Javi.” She rocked back to try and catch even just the tip of him inside her. He snatched her by the hips, and held her in place.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Your cock,” she whined. “God, I want you to fuck me. Pleaseeee Javi!”

He praised her while lining himself up, then slowly buried himself inside her. He stared down as his cock completely disappeared. She was completely at his mercy. The thought made his cock twitch, and her pussy spasmed around him.

Throwing his head back, he squeezed his eyes shut until his own release receded. He withdrew, taking a second to admire the ring of slick around his dick before thrusting back in.

“Holy shit. So fuck - fucking good.” She purposely clenched and it was way too tight; his stomach swooped. “Oh shit. Baby, don’t do that.”

She gave a girlish little giggle. What a fucking menace.

“That funny to you?” He asked, snagging the blunt head of his cock against her g-spot. Her only reply came in moan muffled by the sheets. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

With a firm grasp on her hips, he fucked her with long, deep strokes that always hit the spot. Her walls spasmed with every rock of his hips. She sobbed from being right on the edge.

He knew exactly what she needed, but couldn’t give it to her. At least, not at this angle.

“Come here, baby.” He helped haul her upwards. Her tacky skin sealed against his chest. His fingers skated across her breasts, circled her neglected nipples. He wished he could play with them, bite them, suck them, tease them, but most of the time they were too sensitive for anything but a feathery touch. The line between pain and pleasure was razor-thin and too blurry.

Even now, the tiniest brush made her breath catch in her throat.

Finally, Javier started to toy with her clit. With his cock grinding up into her warm, wet pussy and his lips frantically mouthing at the column of her throat, the first touch made her nearly buckle. Her walls squeezed him even tighter, and he swore this was heaven.

Javier wet his lips. “Kiss me, come on. I need it, baby.” He didn’t care how desperate he sounded. He didn’t care about the awkward angle or how messy it was when her tongue lapped against his. She tangled her fingers into his hair and gave a sharp tug. Every nerve and cell in his body fired at the same time, and he knew this wasn’t gonna last much longer.

He drove his cock as deep as it could go. Their skin slapped together and she was leaking everywhere, down his thighs, dripping onto the sheets.

“Perfect pussy,” he growled, and pinched her clit, rolling it between his fingers. “Fuck. I can feel it. So tight. Oh, come on. Fuck.”

“Shit - Javi!” Her walls fluttered around him, and he clasped her against him right before her legs gave out.

She pulled away from his mouth, just enough to look into his eyes as he continued to split her open. The hand in his hair came to rest on his jaw; her thumb caressed over his cheek and it hooked on something deep in his chest.

He suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable. Her eyes bore into his and he swore she could see inside him. She could see every crack and broken piece of him, and despite it - she still looked at him like that.

She still loved him.

There was a split-second where he felt like he couldn’t breathe. All of it became too much. All too much. His release licked across his skin, and swelled up inside him.

He made a low, punched out sound and buried his face into her neck. Lavender soap and soft skin. His own release took hold of him.

“That’s it baby,” her voice seeped in through the dull ringing in his ears. “Fill me up, Javi.” His hips stuttered, and he didn’t recognize the noises that came out of him. Grunts. A near sob without any tears.

He swore he’d never cum so hard in his life.

Finally, his lips started to move across her throat, along the nape of her neck. Soft, sleepy kisses like the ones she would give his fingertips before bed.

There was a strange part of him that felt like he should apologize, but he didn’t know for what exactly.

“Was that okay?” He asked before the guilt could fester and turn into an ugly, black mold inside him. His voice sounded weak – meager. Maybe it could pass as breathless.

“Javi.” He still didn’t look at her, didn’t even move. His cock was still inside her, softening. “Javier.”

That got his attention, and he drew back to find her eyes searching his. She seemed worried. “If it wasn’t okay, I would let you know. Alright?” She petted his cheek, “You always make me feel so good.”

“Now, you’re exaggerating.”

His cum spilled down her legs once he pulled out of her. He groaned as he plopped onto his back, palming the space between his brows.

She curled up beside him. “I’m serious, Javi. I liked it - a lot in fact.”

“Okay.”

She scooped up the strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “Did you like it?”

He hooked his arm around her, and kissed her on the nose. “Of course.”

They laid like that for a minute, her body enfolded on him. Even with her clasped against him, he couldn’t shake himself out of this. It only seemed to make the uncomfortable feeling settle deeper into his chest.

Terminal. A sense of finality.

He tugged her even closer, and tried to lose himself in the scent of her shampoo.

He told himself he was just tired. That was all this was.

---

Javier didn’t know what time it was, but it had to be well past midnight as the city was completely still, quiet aside from the recently awakened bugs.

There was a storm rolling in. Flashes of white lit up the dark sky as he inhaled another drag of his cigarette. Smoke smoldered in his throat, burning his lungs like a cheap glass of whiskey.

This was exactly what he needed. Fresh air. The sweet shallowness of a nicotine buzz.

For the most part he stuck to nicorette gum, but sometimes that shit didn’t cut it. He kept a carton of Marlboros stashed in his glove boxes for moments such as this.

The nightmares didn’t happen nearly as often as they once did. He supposed, in a way, he’d grown used to the torrent memories. The flashbacks. Colombia.

But tonight, it hadn’t been the sound of machine guns or war-torn streets that woke him up in a cold sweat.

It was her. All his dreams lately had been about her.

He was about half-way through his second cigarette when the sliding door opened. She was standing underneath the porch light, her satin robe shimmering. There was something so ethereal about her.

“Thought I might find you out here,” she said.

He gave a light chuckle; a trail of smoke wisped from the sides of his mouth, and he squished out the orange bulb. She knew about his smoking. She also knew what it meant when he did.

She insisted on joining him on the porch step. Even though it took her a minute to get down. The silence settled comfortably around them. She seemed content to just sit there until he was ready.

“It was just a bad dream,” he said, after a long moment.

“Was it about me?”

He didn’t answer, and instead stared out at the freshly-cut lawn. He’d assumed she had figured it out by now. There was no hiding anything from her. She could read him as easily as her go-to comfort book. The pages tabbed and torn, all marked up, but she cherished it nonetheless.

He couldn’t lose her.

Each doctor’s appointment set him on edge. Complications. High-risk. It reminded him of his mom and the bullshit medical jargon they used. They gave her two years and it took her in eight months.

Javier didn’t know how his dad did it. How he just continued to go on. How he lived in their house. If something happened to her, Javier couldn’t come back here. He didn’t even know how to live with an empty side of the bed anymore.

“Javi.” Her soft voice beckoned him back to her. Her eyes bore into him. The warmth of her body pressed against him. “I won’t promise anything I can’t keep. But, Javi I promise, I feel fine. I feel good. And if I ever think something is wrong, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

Javier cradled her face in his hands, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Promise?”

“I swear. I swear, I will.”

Abruptly, he crushed his lips against her forehead, then slotted her right beside him. With his fingers rooted on her hip, she stayed curled up against him.

The air had turned sticky and the sky had begun to rumble by the time Javier looked her in the eyes. “What if we name one after my mom?” Caught off guard, her jaw went slack, and he knew it was because he rarely brought his mom up.

He supposed he was scared too. He’d always neatly boxed away his grief. Every loss in his life was stuffed in the same tiny closet. Now, if he opened it up something else was bound to topple out, and whatever it was – it was going to hurt.

He wished he could talk about her more. It felt like his wife barely knew anything about her. His mom deserved better than to be a silent memory. She deserved recognition.

“Are you thinking María or Dolores?” She asked.

Javier snorted. “Neither.”

His mom didn’t really like her name. María Dolores. She always said it made her sound too old. No one that really knew her ever called her by either.

“I’m thinking Lola. Pops called her Dolly, but to everyone else - she was Lola.”

“Lola,” she repeated, and rubbed her belly. “I like that. Lola Peña. Now, we just need to figure out the second.”

She squeezed his hand, and then; it started to rain.

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier peña x ofc #narcos fanfiction

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Text

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.

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chronic-ghost · 2 years ago

Text

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

rating: M (just for language)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 5619

summary: you're a human lie detector-- so you tell the handsome man at the Jim Bo’s Burger Barn at 3AM. Too bad you're too drunk to catch up to his lies.

warnings: language, references to drugs/cartels, drinking, smoking, this one is pretty tame, no use of y/n

a/n: this is my Poker Face adjacent fic and inspired by the scene where Javi so innocently flirts with that american wife in the lounge. might become a series but not quite sure yet. lemme know which direction I should take this, if I should take it anywhere at all!

🤍Series Masterlist | Next

🤍AO3 Link

You attract trouble.

You attract trouble like you put on your nicest dress, did your hair, fixed up your tits, and doused yourself in trouble-pheromones. Like you found trouble curled up on the side of the road, sad and alone like a lost dog, and you gave it a cookie and now it swings around your ankles, always moments away from knocking you on your ass. Except it’s not a dog, it’s a chimpanzee that’s finally snapped and it’s pissed– it’s beating on the bars of its cage, it’s yowling, howling, it’s coming after you to eat off your goddamn face and–

Okay, back up a bit.

You have a thing that gets you into trouble. No, not like a self-destructive habit or a weird twitch. It’s not drugs or alcohol or even a dumbass ex. It’s this thing you’ve always been able to do, always known, and because of your big mouth, it’s always gotten you into hot water with the wrong people.

You know when someone is lying. Don’t ask how. It’s a thing. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, if what’s coming out of someone’s mouth is the God’s honest truth or total and utter bullshit.

You know when someone is lying and generally, folks don’t really appreciate it when you a) catch them on a lie and b) call them out on it. You and your big mouth.

Okay, that’s two things that get you into trouble, but it’s primarily the lying thing and the mouth thing is more or less a fun bonus. Used for good or evil, or whatever.

The point – the point is – you know when someone is lying. Every single time. So, sure, the audience may say, it’s a weird quirk, kinda bizarre, may or may not be difficult to prove, but trouble? Real actual trouble? How could you possibly get into chimpanzee-face-eating trouble with just this little thing?

Well, rather easy actually. If you don’t have any particular skills, that is. If you barely finished high school, and street smarts was the only kind of smarts they were selling the day your mom smacked you on the ass and told you to find your way in the world. It was hard keeping a job too. Minimum wage living is terrible, especially when the customers lie to you, or to each other, or to their children. Even worse when management lies about why there’s no cash payout this month or why they’re late with this month’s checks. Getting by is fucking hard as shit, but when you know there’s something wrong being done and you’ve got this big fucking mouth, well, you’ve never been one to not court trouble.

Maybe trouble is easier to find because you like to wave and flirt with it when you drive by. Give a little wink.

You work here, you work there. Nothing serious. Always temporary. And then, one day, during your shift as a maid at the Economy 99 on route 10, the elderly night guard asks if you’ve ever played poker.

Nah, you say. Go Fish, that’s really your game.

So he offers to teach you, along with a few of the other maids and staff waiting around for someone to blow chunks in the swimming pool because you always managed to find the really classy places.

Okay, so you barely finished high school, you don’t have real marketable skills, you’ve got a big mouth and you’re not afraid to use it and –

– and –

You’re really fucking good at poker.

And who here would like to venture a guess as to why?

You always know when someone is lying and what is poker if not Advance Bullshit for Adults? Fuckin’ Astronomical Physics for Liars and Dumbasses. Hell, you gotta fuckin’ PhD in Bovine Excrement and it’s time you graduated to the big leagues. Sayonara community college, hello Stanford for Assholes.

Okay, maybe that’s just regular Stanford.

You learn to hustle too. Lose a few rounds so they don’t catch onto you and can’t accuse you of anything as you wipe their clocks clean. You change your name too, in different towns, in different back alley poker halls, because unfortunately the poker and casino community in this place is too small.

This place being all of the United States.

You can’t exactly go online and work your literal magic– you gotta at least see or hear the person to know if they’re lying. Bluffing over pixels just isn’t the same. Isn’t sexy enough.

So, with your big mouth and exceptional poker skills, you go hunting off the coast. It was an invite only poker tournament in Florida. You hadn’t managed to burn your ‘Marlene Green’ identify just yet and she was fucking crushing it up and down the east coast. You barely blinked at the ten grand buy-in– baby money, suckers ducks, little Tikes casino royale.

This was also the last one, you told yourself. One for all the marbles.

Because the thing about disreputable poker halls, they tend to be filled with unpleasant, disreputable, very angry characters that, like a chimpanzee, will rip your face off and eat it if they think they’ve been cheated.

Exit strategy. Mama always said you gotta have an exit strategy. Well, Mama said a lot of things and the actual literal exit strategy was Monterey Marina with a gorgeous trawler for sale. Older than shit, but damn that baby could purr. You were gonna take the money, offer up stone-cold cash (no questions asked), and sail off into the sunset. Or, well, sunrise because you were definitely getting the fuck out of Florida.

But here it comes, the real kick in the goddamn teeth, the real screw in the rack. This is where your mouth and your talent– gift, power, is this a fucking superhero movie?– whatever– tended to get all mishmashed with one other thing that always– and you mean always– got you in the hot seat. Got you in Trouble, with a capital T, that rhymes with P and stands for pool hall – breathing down your neck.

You alway had shitdumb, bad, fucking luck.

So it’s not some lowtime, grumpy townies you piss off when you win the pot, it turns out its members of a goddamn drug cartel! And they are PISSED.

P-I-S-S-E-D

You don’t wanna ask the barrel of their guns if they’re going to kill you because you don’t actually want to be sure of their answer, so you’ve got your hands up, thinking this is definitely it– I’ve played my last hand, I’ve sunk my last boat, I’ve cursed my last fuck– when police sirens go off. It’s not a relief, but a distraction.

You’ve got a big mouth, wacky abilities, and reflexes like someone who’s been running their whole life. You smash a bottle against the back of the head of the blonde one closest to you, flip the table– chips and bullets go flying– and with the case holding the winnings still in your hands, you sprint out the back door.

To your lovely Chevy Camaro waiting for you.

And you drive.

“And I drive and I drive and I drive, all the way down to this lovely little diner in . . .”

You swivel on the red seat, nearly knocking over the five little plastic bottles of Crown Royal on the counter that is making your head thick and puffy. You squint at the sign that boasts the best burgers in – “Texas, yes, thank you, Texas! Lone Star State. The most hated state, of all fifty of them, for Wile E Coyote. His nemesis. His haunting. His apocalypse now . . .”

The man seated next to you, the same man who’s been there for an hour, quietly listening to you drunkenly ramble at the counter of Jim Bo’s Burger Barn, smirks. His mustache twitches.

“Why is it the Wile E Coyote’s least favorite state?”

Your mouth drops at him. You slouch as though indignant about his very question. “Roadrunner, duh, state bird of the Lone Star State. That and blue bonnets. I mean, the flower. Blue bonnets are the state bird and the road runner is the state flower of the Looney Star State . . . wait . . .”

He laughs, softly, his elbows under him as he leans forward on the counter, his brown jacket looking like it smells amazing. Drunker than you meant to be, you eye him from his classic cowboy boots, up his hips, and to the edges of that lovely brown jacket as it hangs around his waist. He has the prettiest eyes.

“You were saying something about driving here?” He asks, very much aware of your shameless staring. “Do you still have that money?”

“Sure, sure,” you mutter and turn back to your chocolate milkshake that’s pretty much just chocolate soup at this point. You snatch up a remaining fry from your long gone burger and swirl it in the soup. “Got the keys and the money locked up tight. I worry more about someone fucking with my baby more than the money, you know. Lots of sentimental value in that car. ‘Is where I lost my virginity.”

At that, the man sputters on his coffee, his third of the night. Black, almost as dark as his hair.

You sigh, frowning into your lumpy, ice-creamy soup. “So hard to get laid when you’re running for your life.”

You swivel back to him as he’s patting his jacket dry of coffee. “Wait. You.”

“Me what?” You think his cheeks warm pink for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out here at 3AM, listening to me babble endlessly? You don’t look shifty, but maybe you are.”

He smirks again and tosses his napkins into the now empty coffee mug.

“I’m Javi,” he says in a deep, soothing voice as he extends his hand across to you. You take it, with the proper amount of trepidation. “And I’m on my way to see my niece in Flagstaff.”

You click your tongue and withdraw your hand, disappointed. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, your name is definitely Javi.” You pick up your own coffee mug and see that it’s unfortunately empty. You pick out some fleck that’s fallen into it. “Well, almost – is that short for something? – but you are definitely not on your way to see your niece in Flagstaff. Does she not live in Flagstaff or . . . do you not even have a niece?” You gasp, mouth agape. He has the decency to look uneasy. His eyes narrow at you. You scoff. “That is fucked up, hombre. Starting off a conversation with a lie is not a good way to make a friend.”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

You roll your eyes, the coffee cup dangling loosely in your fingers. “We’ve been over this, my dude. See the court documents. Jeez, how hard is it to order a refill at three in the morning? Paragraph B, Subsection I’m really fucking good at poker. I don’t think, I know. I have this thing, always had, and when people lie to me, I . . . wriggle. Squirm. Not exactly ‘spoiled lunch meat’ but not ‘just clocked a hottie from across the bar and I like their vibes’ either.”

He watches as the waitress, glaring, comes over and refills your mug. You immediately dive into five packets of sugar, shredding them like a racoon with a bag of popcorn.

“But I don’t take it too personally,” you continue, flicking the sugar packet to make sure every single crystal falls into the cup. “People lie all the time. About stupid shit too. I don’t think they even mean to do it. It just happens.”

“Does it bother you? That people lie?”

“Eh. Once upon a time. But fuck, if you could hear the bullshit firehose that comes outta people’s mouths on the daily, you’d stop shaking it off too, if you know what I mean.” Satisfied that you’d be able to see through both time and space with your sugar high, you take a sip. Needs milk. You reach across his plate, wobbling on the edge of the seat, his chest inches from your forearm, and snag the little tin milk pitcher. Your cup becomes more milk than coffee. “People lie for the best of reasons, mostly. Or at least, best for them. Either to save hurting someone else's feelings or their own. We humans don’t like pain, generally, as a rule. But rules are meant to be broken, I suppose.”

Javi, or as close to his real name as you’re going to get, is quiet. That tends to be more of his natural state, given that he had barely said two words while you recounted the past few weeks to him whether he wanted it or not. You sip your coffee again, delighted to have found the right balance of sugar, milk, and burnt coffee, when he taps the rim of his mug with his nail.

“I do have a niece, but she lives in Austin. Haven’t seen her in a while, actually, but I want to.”

“Oh, yeah?” That was all true. You bend forward, eyes trying to watch him as you sip the delicate, hovering brown line that threatens to spill over the edge of the cup. “What’s stopping you from seeing her?”

“Work.”

Well, that was fucking ominous.

“Wait. Fuck. What do you do for a living?”

Javi slides off the seat and turns those slim hips towards you and, like a fucking idiot, you just now register the bulk at his waist.

You whimper. Of course the one nice person who wanted to spare you a second glance was from the cartel. They found you. Somehow they tracked you down to the middle of nowhere, which was exactly what you wanted when you still had your life ahead of you. But now it seemed like a terrible fucking idea because there was no one around to at least make sure Baby Girl Camaro went to a good home.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck! That’s a gun. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me right here in this goddamn diner,” you whine and put your head on the counter, hands covering the back as if you were preparing for a tornado.

He sighs. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Truth.

“Then what do you want with me?” You glare at him, bleary-eyed. “Because the whole cover as a kindly stranger with baby cow eyes is officially fucking blown, my guy.”

“Let’s go outside and – wait, what? Baby cow eyes? What the hell does that mean?”

“What? You’ve never watched Dr. Pole? TV veterinarian?” You unwind from your prone position and frown at him. “He takes care of those little baby cows, lookin’ up at their mama with those big, sweet, gentle, loving brown eyes. Cutest thing in the world. Almost made me wanna give up beef for a whole two minutes. But seriously, dude, there’s this hamburger joint in Miami that makes you just wanna lick the juices right off your fingers– hey!”

He grabs you by the upper arms and, as casually as a kidnapping can go, hauls you out of the diner. The bell above the door rings joyfully as he pulls you through.

The reality of your situation hits you like a sixteen-wheeler truck and tears spring up in your eyes as panic bites into your spine. His grip is like iron around your bicep.

“Dude, I’m so sorry I rambled on like that but I swear I didn’t know who you were. Please, please don’t kill me – o-o-or hurt me. Please don’t take me back to the cartel. You can have the money, I swear, j-j-just take it–,”

His eyes widen and immediately lets you go. The neon sign and lights of the diner behind him blur his face in shadow. You wipe at your eyes.

“Lady, look, if you’re gonna survive on the run from the Cali Cartel, you can’t be telling your whole life story to anyone who asks.” He’s got his hands on his hips as if disappointed with you. You pout with your bottom lip out.

“Wasn’t telling just anyone. Was telling you.” You cross your arms and sniff, suddenly rather embarrassed to be crying in front of a man so genuinely hot it makes you go a little cross-eyed. Well, it was either him or the whiskey. TBD. “Not that I’m encouraging you or anything, but if you don’t kill me, aren’t your cartel bosses gonna be pissed?”

“I don’t work for the cartel. I work for the DEA.”

If crying was embarrassing, you are going to be fucking traumatized if you puked all over his cowboy boots.

“Aw shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.” You press your knuckles into your eyes, groaning. You wander backwards. Your head starts to spin and so do you. “The fucking government is after me? Holy shit, this is not good.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

You frown and spin back around. He looks exasperated.

“Well, how many words does it take to read me my Miranda rights?” You tick off the words on your fingers as you speak them aloud. “You. Have. The. Right. To. Remain. Silent. Anything – is that one word or two? – You. Say–,”

“Jesus Christ–,” He claps his wide hand over yours, squishing your tally between his palms. “Are you always like this or just because you’re drunk?”

“I’m a delight, pal, okay?” You scowl up at him. “I am a barrel full of monkeys at all times. I am a waterslide with chocolate and whipped cream, okay? I am a–,”

His hands leap to your shoulders. His touch is gentle like he knows he shouldn’t scare you but he’s considering throwing you into oncoming traffic.

“Just . . . show me the case of money you stole,” he begs with his baby cow eyes, “alright? Let’s start there.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “If I do, what’s to keep you from knocking me out and throwing me in the trunk?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

No tingle. You purse your lips and wiggle out from under his palms. “Say it. Say, I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.”

“It’s not exactly your money, is it?”

“Say it!”

“Fine!” He says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.”

Still nothing. No tingle. Well, no tingle about him lying anyway.

“You passed the test. Now come here.”

Hesitantly, he nudges towards you, those thick eyebrows dipping down as if expecting you to pull a bazooka out of your bra.

“C’mere, c’mere. Good.” You clap a hand on his shoulder and lean into him. You shift your weight onto one leg and wiggle off your other boot. You get a whiff of his cologne – dark, woodsy, a little too much, as if to cover for a lack of deodorant. “Now, as you so annoyingly identified earlier, I have had a little, insy-tintsy bit to drink, and if I tried to take off my shoe by myself, I would, as the kids say, eat shit. And once you’ve fallen on your ass in front of one cop, you’ve fallen on your ass in front of them all.”

His warm hands find your waist, steadying you, just as you pop your heel out of your boot. “I’m not a cop,” he grumbles.

“And I’m not a walking lie detector.” You shake your boot and your car keys tinkle as they hit the dirt. “Ah, ha! Got ‘em.”

You shake them in front of his baby cow eyes, grinning, before spinning back to your car and popping the trunk, hopping as you went to slide your boot back on.

“Do you work out?” You ask as he rounds the edge. Half of you is buried in the trunk, feet in the air.

“Uh, yeah, when I can. Why?”

“What do you bench?”

“256. Why?”

“Oh, then this should be easy for you.”

You groan, struggling with something and he dives to help you – and his knees buckle.

“Why the hell do you have a tire for a sixteen wheeler in your trunk?”

“Same reason you’re sweating, toots. Heavy as fuck and hard to move. But now that we have . . .”

You pull out a slim silver case. You pop the handles and sigh.

You haven’t moved a single bill since that night. You haven’t even breathed on it, as if doing so would set off a series of alarms, bells, and whistles.

“So small for so much trouble,” you whisper as he crowds in next to you. “Fifty thousand dollars. Make or break a life. Well, at least, a life like mine.”

Javi makes a face. “Should be one hundred, but those fuckers switched it out.”

“Wait, how do you know that?”

He sighs and slams the lid of the trunk shut. You snatch up the case before he does and hold it tight to your chest. Javi stands there for a moment, with his hand on Baby’s trunk, head down, thinking.

“Look, I want to help you . . . and I can. But you’ve gotta start being honest with me. How did you really get into that poker game?”

“What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, frowning. “That little party trick you do. The human lie detector thing. What is it? How did you know Veracruz had that shit hand?”

“Uh, because I asked him and he said he didn’t have a shit hand, and I knew he was lying.”

“Yeah, that. How did you know he was lying?”

“I just did.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s my line!” You glare up at him, very much aware of his height and very much aware how hot he is. “I’m not lying to you. I just know when people are lying. If you believe it, I’ll know.”

Javi rolls his eyes. “That’s not a real thing people can do. Have you done forensic work before? Studied body language somewhere?”

You scoff and step back, showing off your black fringe vest, dirty jeans, and combat boots. “Do I look like I’ve studied anything anywhere ever? Where would I even have gotten the money to go study somewhere? Oh right, the forensic fairy, just beating the shit outta people with a bag of cash.”

He puts his hands on his hips and you match him because you can do the scary cop thing too. It’s not that hard.

“I broke my arm when I was seven on a bike ride.”

“True.”

“I had a dog named Benji.”

“Dog’s right, but not named Benji.” You grin, rubbing your hands together, then putting them on your thighs. “C’mon, gimme something you’ve never told anyone. This is exciting. Your mustache does this little twitch thing when I’m right.”

“When I was twelve, I cheated off my friend’s math test.”

You frown, dropping your shoulders. “That’s your big secret? Whoof, buddy, and here I thought the big scary man gunning for me was mean and lean, when he’s actually just an All-American—,”

“I need your help to arrest the men who are trying to kill you.”

Your mouth snaps shut so fast your teeth click.

“That’s what all of this is about.” He crosses his arms and leans against Baby. “Aren’t you curious how I found you so fast? Faster than the cartel who's been on your ass for two weeks now?”

“I’d like to think it was just kismet that we found each other,” you grumble. “Serendipity. Movie magic. Lady Luck doing me a fuckin’ solid for once.”

“That case has a tracker in it. We had a plant in that game who was supposed to win, but not before he could distribute the cash out in the pot. We’d be able to follow them back to their stashes and track their movements.” He bit his lip, disapprovingly. “And then you showed up. Cleaned their fucking clocks like it was nothing. Had their goddamn numbers from minute one and none of us could figure it out. Steve was probably relieved when you knocked him out with that bottle.”

“Oh, shit, the blonde was your partner?” You grimace. “My bad, dude, my bad. Is he, uh, okay?”

Javi nods, eyes distant, as if subtly trying to work something out in his brain. Like testing to see if you could read minds or something. “He’ll be fine. His wife Connie is thrilled to have him home for a few weeks.”

“Ah. And that means you pulled the shit straw to go after the girl who ran off with all your government money . . .” It was finally all coming together. “Shit, should I add your wife to the list of people I’ve pissed off? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about any of this.”

His jaw works, as if he was chewing on something, eyes dark, before he pulls a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. He holds one out to you.

You stay where you are, hesitant.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not a smoker.” He spins an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t bite.”

You scowl and trudge forward. You snatch the cigarette from his thick fingers and wait your turn for the lighter.

“What gave it away? I haven’t had a smoke in hours.”

The shadow of the flame flickered in his palm as he held out the lighter close to your lips, his hand blocking the wind. His brown eyes looked black in the absence of light.

“Chain-smoking and playing poker with idiots is a combo deal. Two vices for the price of one.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You match his lean against Baby’s trunk, the pair of you watching the occasional car or truck go by on the interstate in the distance. The paper crinkles when you suck in the smoke. God, there really is nothing like the first bite of a cigarette.

“So, what’s the play here?” You ask, after a moment. “You have the money. Why do you need me?”

“You won’t have to worry about kindly strangers with baby cow eyes for starters.” You scowl at him. Maybe it’s the orange light of the flame, but you swear you see a twinkle in his eyes. “But you tell me. You seem smart. What would the government want with you?”

He likes a chase, you realize. He likes to play, to tease. He likes to be in control. Something inside you knots up, threatening goosebumps on your skin, but you shake it back. Down, girl.

You take a sip from your cigarette, thinking.

There is nothing else around except the highway and this diner. Seemed like such a good idea at the time. Who’d ever find your ass all the way out here? You lick the bottom of your lip before pulling it between your teeth.

“I’m your only witness to the mountains of coke being produced out in the open when they brought us in. Everyone else at that table was cartel or DEA. You want me to testify.

He nods slowly. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it.

“We didn’t know who the hell you were when you showed up and planned to arrest you before everything went tits up.” He taps the ash onto the gray dirt and you watch his fingers. “If you do this, you’re out from under the cartel. We can give you a new identity, and you can start grifting again across America. All of this’ll be a bad dream.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dark, just at the edge of the light from the neon sign. You follow suit a second later. The keys to Baby are still in your pocket.

“And if I don’t? If I don’t do this, then what?”

His answer is a single arched eyebrow.

You dart to the left, trying to get around him, but he’s there first, arms outstretched like he’s guarding a goal. He frowns at you. Seriously?

You lunge again, this time to the right, and he’s again in front.

Your brow sweating, you hook your foot onto Baby’s trunk, desperately trying to scramble over the top. You get about halfway up before those annoyingly large hands snatch you around the waist and haul you off the car.

“Would you stop it?” He plops you down between his solid chest and the car door. This close to him, air temporarily leaves your lungs. “I’m being honest when I say I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Am I lying?” Again, that beautiful eyebrow of disapproval.

“No, but I’ve officially decided you’re shifty.”

He shakes his head and steps back, allowing blood flow to return to your brain.

“Is this what you want for your life? Driving from small town to small town, picking up bullshit jobs, sleeping in shit beds, when there’s so much more you could do? You’re smart, resourceful, funny, weirdly agile . . . but you wanna spend your life hiding from the world.”

There’s something hot and sharp in your throat.

“It’s what I’m good at,” you croak.

His expression softens. The gravel crackles beneath his boots as he comes closer. Javi, the DEA officer, has temporarily left the building. In his place, this Javi is smoothed out, dulled, not all jagged edges and razor burns. Maybe tastes sweeter than day-old coffee and stale cigarettes. You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with either– you happily take both– but seeing him unguarded, even for a moment, threatens to topple you over. There’s a light in his eyes when he takes in your face. Your eyes. Your nose. Your mouth.

He looks . . . hopeful.

One hesitant finger brushes away a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

Do not tremble. Do not tremble. Do not do it, I swear, ladies, keep it together!

“I bet you are,” he says softly. Jesus Christ, his hands are so big up close. “I bet you are good at a lot of things. You seem like the type who could genuinely surprise me. And I think you might surprise yourself one day.”

You grimace, deeply, deeply regretful.

“Yeah,” you mutter glumly. “I do surprise people a lot, actually. Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be listening.”

“Wha–,”

From your other pocket in your vest, you yank out a one-time-use stun gun and stab his thigh through his jeans. Fifty-thousand volts lights up his entire body, arched, and tensed, before the grown man collapses at your feet.

Unconscious, Javi hits the ground so hard you squeal, landing on his face and no doubt earning a nasty bruise.

“Exit strategy, dude! Always gotta have an exit strategy. But I’m so, so sorry!” Grabbing his deadweight shoulder, you roll him onto his back and try to get him in a comfortable position. There’s dust in his mustache. .You fold his hands onto his chest like he was casually napping.

Then because you were in fact the nicest or stupidest person on the planet, you dig your arms under his and pull him out of the parking lot. It would be a true sin if he got run over and anything happened to that beautiful face. Huffing, you drop him off by the bike rack. “I’m sorry. You are so gorgeous but I gotta get outta here and I can’t have you following me. This hurts me way more than it hurts you.”

You bend down and rifle through his jacket. You find what you’re looking for and take his phone out of his pocket. Old, probably a burner. With a shake, you crack off the battery and throw it on the ground. The crunch is loud beneath your heel. That should give you some more time. Can’t haul you back to HeadQuarters if he can’t call them.

This close to him, you can see the bags beneath his eyes. You remember he didn’t eat the entire time he sat with you in the diner. He didn’t respond to your question about a wife. Guilt clangs into your ribs. Slowly, you loosely brush your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, curls around his neck and ears. He looks like he needs sleep.

You had been blasting across state lines, hardly eating, barely sleeping, restless and fearful. Maybe he had been too.

“God, I am such a fucking idiot.” You grimace as you see a ripe purple bump growing on his cheek. “I am so sorry and I am so going to hell for this.”

Over the road to the highway, the dawn rises, purple and pink and heavy.

Baby purrs, when you start the engine, welcoming and warm. Where to today, Mama?

Jim Croce’s twang eases out of the radio as you adjust your mirror and see his long legs still out by the concrete. Somebody would find him soon enough.

Uptown got its hustlers

The bowery got it's bums

42nd street got big Jim Walker

He's a pool shootin' son of a gun

Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come

But he stronger than a country hoss

You shake your head, guilt gnawing at your gut. Baby roars as you pull out onto the road and up onto the highway. Into the burning dawn.

What was it that he said?

And when the bad folks all get together at night

You know they all call big Jim boss, just because

He called you funny. Resourceful. Full of potential. And smart. He thought you were smart.

Liar, liar.

And they say

You don't tug on superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger

And you don't mess around with Jim

#trying to get back into the flow of writing frequently if not just for one fic #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena one shot #javier pena x y/n #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x reader #javier peña x ofc #narcos #narcos netflix #also gonna tag this as #poker face #because more people need to see that damn show #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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freshlyrage · 2 months ago

Text

Running Like Water

Chapter 34

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

word count: 6k

A/N: Home stretch approaching. Guys I'm not ready.

When you’re alone the only light you allow is that of the television.

You find yourself keeping busy with the book your former student bought you before her graduation last school year. You realize that it’s hard to keep busy these days. You find the hours alone, in a place not your own more isolating than ever. Lonelier than the nights in your dorm room or summer evenings in New York where you seemingly had nothing to do.

You look over your shoulder again when Javier drives away. You find yourself missing when your pressing issues are whether or not kissing is allowed in this arrangement. Now you find yourself waiting for his call, in the tv glow and with a book pressed to your face.

You decide if he doesn’t call tonight you’ll call him tomorrow. You’ll make plans of your own, maybe make plans with your brother, try to speak with your mother. Go on a run. Maybe that.

The night comes fast on you, so does your exhaustion but your eyes fight in hopes to be conscious to hear the call.

Javier dials your number almost to completion before he decides against it. He ashes his cigarette and flips through the folder on his desk. He wonders what would be your reaction if he told you about the picture of you on his desk back in Bogotá. You’d get all red and he’d be overcome with the urge to kiss you hard.

In the folder lay his land rights. The acres Chucho bought him many years ago. The next page is the signature of his mother and of his father. Javier can’t help but run his thumb over his mother’s name.

He hears Lorraine’s words, he sees you standing so quickly to defend him from the truth. He also feels your fingers on the soft skin of his lobe, taking care of him the way he did you. It terrified him, it terrifies him to be loved even after all he’s done.

In 1986 it had been easy. They had to sneak around but it had been easy. Juvenile, exciting yet so beautiful. He hadn’t anticipated needing to be taken care of and it fucks him up. He felt like a fucking idiot for crying and begging while fucking himself on you. Felt even worse when he desperately wanted your warm touch after his phone call with Lorraine.

And he never wanted to face it but Lorraine broke him.

There was a part of him waiting to be healed.

It’s not like he grew up in a toxic environment where he wasn’t allowed to cry or admit defeat but somehow it found its way to his center. Being vulnerable with you was easy, it used to be. Sometimes he’d get stuck then pull himself out of it. Or you would.

The thought of becoming a father was the shock of his life, the mother Lorraine made it so. He thinks back on it and can almost feel the exact terror and anxiety and devastation he felt those long two weeks. He remembers the feeling in his chest when he saw you in 7/11, a face of nothing which really meant everything.

She ripped him to pieces, head to toe.

He felt it all over when he looked into her eyes and saw nothing in a whole different way.

No remorse, just the attempt to shift the blame.

Javier closes his eyes. On three, he exhales.

He hopes he can fall asleep this way.

But he imagines the phone ringing and sits up.

And the thought of you being beyond the line washes all his nerves away.

But there’s no sound. No one has called him,

Instead his fingers move to dial numbers he’s embarrassed to have memorized.

It rings twice and he considers abandoning the idea altogether.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Javier… Peña” He’s on the edge of his bed.

She exhales, “I was waiting on this call.”

Your morning is slow. And quite frankly, this town You offered to help your mother make dinner for the family tonight.

You run in the meantime, pulling your hair high at the top of your head and lacing your sneakers. Your eyes flit to the phone on the nightstand and pathetically you stall for a few moments in case he calls.

Then you swear to yourself and begin your run.

The weather bites at your cheeks and you make it out of the road in just 7 minutes of running. Eventually you get residential, passing by houses of sort-of-friends you had in High School. You pass your high school and cringe at the fact that you nearly taught in that place.

Your hair is blown by a bike passing you on your left. Eyes widening at the new bike lane added. You picture yourself on your bike, leaned forward attempting to keep up, hearing Javier yell from behind you. “Watch for cars Andrea!” You’d turn your head over your shoulder and grin. He’d roll his eyes and prove that he’s only at your pace for your own well being before speeding up in front of you. Making you squeal and increase speed.

It’s so long ago yet you see it. You see the khaki shorts and baseball ringer t-shirt. You see Javier in a red baseball cap.

The hill is steep before town. Main street lay on the bottom of two hills. Trenton avenue which leads you to the high school on one side and Dale street that leads you to the farms and ranches. That’s the side you and Javier lived on. Granted Javier’s was a bit farther and deeper into that side of town, often needing to climb another hill or cut through the mini trail in the woods.

This was the best part of town, the lake was on this side. You think you’ll take a stop there.

You run through town and find the bench you and Frankie would have ice cream before you met Javier. Recalling him pinching your nose when you accidentally made him drop his cone. He was so angry he hadn’t known what to do with his hands that he ended up just gripping the tip of your nose. You screamed all nasally then you two laughed until your ribs hurt.

The bike stand where you nearly got mugged was gone, it’s where you met Javier, voice cracks and all. Back when you were so young you could never picture Javier even looking in your way— in that way.

The hill up toward your house made you break a significant sweat. You look ahead and can’t seem to pinpoint just one moment. There were too many memories on this street.

You picture the Peña pickup parked on the opposite side of the street. You with your hands on his chest, making out in the pale moonlight, the feeling of his hands on waist—and lower. “You’re a dream” he once moaned against your lips.

You keep your head on the ground when you pass your home. Shaking your head, wondering why you agreed to seeing your mother. Wiping sweat from below your nose, you feel your shoe loosening and also your pace. Rolling your eyes once the bow becomes fully unraveled. You get on one knee and begin tying your shoe.

“Andrea? Diaz?” A man calls from ahead. You peer up, securing your bunny ears and standing. You put a hand above your brow to shield the sun, he’s shirtless and running too. A hand towel tucked at the waist of his shorts and he’s glistening and jacked. Your brows raise.

“Yes?” Squinting, it dawns on you. Brian Flores, the senior who asked you to homecoming. “Brian?”

“Holy shit long time—you look great.” He puts his hands on his hips and sizes you up again. It makes you want to run.

You give him a thin lipped smile and nod. “Thank you—you as well.” You gesture to his ridiculous stature, “What do you— What have you been up to. I haven’t seen you since high school.” Since you used me as a bet.

“Yeah! I played football at LSU then got my degree in History, completing my masters at UT Austin, working on a PHD in Caribbean history. I’m home for the holidays. Holy shit what a blast from the past.”

You felt like a bitch for not expecting all of that. You had just assumed someone to do something so cruel would never really turn their behavior around. You found yourself flushed with being in the presence of someone in your field. You placed your hands on your hips cooley, mirroring him. “Shoot I went to school for history. Wound up teaching in New York City.” You laugh, not to talk down your own work but it was a bit funny, He grins.

“No way- I work as an adjunct professor at two different community colleges in my area. I’ve just got a spot at NYU for the next semester. UT Austin is allowing me to continue my program out there. I’d love to talk more about this— I just— I’ve been home and there’s no one to talk to about history or about anything that isn’t Laredo.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t understand how none of these people don’t leave this hell. I just had to put my head down when I ran by my mother’s house.” A joke you wouldn't have dared to make to a stranger two years ago. He laughs in response, nodding in agreement.

“I just ran past LHS and felt genuine panic at the thought of a school bell ringing.”

“Me too!” You bend forward from the genuine laugh he’s gotten out of you.

“Can I join you? I was just finishing up but if you want some company?”

You furrow your brows, squinting at the road ahead and hill leading to Javier house in the distance. You’d better turn around. “Uh- I was thinking of walking back to my hotel.”

“What? That’s too far, my cars a few blocks away. I can give you a lift.”

You look up at the road ahead of you, and think of the run you’ve already taken. Walking back did seem like a drag at that point. You picture your homecoming dress hung on the door of your closet and get a salty taste in your mouth.

You swallow and agree.

He tells you about teaching, about his dissertation. You strangely feel inferior, he’s older than you, yes, and practically a stranger but sometimes you wonder what your life would like if you continued in academia. Then you remember how it felt to be a student and not the teacher and that feeling goes as fast as it came. He makes you laugh and on the third time he slows down his steps.

“You know, you’re somehow more beautiful than I remembered.” He grabs the tag from his pocket and wipes his forehead.

“Oh-“ You laugh awkwardly, so awkward it comes off as a flirtatious giggle that has him beaming. “Oh thank you—you know you look great.”

“I’ll be in New York in mid January. Would you want to get dinner—you could show me the ways of your neighborhood.”

Your eyes widen and your steps halt. He stops too, smirking as if he knew your answer. Like always, your face gives away your every emotion. His smile fades, “Oh…” he clears his throat and you continue walking. So does he, he wipes his brow again. “I see, I don’t know why I assumed someone as beautiful as you would be single. In New York City at that.” He laughs it off, his confidence still beaming.

You fix your jaw, brain racing. Wondering if it’s dumb, if you’re just immature and a grudge holding demon. Or if you’ve grown to be someone extremely protective of your younger self. You’d like to believe it’s the second one, you think it’s that. Every person that hurt you changed a part of you for better or for worse. He hurt you and it seems like he doesn’t remember.

You don’t respond to his ask of your relationship status.

“Do you remember we had American Government together? It was your senior year.”

You ask and Brian nods.

“You pulled me aside after class and you called me beautiful. You asked me to homecoming the next day.” His brows furrowed like not a single bell was ringing.

“Would I be a total ass if I told you that I don’t remember going to homecoming.”

You chuckle, and he feels like he’s in the clear. There’s really nothing for him to be in the clear of. It’s not like this bitter memory would be the determining factor in the case of his date proposal. You’re not a child. “No, because we did not go together. I’m sure you remember Johnny? Saylor?”

“Shit you know Johnny?”

“No but he knows me. He put me on that list. Most fuckable freshman. Additional fifteen for taking her to homecoming, some cash if you kiss and apparently double the payout if you fuck her–bonus points if she’s a virgin. Awful stuff. ” You cross your arms, at fifteen you were too naive to imagine the gross games boys could play. The disregard for women–girls. You, a girl disregarded, will not allow it to happen again. Brian sets his jaw, you watch his calf muscles tighten at the incline of the hill you’re trudging. He looks at you, a bit of worry in his brow. You don’t feel guilty, you just hope he isn’t interpreting this as some trap to make him apologize. You just want to know if he ever thinks of you, if he’s blocked out the memory or has done far worse in his life. Maybe betting on a freshmans virginity is child's play in the grand scheme of a man's life.

So young, you were kissing your hand for practice. He was plotting how to prove to his teammates that he is the most unstoppable, the very best–actually you don’t even know what he would get out of this and that makes you angrier. You swallow it down.

He stops in his tracks, so fast you almost don’t notice. You turn to face him, legs straining from the steepness of the hill. “It was you who subscribed to that sex line under my family phone. I’m–it was just a stupid senior thing. I’m not the same person if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m not trying to imply anything.” Sometimes I need to hurt, I need to know that something that felt like everything is in fact nothing to you. “When I realized it was you, that's all I could think of.” You shrug it off. Leveling the climb, steps away from the dirt driveway of Chucho Peña.

“Well… I’m sorry. I’m not necessarily proud of the person I was when I was seventeen. It’s why I avoid coming here–home, to Laredo. I’m sure you understand though.” It slides off his tongue bitterly. Your brow jumps, scanning his profile now that you walk side by side.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean.”

You stop again, at the open space where the sidewalk ends and becomes the driveway you probably shouldn’t be stanced at. “I really don’t.” You grow impatient and he huffs out a laugh. Changing in an instant.

“Hooking up with guys at parties – coming back to date your friend's ex boyfriend. That was more of a recent poor decision. I was at the wedding by the way.” He chuckles again like a wannabe cartoon villain. Of course he was at the wedding.

None of it hurts you. You laugh back at him, a little manic. “Jesus fucking christ.” You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“What?”

“Keeping tabs on me? Try harder, you’ve got it all wrong Brian.”

He tenses up and takes a step closer to you that makes this a lot less fun than it was ten seconds ago. Reminded how it felt when Xavier would take a step closer to yell at you with a shorter range. Suddenly he’s bigger, his shoulders dwarf yours and you feel grateful that the sun is out. “I knew I shouldn'tve asked you on a date, you're still that attention seeking cunt you were in high school.” He grits, spit flying between teeth. His nostrils flare and the blood from your cheeks pale. His hand grips your arm and you nearly squeal. “Walking around–”

The screen door slams and you jump in an entirely new way. Excitement. “What’s going on?” A hint of southern drawl comes from your left. Fingerprints no longer pressed on delicate skin, the weak man backs away.

Javier steps down the few steps into his driveway, button down shirt tucked in jeans. Hair mustled with sleep and a cigarette in hand. A modern cowboy.

“Javier, long time.” He plays it cool, leaning hard on the crutch of Javier having been inside when he called you a cunt with a spray. Leaning on the crutch of how he thinks things ended between the two of you at the wedding.

Javier keeps a glare on Brian as he approaches. Scanning his face, then the hand that dare grip you. He gazes at you for a moment, doing another scan but over your body. Trying to find any signs of harm when he doesn’t he looks back at Brian’s face, now devoid of the post run redness he had been sporting.

“Why were you holding my woman like that?” Javier spits, flicking his lit cigarette on the ground. And you swear if it were anyone else your head would fall off your neck, tell them off and say that you’re nobodies anything. That you belong to yourself. But a shameless arousal, pit in your stomach and skip of heartbeat makes you realize that when it comes out of those lips it's just right.

You had always found it silly when Javier would step up to guys back when you were kids. He wasn’t typically a violent, short tempered guy but often found himself in positions of protectiveness. He had the voice and confidence of someone who could fuck you up but you never really witnessed him following through. He never had to, his presence was enough to make a bully back off.

But this is a different Javi.

A Javi that for all these people knew, killed Pablo Escobar. A man hardened by the police force, leading bloody raids and interrogations. A man who follows through to the highest degree. It’s all things that he was forced to experience in that job, made him callous in ways that hurt to watch. But brings a whole part of man you’ve never seen. It thrills you.

You feel that same rush when the midday sun reflects on the rear end of a silver glock tucked in the waistband of your man.

Brian glances at the shining light and tenses again, somehow. “My bad man. We just had a miscommunication.”

Javier’s jaw clenches. “I should shoot your fucking hand off.” He says it so coolly. You’ve never seen him this violent yet you believe he would. His face has a casted darkness you’re unfamiliar with. Maybe it should scare you, it doesn’t.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t fucking apologize to me. Apologize to her.”

Brian looks at you, chin quivering and you fight the urge to grin. Your cunt aches and this is so wrong, wrong time, you think.

“I’m really sorry–for putting–for grabbing you. For homecoming, for getting angry. I am.” Brian stumbles over his words. You nod and glance back at Javi because you simply no longer want to look at his face. Javier reads you instantly, you almost forget that he had been avoiding you until this very moment.

Javi folds to your wordless request of let's move on but requires some parting words before he does.

“I swear to god I’ll shoot you square in the head if you ever come on my property again.”

Your breath dies in your throat.

Brian nods and walks in the opposite direction of where he said his car was. An additional unease adding to your flipping stomach. Wondering where he was leading you.

Javier watches until he’s out of sight before turning on his heels and walking back to the house. You sit there dumb for a few seconds before following him, the truck was absent. Chucho was out. “What were you doing out here?” Javi grits, the back of his head shaking like somehow this was your fault. The tone is so judgemental, you feel the coil in your belly tighten.

You cross your arms, trailing him into the house. He makes a left for the kitchen and you follow. “I was on a run and bumped into him.” Javier keeps his back to you while he places his gun on the counter top and shuffles to grab a glass.

He looks over his shoulder and cocks a brow. “On a run. Past my house.”

“I wasn't planning on passing your house.” You mock, wanting to stomp your foot. “I chatted with him at the bottom of the hill and offered me a ride, said his car was up here.” Jayda said this to you once, your little southern accent pops out when you're mad. You would get so red from embarrassment. You burn hot now, the way it slips through.

“Getting rides from strangers?” Javier turns around and leans against the sink, mirroring your crossed arms.

“Why didn’t you call me?” You step closer, the smell of him engulfing you. You want to lick at the seam of his mouth.

“Needed space.” He mumbles, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Hah.”

He looks up, “What?”

“She got in your head. She’s good at that. She's a broken person, she wants to see you just like her.” That's the way she kept him under her talon grip for so long, tearing him down, make him forget himself so she could mold him to fit right beside her.

He nodded, “She did. I needed space and I journaled. And I called your hotel an hour ago.”

“Journaled?”

“I called my therapist. Don’t have a journal so I had to fucking write it on a old notebook from high school. It worked anyway.”

Your lips quirk, warmth blooming beneath your skin. Still, short tempered and thrilled by the past ten minutes. “Good. I wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I see that.” He huffs a breath and turns to grab the glass of water he poured.

“I could take care of myself by the way.” You say it. It’s true, you've been without him before. You also say it because it isn’t true. You can't even begin to count the amount of times you found yourself on a subway just wishing Javier was there. You are capable, it's just incredibly reassuring to have someone who’s willing to take care of you and maybe it’s wrong to think since you’re a modern career woman and all but it is also incredibly hot.

To be fair, he did grab you. That was alarming territory you've never been in, you needed someone at that moment.

“Hah.” He does it right back.

You flare your nostrils accepting defeat in that brief interaction. Still you see that he’s worked up and easy to annoy so you try it. “He asked me on a date.”

“Assumin’ you said no.” You blink slowly as if to say yes, dumbass and Javier shrugs. “Why’d you say no?”

Your chest rises in a thrill again, you know where this will lead. Just call me yours, be angry about the way grabbed me but also be angry that he’d dare ask me out.

“Don’t know if you recall but he wasn’t the greatest to me back in high school.” You pull your hair tie out of your hair, ponytail dropping now that your runners heat left your system. “What. You jealous?”

He clenches his jaw and pauses with his glass to his lips. He places the cup down again. “Angrier at what I walked out on. But yeah I’m jealous.” His eyes rove from the top of your head, the shoulders covered by a red windbreaker, to the dip where your sports bra displays your breasts and down to your biker shorts.

“Where’s your father?” You ask and his brows threaten to raise in excitement. You slip the coat off and place it on the chair behind you.

“Staying at his lady friend's house. Again.” He presses his lips in a fine line. Your heart leaps at the idea of Chucho finally finding someone for himself, huh, no wonder he’s been in his own little world since I’ve been back.

You think about the plans you’ve made with your mother at six and glance at the clock. Half past two.

“Will you continue to journal?” You ask and Javier’s face drops a bit.

“Uh– yeah.”

“What else did your therapist say?”

“I don’t really–”

“I know, I know just-”

“She’s referring me to someone. So I can continue.”

You stay silent for a moment. Heart swollen and ready to burst. Embarrassingly aroused. “Alright.”

Javier clenches his jaw again and steps forward, like you’re stressing him. It’s cute, the concerned little face he gets, like he’s fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Alright…”

You say nothing at this and walk out the kitchen and straight to his room. Instantly you remove your top and pause with a smile to yourself when you see the Calculus marble notebook tabbed with a pen on his desk. His room is still tidy, his bed made. You fling your bra on the chair of his desk. The Houston PD poster was removed from his wall, beside that it’s unchanged. You’ve spent most of your holiday hours here yet never with enough mental space to really take it all in.

His footsteps follow once his brain catches up to what this was all for. He walks into the room and you feel his stare on the fine bones and muscles of your back. Stepped out your shoes and pulled down your pants leaving you clad in plain black panties.

You look over your shoulder at him, his chest is rising and falling, eyes full of hunger and adoration. Despite your attempt at being sexy, you blush so hard that it spreads to the plane of bone between your breasts as you walk toward the bed and crawl to the headboard. Turning to sit topless with your legs spread for him in the center of his bed. You bite back a smile at his starved gaze. Your hand slips over your panties and he inhales a sharp breath

“Will you come here and make me feel better?”

You arch your back and he takes no time in coming forward and getting on the bed. You shuffle to give him enough space to settle between your legs.

His eyes are trained on the outline of your cunt through your bottoms, he's waiting patiently. “I want you to kiss me.” Your finger taps your clothed clit, “Right here.”

Javier's fingers grip and grab at the meat of your thighs before he leans in.

Pressing a feather light kiss atop your clit, you run your fingers through his hair in praise. Then he opens his mouth and drags his bottom lip from the center of your cunt to your covered clit again. Making out with your pussy without taking off your underwear. You watch in complete awe, more turned than ever. You couldn’t believe you ever put up with someone not doing this for you. Every man you’ve been with felt like this was a required task, unenthusiastic licking and a step to get you to return the favor.

Every time Javier Peña eats you out he acts as if it's his one and only purpose in life.

You can't take it any longer, parting your hands from his hair and pulling your panties to the side. He grunts satisfied before connecting his molten mouth to your sex. His mouth immediately back to work, tongue flattening and flicking. Calloused palms holding on tightly. “Want to eat your pussy every day–” You’re bucking your hips, it’s involuntary. It’s second nature and he holds you down. His hand slides down your calves and places your legs over his shoulders, taking full control of your body while his wet mouth draws broad stripes along your weeping cunt.

And you’re a mess, a blush spread across your breasts. Head moving to be hidden while you moan uncontrollably. Embarrassing pants leaving your lips and whining like a virgin. It’s rare you could moan without the worries of surrounding tenants hearing. Yet it isn’t just the freedom to make noise but the fact that you missed his mouth on you. How you yearn for his cock, how you aren’t strong enough to play this game anymore.

Then you picture him, at his desk, writing down how he’s been feeling. Putting those thoughts to paper, feeling satisfied and calm. And in the aftermath, calling you.

That makes you arch your back and let out a tearful whimper. Your fingers tug at his hair, pulling him to look at you. His face is a sight, nose and lips wet and puffy. He exhales his brows pulling together.

“Don’t think I’m rewarding you for your healthy habit– be-because I want you to do it for yourself not because I-” You ramble and he chuckles and dives back into your cunt. “I–Ohhh–fuck.”

Kiss, “Because what?” He murmurs against you. You scowl but it fades fast when sanctions around your sensitive clit.

“Mnmh–because–I’m not going to reward you–”

“You’re not?” He moans, his voice vibrating against you and you might just come all over his face at that.

“No. Javier. I will not.”

“Okay.”

Javier continues fuck you with his tongue, whispering small praises. You reel back and shut your brain just for pleasure and how badly you’ve missed his hands. You wonder what It would take for you to not think about how badly you missed him.

And you’re about to come when you start to ramble again. “Javi– I’ll- I’m proud of you–oh right there– I missed-.”

He doesn’t look up this time, just mumbles, “Andrea.”

“Yeah” He kisses just right and you arch again.

“Shut up.”

You nod and he parts his face from your sopping cunt. You shriek at the intrusion of his fingers. Sitting upright and gripping his arm planted on the bed. Fucking you fast with his thick deft fingers. Your mouth is parted and so is his while you watch the way you gush around his fingers. Impossibly wet, your nails drag up his forearm to his bicep. Digging in and leaning forward. In a dangerous zone too close, you might drunkenly kiss him. You hide your face in the crook of his neck. “You like that baby?”

You nod, in a space where words are too hard in this state. “My perfect girl–I missed you too. Oh fuck” He leans forward and shuts his eyes. You’re blushing hard, breasts rubbing against his arm and chest.”Go ahead, come on my fingers Andrea.”

And with his permission, you do. A stomach coiling, white eyed and whining orgasm that sends a head rush so fast you fall further into his chest. Lips wet, effectively drooling. Blissed out. He wipes his hand on the mattress and cradles the back of your head. Kissing you gently at your crown. Your chest rises, and falls.

Your senses come back one by one. You blink your vision in place. Ears stop ringing and you pull apart. Hands roving down his chest, shakingly, approaching his belt.

But Javier stops you short, hand on your own. “I-” Is all he can say before your eyes widen at his dark spot on his jeans. Your eyes are still blurry but a warmth blooms at the pit of your stomach. Your brows furrow and hide a smile. Satisfaction. Pride.

Made my twenty-seven year old ex boyfriend come in his pants like some teenager. I did that.

“Are you sure?” You run your hand over his semi. You watch his jaw clenching. Eyes fluttering from the sudden wave of exhaustion. He turns his head and he kisses your cheek.

“You’re sleepy.” He mumbles and kisses again. You loosen against him, accepting that truth. Your hand moves to his waist. He cradles your head against him. “Tired from being fucked like a princess.” He mocks. You bite his shoulder lightly. You can’t even get mad at his teasing. All it takes is one orgasm and you’re dozing off. Meanwhile Javier seemingly gained an arm pump and broke a sweat from all this physical activity. You don’t care all that much, you deserve it.

You push him away and lay back into his bed. “You like me this way.” You whisper, burying your face in his pillow. It smells just like him, you’d like to take it to New York with you. He chuckles at the way your leg bends and spreads your arms across the bed. You’re so tired you don’t even notice how provocative your position is. Exposing yourself, pressed together by your thighs. He sighs through a smile, kneading the soft skin of your behind before leaning forward to kiss it. Watching you drift off at the soft caress of his fingers.

You wanted this to be like this every day.

“Will you come with me to Houston for New Years?” He whispers. Brain foggy and coated with exhaustion you nuzzle your nose further into the pillow as if to say, huh? He reads it as such, “I promised to visit some old friends. I don’t want to waste anymore days without you.”

Your lips curl and you turn on your back. Sitting up slowly, rubbing your eyes. Mind betraying you, your body warms at the memories of New Orleans. Images of beignets in the morning and a hand passing through your hair. It betrays you, it does.

You’re happy that it does.

Shrugging and laying back down. He continues to press small tight kisses on the curve of your hip. A worship. “What time is it?”

He pauses. Look to your left. Clearing his throat, sobering at the prospect of you leaving.

“Three.”

You smile, “Okay. Lay with me for two hours.”

Javier chuckles and smooths his hand up to your back. He needs no convincing. It was your favorite thing to do that summer. Just lay with each other, rid all responsibilities. Merge into one. He settles in next to you with a grunt, draping the covers over the two of you. You mewl in satisfaction and turn into his side, holding onto his tightly. Not caring how gross or obsessive it is, you inhale through your nose. Loving the way he smells. You’d go home, to a house that he never occupied, to a room he’s never seen. And you wished you had anything to bury your face in, ease the hurt.

“Not going anywhere querida.” He chuckles and your death grip on his waist. Reaching down to kiss your crown. You protest against him when he shifts his body.

“Bring your journal.” You say breathless.

“Huh?”

“To Houston.”

“So you’re coming.”

“Obviously.”

“Oh okay. It’s just one night I don’t know-”

You give yourself a break from smothering yourself to look up at him and frown. You whisper with warning, “Javi.”

His nostrils flare, stone cold face cracking into a smile. He could never keep up with it. He swipes his hand over his mustache, trying to conceal his grin.

“Alright. No need to yell."

You roll your eyes and nuzzle against him once more.

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