#a whole other dea

[asteroidaffection]

taking hit after hit today and none of the good kinds

[thanakite]

Apparently DEA agents can unnecessarily hit people with cars and not face any repercussions for doing so as long as they are "working" when it happens

-_-

[milla-frenchy]

The hounds of hell 3

Written with @aurorawritestoescape

2k2 | Javier Peña x fem reader x Steve Murphy | ao3 Summary: Javi and Steve can’t keep their hands off you. Even when you sleep. Even in the morning Warnings: dubcon somnophilia (reader fell asleep and didn't consent to it), threesome, rough sex, degradation, dirty tak, praise kink, size kink, dvp, fingering, some m/m action, creampies. No age specified

a/n: thanks for the love on this series 🙏 It's been a while since we've seen our two DEA agents, but Kate and I were really happy to play with them again. We have a fourth and final part planned. This part takes place right after part 2, we hope you’ll like it ❤️

@aurorawritestoescape, baby girl, writing with you always makes things easy 🫶💕 @toxicanonymity we love you 🫶🖤🐨 dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

Kate's masterlist | Milla's masterlist | series masterlist | part 2

Javi woke up in the middle of the night. He was hard. So fucking hard. His hand was cupping your breast, his cock snuggly against your ass. He thought about the evening before, how Steve and him fucked you. They railed you so good. Filled you full with their cum. 

It wasn’t as wild as the first time, when they had spread your cunt with their two cocks, leaving you cockdumb like a good little drunk fuckdoll. But still, yesterday you took it good. Fucking good. 

He smirked. As soon as he had seen you dance that first night at the bar, swinging your ass in front of him, he had known you’d want to take their cocks. No need to get you drunk for that, but well… they wanted to have fun.

Now you were still sleeping, in Steve’s arms, one leg wrapped around him. Seemed like you really liked climbing him. 

But right that moment Javi just wanted to stick his dick in your cunt. To stick it really nice and deep. So he squeezed Steve’s arm, and as soon as his partner woke up and saw Javi’s look, a carnal smile twisted his lips. 

It took Steve seconds to get hard too. He breathed in your hair, your face buried in his neck, as you were sleeping peacefully. Unaware of what was about to happen. Javi nodded at his partner impatiently, and Steve placed his hand over your mouth, without pressing on it for now. He didn't want to wake you up before Javi filled you with his whole length. He wanted to feel your body tense, your breath hitch. 

Javi gripped Steve’s thigh for leverage, his other hand wrapped around his cock. He didn't take the time to brush his tip against your folds, didn't try to cover it with the cum that was still flowing from your hole. He thrusted in and bottomed out in one go, growling against your neck. You woke up instantly, your surprised whimper muffled by Steve's hand, now pressed over your mouth.

“Shhh… let us use you, baby.”

You tried to understand where you were, tried to regain your senses, hearing Steve's voice. You were in Javi's apartment where you had fallen asleep. And… Javi was lying behind you, fucking your sore cunt. As soon as you remembered everything, you moaned, already turned on by how they were using you, even when you were asleep. Your wetness flowed, covering Javi's cock, and Steve removed his hand.

“Rise and shine, little slut”, Javi growled in your ear, then grabbed your arm and placed it behind your back. He pulled away slightly, watching his glistening cock sink into your cunt in the moon light.

“Always so tight, even when we streched you all night. Even full of our cum,” he growled, spreading you deliciously. “We really can do whatever we want with you, mmm?”

Steve leaned in and kissed you, his moustache brushing against your lips, his big hands cupping your cheeks. You moaned into his mouth, tongues licking at each other, while Javi was still pounding in, grunting in your ear.

“She’s drippin’. Putita,” Javi gritted through his teeth and then pulled out. “Your turn. Fuck her.”

Steve lifted your thigh to open you up more, grabbed his cock and replaced Javi’s in your already sore hole. You whimpered as he slammed into you, before pumping into you relentlessly. Javi pulled you towards him, making you face Steve fully, who was stammering “fuck, baby…” continuously, his eyes fixed on yours. Drunk with the pleasure of his cock sliding into your pussy.

They were using your barely awake body as a fleshlight. A fuck doll. Javi’s cock slid between your thighs, and he started to hump you, rubbing himself between your legs and against Steve’s balls.

“Fuck,” he grunted before snaking his hand between Steve’s body and yours. Javi seized the other man’s cock and began jerking his shaft while only the tip was buried in you. Steve’s head tilted back in pleasure.

“Shit, Javi….”

“Don’t move, stay like that, just the tip in her…” he ordered.

You were breathless. Javi jacking Steve off while he was inside you was the hottest thing you’d ever experienced. Their way of using you was always so wild and filthy. 

Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Javi's neck and held onto it, his eyes fixed on him above your shoulder, feeling the warmth of Javi's hand on his cock, and his dick brushing against his balls. You felt yourself like an object. Something they used to get off with, and it was turning you on insanly. 

Then Steve looked at you and smiled. With his damn mischievous smile, that made you gush even more. 

“Fuck her with me, Javi. She’s drippin’.”

“ ‘Course she is. Always fucking soaked. Always ready to take our cocks. Right, little slut?”

“Shit… yeah… yeah.”

“I'm surprised you can still talk. But that's alright. In 2 minutes you'll be cock dumb again.”

“Fuck,” you managed to murmur. He wasn't wrong, and you didn’t even want to pretend otherwise. Taking them was too good.

“Is that right, baby? You’re gonna be on cloud 9, as soon as you're full of us?”

You nodded, waiting for them to do whatever they wanted to you.

Steve slowed down when Javi pressed his tip against his partner's cock, and used it to slide into your sloppy entrance. You whined when he pushed in and you squeezed Steve's shoulder, biting your lip. Even though your pussy was already stretched, even though you were still leaking their cum, welcoming them both, spreading you wide open, was a whole different thing. And like the first time they had fucked your cunt with their two dicks you weren't sure you could take them. You whimpered louder when Javi kept pushing.

“Shut her up,” Javi growled, still thrusting in, and Steve placed his big hand over your mouth to silence you, pressing the back of your head against Javi. You widened your eyes when Javi's fat tip spread your walls, your cry muffled by Steve’s palm. 

“You're gonna do it. Already did, right?” Steve said. You nodded, trying to relax and to make it easier. 

“Come on, let me in. Fuck, yeah! Just like that, good girl,” Javi praised you, when his whole shaft joined his partner’s soaking cock inside you.

“Shit, yeah, that’s it,” he growled, pushing Steve's palm away to hear your moans. He slid his hand down to your clit, his sweaty chest pressed against your back. “Now…you’re gonna come on our cocks. I wanna hear you whine and moan.. feel you clench on us.”

His finger twirled over your swollen clit, just like you needed it to make your climax rise. The slight pain was still there, but it was so insignificant compared to the heat and the sensations you were feeling. To the music of their groans filling the bedroom.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for us, baby? Shit… she’s gripping our dicks so hard.”

Steve’s hands were on your hips, using them to thrust in. Sometimes at the same pace as Javi, sometimes one after the other.

“Shit… you’re so hot baby. I’m gonna…”

“No! Not yet. Not before she comes.”

Their way of behaving, so different from each other, was turning you on since the beginning. Steve loved to praise you, hug you, you felt protected in his arms. Even if it could seem strange, considering your first night together. Javi was… wild. Elusive, degrading. Bossy. And since the first day, their “good cop, bad cop” dynamic was making you crazy.

“That’s it, putita. Come on, come for us. Don’t be shy, we already know what a slut you are.”

“Fuck, fuck… gonna come… gonna come,” you panted, feeling your orgasm building, until you began pulsating on their cocks, moaning.

“Fill her up now, Steve. Soak us,” Javi commanded, his hands now clinging to your waist, chasing his own climax.

“Oh fuuuuuck…” Steve moaned, just before he started spilling his cum into you, his cock twitching against Javi’s who exploded soon after, his lips pressed against your neck. You already knew you’d have a hickey the next day. 

Their growls echoed through the room, both holding on to your body, thrusting until their cocks and balls were fully milked.

When you woke up in the morning, the bed was empty. You smelled coffee, heard low voices coming from another room. You got up and went to the bathroom first. Your thighs were sticky and you were still dripping their cum. 

Then you put on someone’s shirt, lying on the chair, and went to find your lovers. 

Steve greeted you with a wide smile and Javi looked you up and down when you padded into the kitchen. 

“Morning, baby. We thought you’d sleep in… wanted to leave you a note before leaving,” Steve said with a playful smile and pulled you onto his lap. 

They were both wearing shirts and jeans, probably ready to head to work. 

“I smelled coffee,” you explained and immediately  melted against him when he pinched your chin and turned your head to give you a long soft kiss. Your back was pressed to his chest, his big arms wrapped around your waist holding you close. You whimpered when his hand slid down to your pussy and he gently cupped your folds. 

“Still wet,“ he smirked against your lips and you smiled back shyly. 

“Of course she’s wet. She’s been taking huge loads all evening and night,” Javi chuckled. You turned away from Steve and saw the other man standing next to you two, placing a fresh cup of coffee on the table. Then he bent over and kissed you. His lips were gentle, but his tongue possessively pushed between your lips. Steve softly laughed and began kissing the side of your neck, still holding you and cupping your pussy. 

Trapped between the men you were on the seventh heaven, smelling their cologne, relishing their taste on your tongue. You felt your pussy clench and gush into Steve’s warm palm. He took a sharp breath and murmured against your neck,

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s crying into my hand. Javi, check her out.”

You didn’t know if Steve was talking about you or your sloppy cunt and you gasped when he took Javi’s hand and brought it between your thighs. They both started touching your folds, sliding their thick fingers between them and gathering the evidence of the previous night mixed with your fresh arousal.

“Putita’s gonna drip all over your jeans, Steve,” Javi smirked as he pushed his middle finger into your overflowing hole. 

“Fuck it. She’s so hot.”

You bit your lip at the mixture of praise and degradation and dropped your head to watch them play with your pussy. Soon the room got filled with your loud moaning and whimpering as Steve was drawing tight circles over your puffy clit, while Javi was pumping two fingers in and out of your drooling entrance. His other hand was pulling and twitching your hardened nipples under the open shirt. 

”Come for us, baby, give us one more,” Steve whispered against your temple when you rested your head on his shoulder. If he wasn’t holding you you’d surely fall on the floor, that’s how gone with pleasure you were. 

Javi’s face was hovering over yours as his fingers were working your pussy, his dark eyes taking in every sign of your ecstasy. 

“Mírate (look at you), little slut, can’t even have her morning coffee without getting fucked.”

You fluttered your eyes open and gave him a hazy smile. He cursed and his lips crashed against yours. Steve was nuzzling your cheek and then his lips traveled to your mouth too and the three of you started kissing. Your tongues danced against each other with passion and hunger and you were happy to taste them both at the same time while their hands were bringing you closer to the release. 

It didn’t take long before you began shaking in Steve’s arms, coming hard from your clit and g-spot being stimulated, clamping on Javi’s fingers and drenching their hands with your juices. 

Steve was talking you through it, his voice low and gruff in your ear, “Yes, yes, beautiful— like that— I’m here, I’ve got you—let it go.”

Javi kept kissing you, swallowing all your cries. He parted from your lips only when your walls stopped clenching on his digits and you relaxed in Steve’s embrace. 

Javi plopped in his chair and adjusted himself before taking a sip of his coffee. Through half lidded eyes you saw a huge bulge in his jeans and felt Steve’s cock stiff and big under your ass cheek. 

“You’re both so hard. Let me suck you off,” you offered with a breathy voice but Steve kissed your cheek and croaked, “Believe me, we’d want nothing else right now…but we’re already late.”

He kissed you and helped you to get up and sit on the chair next to him. 

“We’ll jerk off at lunch. Thinking about what we did to you this morning,” he smiled and gave you a wink. Your legs were still trembling from the orgasm but your slutty clit twitched when you heard his words. Javi got up and cupped your cheek. 

“Get some rest, hermosa. Gracias for the night and for this hard on,” he smirked before looking at Steve and motioning for them to get going. 

Steve quickly finished his coffee. “Close the door on your way out. We’ll call you, baby.”

Then he gave you a goodbye kiss and they left. 

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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[seasprincess]

Love is in the air💘

pt.1||pt.2

Reader finally asks the question…

wc: 892

♡₊˚ ・₊ ♪ �� ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ♡₊˚ ・₊ ♪ ✧ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

All you can think of all night is Spencer. Tossing and turning in your bed, the hours getting to ones that you shouldn’t be seeing ticking away. The soft light of the moon shines through the window onto the bed. Your pillow is covering your face, trying to block out the thought by using it as a shield.

You couldn’t be thinking these things about your coworker. Especially as you two are so close. What if you mess it all up and he hates you? What if he never wants to talk to you again? Oh god. Would you have to move sectors? No you can’t think like this. Just chill out. You’re overthinking.

But you’re not the only overthinking.

Spencer is also lying awake staring at the ceiling. He’s a guy who thinks all the time but all he’s currently thinking about is you. The way you looked today. The way that Derek started asking him about you. What did he mean by asking him that?

There’s so many thoughts running through his mind and yours. But, after what feels like an eternity, both of your eyes feel heavy and close. Sleep coming over you both.

You walk into the bullpen, coffee in hand. Vitale after last night's overthinking horrors. It wasn’t a good time at all.

You walk past everyone with a little greeting. You’re heading to your desk to check over some files before the inevitable of being called to the jet would happen sometime today. With a sigh you take a seat on the chair, the chair isn’t the most comfortable thing either. You wish you could bring a sofa or something in. That would be better.

You take a moment to gather yourself and your thoughts. Letting out a soft breath as your hand comes in contact with the stack of files in front of you. But before you can even attempt to open it a soft voice cuts you off.

“Hi.” The voice scares you a little bit but you immediately knew who it belonged to. The sweet nerdy guy who sits in the desk over.

You turn your chair to see him not in his seat but standing next to you. Wearing his usual attire. One of his cardigans which is the thing that has always stood out to you. In a good way of course. That he's comfortable to be himself here and wear clothes that others may see as ‘weird.’ Not a lot of men like that.

“Good morning.” You reply with a smile. A smile that makes Spencer’s heart flutter in ways he’s never truly felt before.

“What did you want to talk about yesterday?” Spencer doesn’t make small talk or try to steer the conversation slowly towards what was on his mind. Cause why would he do that? This is Spencer Reid we’re talking about.

And you’re you and you completely forgot that you had come up with an excuse yesterday. You had completely forgotten that you were gonna ask the man out before nerves took the better off you.

“Oh um.” You say as you begin to rub the back of your neck, silently cursing your awkward self. You look anywhere but him before your eyes lock with a smirking Derek Morgan. And you just know that smirk is a ‘ask him’ look.

And you decide that it’s now or maybe never.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to go out sometime?” You finally say as your eyes lock with his. His brown eyes soften slightly as you say that before panic sets in.

“Like on a date?” He has to clarify, not wanting to jump ahead and get too excited. He really hopes you mean as a date. He’s never been on a date before, or asked on a date and been serious.

“Yeah. On a date.” Your sweet smile grabs his heart again as he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He’s very inexperienced in the whole romance thing. He’s not like Morgan who can pick up any girl he just glances at. He’s just not like that.

So the fact you’re even showing interest in him makes his heart race. And also makes him a little sceptical. People in high school and college had asked him out before. But they didn’t go in the way he wanted or thought they would. Pranks are a common thing he’s had to deal with being the ‘weird and nerdy’ kid.

But all his worries melt away when he sees the look on your face.

Nobody has ever looked at him that way.

And he now knows. You’re serious.

“How about the weekend? If we don’t get called in of course.

He chuckles a bit before nodding. Fingers fiddling with the cardigan you were admiring earlier.

“Yeah. This weekend.” Spencer had no plans this weekend. He usually doesn’t have any plans anyway so it’s not like he hasn’t anything to worry about.

But what is he gonna wear? Where are you going to go? Does he need to get you anything?

Turns out he has a lot to worry about.

But he’s not the only one worrying.

You’re freaking out too. Thinking about all the stupid questions he’s thinking. When you should be thinking one thing.

You’re going on a date with Spencer fucking Reid.

a/n: there will be a part three as i need to write more🙏

tags: @dreamsarebig @prongs-my-dear-blog @wonderstruck4llthew4yhome

[almostfoxglove]

I'LL CARRY IT

written for my angst challenge

Rating: Explicit (18+) | Pairing: Javier x f!Reader | Word Count: 5.9k

SUMMARY: Your childhood best friend returns to Laredo a celebrated hero. When he shows up at your bar shackled by grief, you drag him home for the night. CW: Heavy alcohol consumption and brief reference to the death of a parent. A fair bit of yearning.

Takes place somewhere in S3E1 after the wedding but before Javier returns to Colombia.

read on ao3 | part II | series masterlist | masterlist

12:00 A.M.

At first you mistake it for a good thing. Last shift before your weekend, two hours to go, and the long-gone local hero back in his hometown smoking a cigarette at your bar. Your break over, you slink from the backroom into the riotous din of The Last Man Standing—one of Laredo’s many dives—to reclaim your post behind the bar. Place is a hellhole as often as it is crowded and tonight’s no different, and yet you’re halfway to a smirk. Pleased to see an old friend.

He hasn’t looked up, hasn’t seen you yet, so you busy yourself with the guy who flags you down to order the second he spots you. Fine by you, the guy tips well the later it gets and it’s already after midnight, and regardless, you don’t mind having an excuse to observe The Javier Peña, DEA agent extraordinaire, at a distance. Top button undone, cigarette vanishing in his hand, eyes glued to the ring-stained bartop as smoke shivers out between his lips. Quite the celebrity now. Been home three weeks if the rumors are true but you’ve yet to see him. You figured he’d call, but he didn’t—not that you’re surprised. 

Eight years feels like nothing now. Maybe he’s a hero to everyone else, but to you Javier looks exactly the same as he has his whole life—all that’s changed is the depth of his misery. How he doesn’t look up for anything or anyone, except to shrug off the occasional shoulder clap from some drunk stranger. 

When you’ve served the guy his drink and collected your tip—30%, thank you sir—you shake the nerves loose from your shoulders and slide up, glass in hand. 

“Well shit,” you say when you’re in front of him, and Javier slowly lifts his eyes. You smile, all rogue. No shake to your voice at all as you pour a whiskey blind. “This the part when I ask for an autograph?”

Javier’s dark brow dips in the middle and you might as well be twenty-eight again. Twenty-one. Eighteen. Eleven. All the ages you’ve been with him in all the years you’ve known him. Because this, right here—that little furrow that looks like a frown if you’re not looking close enough—is exactly how he’s always been. How he’s always looked at you after time spent away. 

Sure, there’s never been this much away . This much radio silence. The kind of parting that comes with getting older, getting further—something you once would’ve sworn only happens to everyone else. You’ve made your peace with it. Wished him well from the wrong side of the hemisphere. You’ve had lives of your own. 

Seems he can still cut a tiny hole in your chest when he withholds a smile. 

Javier spears smoke from the corner of his mouth as you slip his empty glass behind the bar and replace it with the fresh pour, watching as he nods in a tired, humorless way. “Not signing shit for you,” he gruffs, and snubs his filter into the crystal ashtray beside his glass. 

One-two-three-four-five others sit beside it, ashed in their grave. 

So he feels about as bad as he looks.

“Awful snappy for a man hoggin’ a barstool,” you reply.

The corner of his mouth flinches but doesn’t pull. He picks up his glass, eyes sagging away from you. “Nice to see you too,” Javier concedes.

1:00 A.M.

Friday means it’s crazy, means the rest of your shift slingshots by, and most of the night someone else is working Javier’s side of the bar so you lose track of his drinks. The windows of the bar have fogged, giving the world beyond a kind of eerie glow. 

You do your best to watch him, holding in your stomach a knot of newborn worry, but there’s always someone shouting for another drink. Now and then you catch some guy in a cap lumbering up to him to boast loudly of his pride, and though it’s microscopic—invisible maybe to everyone else—you see the way Javier shrinks in on himself. Folds.

The smoking, too, goes on. You sweep past him on your way to a booth in the corner, tray of shots balanced in hand, and accidentally inhale a sour cloud as he blows it out. You try to stifle your cough as you reach the table, doling out the silver glasses slick with tequila. On your way back to the bar, Javier catches your eye and snuffs the spent cigarette with an apologetic look. Pendant lights sway in his eyes like fireflies. You shake your head like he’s being silly, squeeze his shoulder briefly as you pass, and the roar of his body beneath your palm blazes like a campfire. The kind of heat that blackens everything to char. 

You think he’s had four drinks, maybe five, but not for sure.

2:00 A.M.

Only the drunks remain to kick out into the bog of late-summer, all that humidity that ruins your hair. You like most of ‘em. Most swagger out with a slurred night, sweetheart as you usher them safely into their cabs. Then all that’s left is your childhood sweetheart slumped over at the bar. Dated for two weeks in sixth grade—broke up over god knows what, probably him stealing your favorite gel pens—and were inseparable ever after. The second that kid sloped into your classroom, all gangly limbs attached loose as rubber bands and dark curls drifting vagrantly into his eyes, you just knew. Didn’t know how, didn’t know why—but you knew that boy would be home, and he was for years. 

Look at him now. Passed out drunk, lips parted, cheek squished flat beside his empty glass. His cigarette flares from his limp hand beside his face. You shoo off your coworker with a friendly gnight before slipping the cigarette from Javier’s fingers to crush in the crystal tray with its brothers. 

You go about cleaning up around him. He doesn’t wake for anything—not even when you have to count all the coins in the till for the night—which also, is new. Javier’s always slept like shit, even when you were kids and there wasn’t much to sweat over. Woke up if someone in the other room dared to breathe too deeply. 

Guess a bathtub’s worth of whiskey will take anybody out. 

When it’s time to go, you slip your hand up his spine to rest between his shoulder blades. “Alright, cariño,” you say softly. “Time to go home.”

Javier stirs, but only barely. A grunt, a shallow breath, a flutter in his lashes. You pat his back firmly, not harshly, but enough that he sniffs and grunts again, awake. 

“Blue’s still up there,” he mumbles with his eyes closed. 

Grinning, you lift your face to the ceiling fan overhead—one of two dozen in this place, none of which run and all of which droop with a rainbow of bras tossed into the rafters. Above you now sways the strap of a pale blue bra mildewed with dust. Would’ve been your twenty-first when you shot that up there, and it’s never fallen. 

“I’m a decent shot,” you say. 

Now he grins, just half his lips, but a real one all the same. “I remember.”

“Course you do, I was better than you.”

At your teasing, the grin snaps clean off his face and his real frown replaces it. “No’anymorre,” he slurs.

Your heart plummets. You can see, now, the bruised darkness beneath his closed eyes as you rub a small circle in the middle of his back. If you were already home you’d pull him into your arms, but he can’t rot on this stool all night. In your silence, Javier cracks one eye at you. “Can’t drive,” he groans.

“No shit,” you say, forcing a soft grin, and he mumbles some gibberish that sounds like it’s supposed to be Spanish. “Come on, work with me here.”

His eye shuts again as he grimaces, face still smushed against the bartop. His hair’s a mess so you comb it back, but the fucker still won’t budge. Rolling your eyes, you lift his arm and drape it over your shoulders to help him off the stool, his body warm and pliant. More solid than you remember him being before. Layers of slender muscle built up like the rings of a tree.

When he rises, gravity lurches and you stagger under his weight, catching yourself against the bar. 

“Careful now,” you warn him playfully. 

Javier turns his face towards yours, close enough in this awkward position that his nose presses against your cheek. He reeks of smoke and shitty whiskey. A little of sweat. You’d mock him for it if he were anywhere within a hundred miles of sober, but he’s a lost cause for now. Your arm fits snug around his waist. To his credit, he makes an effort to stay on his feet. Turns his head down to watch his boots as you walk him outside like he’s focusing intently on putting one foot in front of the other. You pinch his side and he hmphs at you. 

“Could’a just called, you know,” you say as you walk him to your car. The street is all empty parking spots and shuddered windows and packs of thirsty mosquitos, cicada song chirping densely in the air. Your car sleeps down the block alone, black as the sky and in need of a wash, green-strung beads hanging in a loop from the rearview mirror inside.

“Wanted t’ seeyou,” Javier says. 

You nudge your head against his cheek gently. “I missed you too,” you say.

As you drive, streetlamps stripe past the windows. Brick buildings sit squat and lightless, bodegas shackled for the night, and a wilful trash bag balloons with a passing breeze, blowing across the road with a quiet, swimming grace. In the passenger seat, Javier slumps against the door, temple pressed to the half-open window. You think he’s asleep until he licks his bottom lip. 

“Saw Lorraine,” he mumbles, those dark eyes closed away, like he can hardly keep himself awake.

You turn back to watch the empty road. Stop at the stop signs just for show. No one’s out here but you at this hour—Laredo is a ghost town.

“Heard Danny was gettin’ married,” you reply.

Javier exhales profoundly: slow, labored, loud. He’s always been a pouty drunk, but this is something else. “You weren’t there,” he says.

“Had to work.”

“Liar.”

You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking at you to see. He’ll feel it. Always does. Drumming your fingertips against the steering wheel, you fight back a smirk. “Fucked one of the groomsmen last year,” you admit. “Didn’t feel like havin’ a reunion.”

When you glance at him again, Javier has opened his eyes a sliver to smirk at you, the corner of his mouth pulled into his dimpled cheek. “Julien?”

You frown at the road. “Mateo.”

“Shit,” mumbles Javier, still smirking.

“Somethin’ like that,” you agree.

At the next red light his eyes are closed again and despite the fact that he’s, what, thirty six now? Javier looks like a child to you. Spine hunched, torso sunken. Shoulders broader than ever but curled in on themselves, like if he only had the room he’d be small as a seed. Fetal and miserable. A thousand years older on the inside than anyone should ever have to be. 

“Starin’ a’me,” he scolds, his words slumping into each other.

You huff quietly, caught. “Shut up,” you say. “Just remindin’ myself what you look like. Think you got uglier.”

He growls darkly, unamused.

As you turn at the next light, the green-beaded rosary sways from the rearview mirror. If he had his eyes open Javier would recognize it. His mother’s—passed to you before she died. You aren’t one for praying but you’ll die with it in your hands, you think. That’s the kind of person she was to you. Eternal.

Beside you, Javier mutters something unintelligible, his breath fogging the window. 

“Hm?”

“Seein’ anyone yet?” he repeats, and shifts to loll his head back against the seatrest. 

You gasp softly, feigning offense. “Yet? Ouch, baby,” you tease.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbles.

“I know,” you say, as you turn into the suburbs. Quiet starter homes lurk in the dark, kids’ bicycles lying like skeletons in their yellowing lawns. “I’m being mean.” 

“I like y’mean,” Javier replies, and finally opens his eyes as if he can sense you’re getting close to home, even though he’s never seen this place. He stares through the windshield glazed and distant, and you try not to stare like you’re concerned. He looks destroyed, you think. Obliterated. Sure, you’ve kept up with the news. Devoured everything you could about the quest to tackle Escobar, terrified Javier’s name would appear in the black ink that stained your fingers, reporting he was dead. That he’d be another casualty, and you’d not have said goodbye.

You know you’ve got no clue what really happened down there. That you never will. But you can see it choking him, hanging from his neck like a noose that’s just biding its time before it pulls.

“Nah, it’s just me,” you say, dragging your eyes off him again. “Think the two weeks we dated was about the closest I ever came to love.”

You’re joking, all foxish grin, but Javier doesn’t laugh. He just stares into the middle distance looking like a ghost. “Sixteen,” he mumbles.

“What?” you say.

He sighs. “Was sixteen days,” he annunciates, and your heart sputters.

Then his face folds in on itself suddenly; he pales, then greens. “Gonna b’sick,” he says.

3:00 A.M.

“Christ, you got heavy,” you groan, hobbling slanted up your porch steps. Though more alert, Javier is no less useless in walking, and though he mumbles shame-riddled sorrys he can’t much help you here. You hold him tightly to you, fingers pinching into his hip as he leans, hot as a furnace against your side in the worst of summer. You don’t care.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been eight years. It could be forty, and if Javier showed up on your doorstep ready to fall, your response would only ever be give it to me. I’ll carry it.

He grunts as you prop him against the side of your house to fish out your keys. “All muscle,” he teases, voice deep and coarse.

“Glad you haven’t shed your ego,” you snark.

You give the door a shove as the lock turns. Javier tips his face up to look at the sliver of moon left out to wink from the sky as if he’s saying a prayer. He reeks of sick—his shirt stained in one spot on his chest where he failed to aim away from himself—and while he stares up at the dark rash of night you work open the buttons of his shirt to take it off. Despite puking in your car, he’s still too lost to the world to notice your hands until you’re halfway down. Maybe in another life you’d be staring at his chest as you uncover it. The broad slopes of muscle, his stomach, the dark path of hair trailing towards his jeans. But in this life, you aren’t that to each other. You don’t get to be. 

“Cariño,” Javier says, and one of his hands covers yours as you pinch the last button. Looking down at you now, concerned through hazy eyes. Summer hangs wetly in the air; his curls lay damp against his skin, licking his temples, the nape of his neck.

You shrug his hand off yours, offering a small grin. “Gotta get this in the wash, Javi,” you tell him. “Not allowed to get in my bed smelling like puke.”

Cicadas sing from their trees. Your house, small as it may be, is a welcoming place. All red bricks and white shutters. The swing on the porch sways behind Javier, giving the occasional squeak. You shuck his button-up off his shoulders and ball it in your hands before catching his eye. “Can I trust you to stay upright while I put this in the wash?” you ask, one eyebrow arched.

He scowls, all pouty bottom lip—trying to make you laugh, even now. You huff as if exhausted, sarcastic and a little pleased. He’s in there, the person you’ve loved. Somewhere buried.

When the laundry is running you find him on your porch swing, horizontal. One bare arm dangling off the seat, his eyes closed again. Skin that’s usually golden washed silver by moonlight. In this heat there’s no reason for you to cover him but still you feel the nagging urge. Even with you here with him, you hate the thought of anyone coming out onto their porches or lawns to see him like this—out of control. You rouse him just enough to lift his head so you can sit at the end of the swing, then lay his head in your lap. He hums. A low, gravelly sound of pleasure. Glad to feel you beneath him in this small way. 

“M’sorry, baby,” Javier murmurs groggily, nuzzling his cheek against your leg as you stroke the hair away from his face again. He’s flushed, damp and sweaty, and even with the shirt gone could use a shower but you’d never say so. At this point, you’ve seen him in every state—sunny and terrible and everything in between—and don’t fear any of them. Don’t hate any of them. Never could, because all of them are him, so how could you.

“Cleaned up your puke before,” you reply. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen.”

He sighs, and with no small effort rolls himself onto his back with a grunt—the swing sways with the movement, rocking you both. Then once more, this time to his other side to face you. You chuckle softly as he settles, one of his arms reaching behind you to wrap around your hips, and for a while you drift back and forth with the porch light off and the moon’s claw cutting through the dark.

It’d be something close to heaven if it weren’t for his pain.

“Wanted to call you,” Javier sighs, after a long while of cricketing quiet. “After—”

Nothing.

You wait.

The rest of whatever he was going to say dissolves, never follows. Never becomes something for you to hold, to know, to carry. He keeps all the weight.

“Could’ve,” you say, hand in his hair again, how he always used to like. Even when you were kids he always wanted to be touched. His head in your lap, your hand in his hair to scare off his bad dreams. You could never tell a soul without destroying him—and you never wanted to. The way you were for each other was just that: for each other. Everyone knew you were close, inseparable at school. But the depth of that bond was a secret no one had to know. How his body needed to be close to yours to settle, to breathe, sometimes to sleep.

Javier’s nose scrunches as he fights off some stabbing thought. You stroke your thumb across his temple, trying to get him to look at you, but he won’t. 

“Tell me,” you whisper. 

Two words you never say. A question you never ask. He’s so far past drunk he’s practically a child—maybe it’s wrong to ask him like this—but you’d do anything to relieve even one ounce of this suffering.

Eventually, he exhales deeply, breath warm against your hip. Behind you, you feel his hand stroke your back, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “Thought you’d hate me,” he mumbles.

Your heart splinters. Every cell in your body wants to pull him against you, pull him into you, swallow the ache. “Should know better than that by now,” you say. 

The shoulder he isn’t laying on bobs with what must be a shrug. “Been a while.”

“Been a long time,” you agree. Not angry, not bitter, not blaming—it’s been a long time. It’s nothing to you now but a fact. Seeing him again has erased the nag of your neglected longing.

With a gruff, Javier’s arm tightens around your back and he pulls himself closer, his forehead nuzzling your hip bone. “Feels like a’undred years,” he says, his voice hoarse and broken.

There isn’t anything you can do but card your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with featherlight nails. You let your head fall back against the brick of your house. Exhausted, but you won’t sleep. You’ll stay awake with him all night if he needs it, if he asks you. Even if he doesn’t. 

4:00 A.M.

“No more water,” he begs. “Please.”

In your kitchen, just the stove light on, he’s sobering. Not sober —but he can stand up on his own. Leaning back against your counter, both hands outstretched to rest upon the laminate. Cool light splits his face in half—one bright and weary, one lost to shadow. You roll your eyes and hold one hand out to accept his water glass which he passes you with a grateful sigh.

You listen to the harsh rush of water draining into the kitchen sink—a stark disruption to the eerie quiet of the middle of the night in which it feels like you and Javier are the only people left on earth. 

Behind you, Javier groans, watching the glass fill again.

“It’s for the nightstand, baby,” you assure him as you pass it back. 

He pouts at it, arms drooping at his sides. Trying again. Digging for your laugh. With expectant eyes you pick up his hand and cup it around the glass, and when you let go and he doesn’t drop it you let a smile creep slowly across your face. Satisfied, he straightens a little, swaying slightly, and nods. He looks down at the floor, his bare feet, and his face blues. Darkens like he’s remembering.

You lay the palm of your hand over the center of his chest and beneath it Javier’s heart throbs steadily. His lungs expand. His blood moves. Alive—whether he feels it or not—and a comfort to you. 

Though you’ve lived in this house only three years and Javier’s never once seen or stepped foot in it, he trails through the narrow halls to your bedroom like he knows it well. Sloppy footsteps, yes, and always with you behind him braced to catch any sudden fall, but he makes it in the end. Water sloshes over the lip of his glass as he sets it down. Then—still in his jeans, which hug his thighs so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t try to peel them off—he crawls into your bed, on top of the duvet. In the doorway you pause to watch him and get a vision of another life in which he does this every night, at ease in your home because it’s his home too.

It is a terrible thought, weak and troubling. It’ll burrow if you let it, so you kick it away. While you strip free of your work clothes, you watch him in the small mirror above your dresser; his head flops into your pillows, cheek smushed, eyes sliding closed. Those dark lashes, those parted lips. Always exactly the same. He doesn’t even glance in your direction—he doesn’t need to peek at your body. He’s seen you before. You him.

“Was Mateo worse than me,” he asks from the bed, like he’s read your mind. No surprise. For years, you would’ve sworn he could.

You blush, though he’s not looking. “Javi,” you say softly.

“Sorry,” he sighs.

In a t-shirt, you pad around the other side of the bed to crawl over the covers and curl onto your side to face him, one hand beneath your cheek. “Sex in college is supposed to be bad,” you tell him, grinning.

His brows pinch together, bracketing his forehead. “Shouldn’t've been with you,” he mumbles.

Yes, he’s how you remember. Ever chasing some rabbit hole to plummet down to avoid the cavern to which he’ll give no name. He’s got one hand buried under his pillow—how easy it is to think of your things as his—and the other lies between you, limp. You take it in your own, pull it to your lips, and press them to his knuckles. “We were kids,” you say, sure to smile against the back of his hand so he’ll feel it.

He huffs. “Drunk.”

“That too.”

“Better now, I swear.”

You laugh. Can’t help it. Silver light from the moon puddles over you, illuminating half his face, the curve of his shoulder, the slope of his arm. Even miserable, probably in a blackout, one foot hanging sadly off the edge of the mattress, Javier is someone who draws laughter out of you with ease, same as when you were kids. You kiss the back of his hand again, still grinning, and watch the frown dissolve from his face. He’s always been beautiful in a way that never seemed fair, but you think it might be getting worse with age. No one should look so good in this state, but there he is.

“Sure hope so, baby,” you tease.

Now he cracks one dark eye to squint at you, the corner of his mouth loosening, curling into his cheek. Then there’s that dimple. Your heart patters. You’ve missed him. “Could show you,” Javier smirks.

You roll your eyes. “You aren’t showin’ me shit right now.”

His bottom pink pops again, pouting as he broods, yanking another chuckle from you while he murmurs something you miss. Something that ends with good though.

“Hm?” you say.

“You smell good though,” Javier murmurs, and though soft you hear it this time. That almost whine.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, and like magic, he laughs. Smile lines crinkle beside his eyes, nose scrunching. Beautiful. It is, you think, the best of him—how he looks when he actually laughs. It takes over his face. 

As you both settle, he scooches closer on the bed, squeaking the mattress. You feel the warm plume of his breath whisper over your face as he sighs. He has, it seems, only a match of levity at a time. It sparkles, flares, and smokes out too quickly. 

It isn’t a frown that replaces it, but despair. “Gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” he mutters, no louder than a whisper. No need to speak any louder when you’re lying this close. Your lips press to his knuckles again and this time he squeezes your hand, the muscles in his forearm briefly tensing. Freckles dot his bicep like stars.

“You feel like shit right now,” you whisper in reply.

Javier nods, face folding like he wants to cry. But he almost never does, not even in front of you.

5:00 A.M. 

You drift into brief tides of sleep with the warmth of him around you, his face in the crook of your neck. For most of your life, you’ve chalked up the ease with which you touch each other to an echo of your childhoods—a time in which touch is given often and without judgment. There has never been hesitation between you, not in this way. Even now, eight years since the last time you saw him, Javier slots against you in a way that just feels right—new, broader shoulders and all. 

His slow, deep breaths warm your neck, your collarbone. You couldn’t wiggle out of his arms if you tried, and though it’s warm even with the window open, even with both of you on top of the covers, you don’t want to. Eight years is a long time to go without this.

When he stirs with a tortured groan, you nudge your lips against his forehead. “S’okay,” you mumble, and the whine that snakes out of him rattles your chest and slices clean through your heart. Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, fingers threading through curls, you pull him closer, and his arms tighten around your waist.

Maybe it should feel wrong when Javier nuzzles into your neck to kiss you softly beneath the jaw, but it doesn’t. 

“Baby—” he croaks, and you hush him, petting his hair.

You don’t want him to say it. You never say it. If he says it now, it’ll ruin you.

“I know, Javi,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed so tight you see a rain of stars. “I know.”

“Y’ never let me say it,” he mumbles against your throat, his breath fogging your skin.

“You don’t need to,” you say.

“Wanted to, you know,” he replies, his voice so gentle you feel it pass from his chest to yours in a shallow tremor.

You chuckle softly from the darkness behind your eyes, like opening them will break the spell. “Oh yeah? When?”

He shrugs, his body loose and boneless. The heat of him is making you sweat. 

“The whole time,” Javier mumbles, and you wish suddenly that he weren’t so close because he must hear the sudden racing of your heart. “Pensé que me casaría contigo.”

If he didn’t hear its racing, you think, there’s no way he misses when it stops.

I thought I’d marry you.

Your forehead wrinkles as a sudden urge to cry slams into you, shattering your bones. At least you manage to pat his back teasingly, feigning coolness, steadiness. Pretending he hasn’t toppled you. 

“Think you’re confusing me and Lorraine, cariño,” you tease quietly, hopeful that the wetness in your eyes doesn’t taint your voice.

Silence stretches like an elastic threatening a snap, a sting, a burn. But Javier exhales in a way that feels like he’s asleep again, like all of this is just nonsense cooked up in some drunken dream. Soon sleep is dragging at you sweetly, loosening your limbs again. You grow heavy, face slack, your limbs indistinguishable from his. When he whispers again you hardly hear it and the words don’t stick. You’ll forget them when you next wake for real. But he says them all the same.

“Not confusin’ you with anybody.”

Then you’re gone, sucked away. Asleep.

6:00 A.M.

The yellow morning leaks through your bedroom. You wake to a glint in your eyes: sunlight reflecting off a picture frame on your dresser. You and Javier twenty years ago dressed for junior prom, hidden now by the blinding. Squinting, you groan a soft mph sound as you wake, desperate to bury yourself in sleep again. 

In your brief slumber the two of you have remained braided—two strands of clinging ivy. Against you, Javier groans, humming tiredly against your throat, and you feel his hand slip up the hem of your shirt again, his palm flat over your spine. 

Half asleep, you let him. 

Half asleep, you let yourself remember.

You’re twenty five again. Just a few years out of college, both of you home for the summer. Out in the long grass in Chucho’s yard, you stretch yourselves out to sunbathe in the Texas summer, watching bumblebees laze drowsily between blooming thistles. Beside you, Javier lies on his back with both hands cradled beneath his head while you read, those yellow aviators over his eyes.

“Could get a place together,” he says. So casual, so simply.

Looking up from your book, you see the pink collar of sunburn around his neck and grin to yourself. “We’d get sick of each other,” you lie.

Javier only shrugs, unaware, you think, that you spent all of college in love with him. In freshman year, you’d stumbled home together after a party and he’d kissed you against your front door, waking you from what you realized then had been a lifetime of slumber. You’d never considered kissing him before, but all of a sudden it was obvious. You thought this is what your lips should have been doing all this time.

But it never happened again. The sex was awkward, clumsy—you’d only done it once before—and you told yourself that’s why he never tried again. You never tried either. Now it’s a joke you tell each other, trying to make the other person blush. 

The thought of sharing an apartment with him sends a river of panic through your veins. It would kill you to watch him bring Lorraine home. To hear him fuck someone else through the wall. It's bad enough watching her starry eyes whenever he walks into a room. Bad enough watching him kiss her, hands pressed to the small of her back.

“If you say so,” he says, looking not one bit disappointed.

Half asleep, you let yourself dream you said yes.

7:00 A.M.

You don’t know who leans in—if you tilt your head down or if Javier tilts his up, if it starts in your sleep—only that when you next stir the morning is darkening to gold and orange. Panels of windowed sunlight crawl slowly across your legs, and you are kissing.

Javier’s lips melt against yours. It’s nothing like when you were kids. Eighteen and nervous wrecks, your teeth always getting in the way.

It’s different now. You know how to kiss each other like you’ve had the practice, like it hasn’t been almost two decades since last you tried. Pliant and sleepy, his tongue licking gently into your mouth. His mustache scratches sweetly against your skin. When a breathy sound whimpers from you, he cups your jaw, his other arm locking snug around your waist. There’s no rush to it, no progression. You don’t strip down and fuck—both of you content with only this: the soft murmurs you breathe into each other. The lifetime of wanting in every kiss. 

Because you have wanted him, you realize. Not just in college, but before then and every day since. Maybe from the first day he walked into your sixth grade class and felt like home. Even these last eight years when you’d accepted that he was gone from your life for good, your friendship having reached the end of its life, you wanted him.

He grunts when you nibble gently at his bottom lip, and you smile. Then he moans. And it’s perfect, somehow, like he’s dug around in the cabinets of your mind to know exactly how you want to be kissed. Deeply, patiently. All tongue and breath and yielding lips, your hands in his hair, the fire of him enveloping you.

You say nothing; you talk with your touch.

He stripes his tongue along your bottom lip: I’m sorry.

You tug at his curls: I’m sorry.

He kisses the corners of your mouth: I’m sorry.

You lick the hinge of his jaw: I’m sorry.

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek: I’m sorry. I’m falling asleep.

You tilt your head to better taste him: I don’t want to fall asleep.

But you do. The tide drags you out, your body molten, exhausted, hypnotized. Your lips still touching as you fall into a dream.

8:00 A.M.

When next you open your eyes, you’ve rolled towards the window and the weight and warmth of his arms is gone. You don’t bother turning over. Don’t bother reaching for him. 

You know the bed will be empty on his side, cold. 

[toxicanonymity]

The Raid.

2.7k, dark!Javi P x f!reader | SERIES MASTER

There's now a HOT GIF by @iamasaddie and HOT ART by @bonezone44. PT. 2. | THE RAID masterlist

Your gaze falls down his tac vest to his tight jeans and a bulge you didn’t see before. Peña follows your eyes, looks down at himself, then sighs.  "Ay, pobrecita" (poor little girl), he whispers insincerely, putting on a frown. He uses his gun to nudge your chin up and bring your eyes back to his. 

WARNINGS: I8+, canon-typical violence, drug abuse, dubcon blow job (power dynamic / transactional / drugs), jacking off, fingering, cumplay, manhandling, handcuffs, gunplay, degradation, kidnapping

A/N: Yes, it's raider Javi. . . inspired by the original raider Joel fic (not the whole series and it will not progress the same way). Tysm 🖤

-------

You're lying on the sofa in your boyfriend Jack's slum house while he and a buddy count stacks of cash on the kitchen table and bitch about their street dealers. It’s a typical night. One friend is still playing grand theft auto on the floor. Every surface is littered with bottles, takeout boxes, crumpled up foil, and baggies.  You're laid out on the sagging sofa, scrolling your phone, about to drift off.  

There's a loud rap at the door. "DEA." Your heart jumps to your throat and you jolt upright. 

"FUCK," Jack yells and grabs his gun off the table.  "Go to the bedroom, you'll be fine," he tells you as he heads to the kitchen and out the back.  You sit there in disbelief that he's leaving you. The DEA doesn't knock again before busting down the door.  "DROP YOUR WEAPONS."  

Several agents swarm the house, wearing bullet-proof vests, crouching as they prowl around, pointing their guns. 

Two men approach you while a few more agents mill around the house. 

"Don't let anyone leave," says a mustached man on his way through the house. 

"Got it, Peña," confirms one of the men standing in front of you. Peña nods, glances at you, then sees Jack running away and rushes out after him.  

Both of the men in front of you are big. One taller, one more muscular. They look at you like you're a piece of meat. They guard you for a few minutes, keeping their guns trained on you.  They talk about you like you're not there. 

"Pretty girl,” the tall one says. 

The other man takes a step back, craning to see out the window before answering, "we got time, Ed." Ed, the taller one, puts his gun in his vest and unbuckles his belt. Meanwhile, you bolt off the sofa and try to dodge the other man on your way to the door. A third agent catches you and shoves you back to the original two, asking "Lose something'?" He sticks around.

Ed, with his pants still unbuckled, slaps you across the face with the back of his hand. It stings, but you laugh at him as if it doesn’t hurt. 

With that, the newest man steps forward and raises his gun to your head.  You flinch and your courage drains away. "Clothes off, he demands." You look to the door for help, but no one's coming. Yet another agent is making his way over. Your'e shaking as you strip down to your underwear with four men now facing you. 

Ed lewdly grabs his crotch. "Woulda been a whole lot happier with this." Then he brings his gun to your face and prods your cheek. "But let's see what this pretty mouth can do." 

. . .

A few minutes later, you’re relieved to hear voices and footsteps outside. Peña skids through the door, panting. He removes a pair of aviators as he takes in the scene. Under his green bullet proof vest, his tan shirt is darkened with sweat. His brow furrows at you in your underwear with the barrel of a gun in your mouth. 

"Dejenla, pendejos," (leave her alone, assholes) Your heart flutters with appreciation as they slowly back away. 

"She tried to run," one says. Peña points his gun at them, arms straining his sleeves.  The men back away obediently. "Outside. All of you," he tells them calmly but sternly. They disperse, slowly and sheepishly. "NOW," he booms. They leave the door cracked. “Cerrado” (Closed), Peña snaps, and they shut the door. 

When the door closes, it’s just you and Peña. You reach for your shirt on the sofa to put it back on, but he points his gun at you. "No. Don't fucking move." He’s still catching his breath.  He walks backwards, keeping his gun fixed on you as he makes his way to the front door. He reaches behind himself and locks the deadbolt, then holds the gun with both hands again. 

"You wanna go to jail?" He asks and you shake your head no. He approaches you in no hurry, still aiming the gun at you."Cause that's what's s'posed to happen."

You look into his big, brown eyes, trying to connect with something. 

"Here’s what happens," he starts, his breath still somewhat labored. "I take what’s mine and the DEA’s. . .” 

You nod. 

“and when I let them back in, they take what they want.”  He gestures to the drugs and money on the table, then wipes his brow. "So. . ." He takes a moment to breathe, then raises his eyebrows. "you want them to take what they want," he gestures his gun down your body. "Or want me to take you in?"  He wets his lips and his eyes fall to your bra for a moment. 

"Neither,” you plead. 

He sighs and finally lowers his gun. He uses his left sleeve to wipe his brow but the sleeve is almost too short. His hairline is matted with perspiration.  He bends forward and braces his hands on his thighs to look at you, right hand holding the gun against his jeans. 

"Here's what we're gonna do. . ."  His face is tense, but his voice is low and soothing. "We're gonna make a deal, aren't we?"  He nods. He wets his lips and looks you over. You nod back, just barely.  Your gaze falls down his tac vest to his tight jeans and a bulge you didn’t notice before.

Peña follows your eyes, looks down at his pants, then sighs. 

"Ay, pobrecita" (poor little girl), he whispers insincerely, putting on a frown. 

He uses his gun to nudge your chin up and bring your eyes back to his. 

"Be a good girl for me," he says. "And we'll see what I can do." 

You nod. 

“You can call me Javi,” he offers, and you tell him your name. Your wallet is right there anyway. 

"Can I put this away?" He asks, holding up his gun. You nod.  "Nowhere to run," he warns you as he slips the gun into his vest. He adjusts himself then braces both hands on his thighs again and hardens his face. "Try something, and I'll let them back in for an hour, then cuff you myself. ¿Comprende?" 

You nod again. 

"Dime que comprendes" (tell me you understand).

"Yes," you confirm. "Entiendo." (I understand).

"Que bueno, pobrecita" (Good). He lets his eyes fall down your body hungrily. "How should we make this deal official?" 

You reach for his pants. He puts his hands out of the way and rests them loosely on his hips. His pelvis pushes forward as you palm the warm, ample bulge in his tight jeans. The front of his shirt has come slightly untucked from his foot pursuit, exposing a sliver of tummy that expands with his breathing as his cock hardens under your palm.  You catch a waft of his sweat and it sends a pang between your legs. You give him a slow, sensual rub with pressure. 

“Mm, good girl.” 

His massive hand comes to your face.  He grips your jaw and makes you look at him. You pause your hand then continue rubbing him and you feel yourself getting wetter. Then he squeezes your mouth open and looks at your teeth. His face is inches from yours and he reeks of tobacco.  "Not bad. . . at least you stay away from the pipe,” he raises an eyebrow. He looks at the side table of the sofa, littered with empty prescription bottles. "How long have you been using?" 

You don't answer. You slowly rub him and let your mind escape to a world where this is just a nice dick hardening warmly under your palm. 

"When's the last time you were clean more than a week?" 

Unsure what he wants to hear, you say, "Maybe a year."

"And how long have you been with that jackass?"

"I'm not."  You're not.  Not anymore. Not after this. 

"Mm-hm," Peña nods judgmentally and you feel a wave of shame when you see things through his eyes - a trap house and a loser boyfriend. "How does he fuck you?" 

You don't answer.

"Does he make you cum?"   His hips push forward and the outline of his tip presses against your palm.

“What do you want,” you snap defensively and his dick twitches under your hand. 

“You need to figure that out,” he says flatly. You meet his eyes and see desire. In different circumstances–like if he wasn't such an asshole–you'd hop on this man's dick in a flash, so you try to pretend he’s just a guy.

You reach for his belt buckle. His lips pout and his eyebrows go up with a tilt of his head. “Not a bad idea.” You unbuckle his belt, then unbutton and unzip his jeans. He’s not wearing underwear. His dark hair is trimmed close, almost shaven. His cock is thick, tan, and gorgeous. You work to free him from his restrictive pants, and it’s quite a package you’re looking at. 

His dick bobs heavily right in front of you, almost grazing your nose.  You take it in your hand, thumb resting on its crown.  You gently squeeze and admire it and it’s not long until he’s fully hard. Then you glance up at him and he’s looking at your mouth. You hover your lips near the tip and glance up at him again. He gives a go-ahead nod.  You suck the tip into your mouth.  Your tongue flattens under his shaft, then curls around the smooth, veiny skin. Holding his dick in your mouth, you tug his pants down lower and take out his balls before returning a hand to his cock. His balls are on the bigger side of average, symmetrical and only a little fuzzy. 

“Ohh, pobrecita.”  His voice is soft and dark, like Duvalin (nutella). 

Desire stirs between your legs.  He sucks in air through his teeth as you suck more of him into your mouth, and his tip nudges the back of your throat.  You cup his balls in your free hand and he lets out a low, quiet moan.  

“Tan suave, tan mojado. . .Tu boquita inmunda” (So soft, so wet, your unclean little mouth). 

You give his balls a light squeeze and his hands go to the back of your head, one following the other. He pulls your head down on his cock.

"You're a good little slut," He pants and thrusts his hips, his length sliding down the back of your throat– you try not to gag. "Just need somethin' in this mouth to keep you outta trouble." Tears sting your eyes from the gag reflex.  "Look at me, pobrecita." 

It's not easy but you try to look up. You watch him study your face for a few seconds as he fucks it.  Then you can't suppress it anymore.  You gag and pull your head away, afraid you might actually retch. His grip relaxes, but one hand stays on the crown of your head. He takes his cock in his hand. He kneels down on the floor and with his free hand, begins to take your panties down. You're suddenly very aware of how wet and throbbing you are from having his dick in your mouth.  He's soon aware, too, but he doesn't make a move to get on the sofa with you. He strokes himself with your saliva. "Open your legs." 

You obediently spread them but not far enough. He grabs breast and shoves your upper body back into the couch cushion, then he turns his attention to your cunt. He looks at it studiously and knits his brows.

“Que lástima” (what a shame), he mutters as he admires your glistening hole. “I’m a generous lover, too.” 

“¿Que lástima?” you ask. 

He shakes his head apologetically at your pussy, then meets your eyes. "Won't stick my dick in junkie cunt, sweetheart." 

He returns his gaze between your thighs and wets his lips.  “Juicy as it looks.” You huff and begin to close your legs. He places his massive hands on your knees, spreads them again, then runs his hands up your thighs and spreads them more.  He tilts his head as his thumbs reach the creases of your thighs.  Then he plants his thumbs on your outer lips and spreads you open to the cool air.  His nose twitches as he examines you.  Your clit throbs and you gush wetness. He puffs his cheeks out with an exhale. His dick is still hard between his legs, and he’s not touching it – his composure and self control is a little psycho. 

He gathers your slick, sniffs it with a barely visible snarl, and adds it to your saliva on his cock.  Then he fists his cock while staring between your legs. His free hand reaches up to tear your bra down on both sides, and he lets out a quiet moan at the sight of your tits. He jerks himself with his right hand and his left hand goes  between your legs. 

You're laid back on the sofa with your hips at the edge and he's kneeling between them.  He runs the backs of two digits through your folds, then inserts his thick middle finger and rotates his hand palm up. He pumps it twice and adds a second finger. 

He pumps himself and fingers you and when he's about to cum, he points his cock right between your legs.  He cums all over your mound, dripping down through your folds. He wipes his tip off on your inner thigh.  Then, his massive left hand returns between your legs, sliding through his own mess.  He fucks it into you with two fingers. He watches your face with a subtle, devious flicker behind his stare as he keeps fingering his cum into you. 

The lewdness ofi t makes your walls tighten around his thick digits. He curls them so his hand is rubbing your clit and his brow furrows as you begin to come undone. Your body tenses and your hips lift into his hand. Your back digs into the threadbare cushion. You bite your lip but fail to suppress a moan. He sucks in a deep breath watching you cum. 

“Good girl.” He withdraws his fingers and brings them to your mouth.  You suck off the salty, tangy blend and swallow it. 

He gently pats your cunt. "This is mine, now," he nods, then clenches his jaw and looks back and forth between your eyes.  "We’re gonna get you clean, pobrecita.  Entonces puedo usarla" (Then I can use it). Then he stands up and puts his cock back in his pants. "Put your clothes on, let’s go," he says. He picks them up off the sofa and drops them in your lap. 

Javi is watching you get dressed when someone knocks at the front door. Peña moves toward the door, and on instinct you start to make a break for the back exit, but he sees you in the corner of his eye.  “Ay, putita,” (little slut) he mutters as he bolts toward you.  He catches up just as you'ved opened the door.   His massive hands grab your arms roughly from behind, and he shakes you. "You were doing so fucking good," he spits through gritted teeth as he wrangles you back into the kitchen. He slams you face first up against the fridge and pins you with his left forearm while he grabs his cuffs. 

"You asshole. You're really taking me in? On what??"

He regains his composure and brings his mouth to your ear in a near whisper.  "Not to jail.” 

"Then where are you–" 

His voice is deep and quiet. "Callate, pobrecita." (Be quiet). He closes the cuffs, then tightens them. "It's for your own good." 

—---

If you like this, consider raider Joel (read warnings).

------

Thank you so much for reading and engagement!! Your support and interaction really keeps me going when other things drain me and drag me down. I love you guys.

Note: In general, if someone else’s work inspires yours, please share their work and give a shoutout.   

—----

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Lights, Camera, Colombia

💫  Chapter One 💫 

Summary: Ten years after he quit the DEA Javi gets approached by a production company, asking if he would like to be involved in the production of a documentary about Pablo Escobar and the drug war. When he agrees, he meets you, one of the producers of the documentary and the woman who he will spend the next months working with on the documentary and travel back to Colombia, the woman who will get to know about the side of him that he never wants anyone to see, the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Chapter Summary: Javi and you finally meet when you pick him up at the airport in Colombia and you get to know each other. And oh boy you just know the next couple of weeks are gonna be trouble....

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Wordcount: 7.4k

Rating: T (for some flirting)

Warnings: angst, fluff, a look into Javi’s head, Javi's anxiety, food mentions, flirting so much flirting

A/N: I am so excited to finally get the first full chapter out! I tried to do as much research as possible but we all know this is fictional so just roll with it lol

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Full Masterlist // Javier Peña Masterlist // Lights, Camera, Colombia Masterlist

Flying was not something Javier particularly enjoyed. 

It wasn’t even the flying part about it, but all the rest. And most of it, the waiting. He hated to sit around and just do…. Nothing. Hell, he even brought a book with him that he attempted to read on the layover in Houston. Instead he went to the bar to have a beer.

He had been okay in the planing of this trip to Colombia. He had checked in with you, made a couple of suggestions, even though what you had planned out was already close to perfect. 

The two of you had talked quite a lot through email and through phone to get to know each other a little before spending so much time one on one. 

He knew a little about your family and that you had been working with TC production for a little over five years now. The last documentary you had worked on had won a couple of awards and after finding out about that Javier had asked you to send a copy of it to him so he could watch it. 

And you did. 

It was a documentary about how the drug war affected the whole of the United States.

And Javi had loved the way it was put together. He could only hope that this one would be just as good. 

He knew that you already had been in Colombia for the last couple of days to prepare. It was quite the schedule you worked out, but you always left enough time to relax for a day or two before moving on to the next location to shoot. 

Only last week you had gotten the confirmation that you’d be able to shoot in what was left of La Cathedral, which apparently had been bought by a benedictine order to be turned into an actual cathedral with time. And you’d also be going to Hacienda Napoles. Something he found himself excited about, since he didn’t have the chance to go there back then. 

Yet overall what he felt about going back to Colombia was anxiety. 

In the week leading up to his flight even his nightmares returned. He had to schedule an extra appointment with Margery and she taught him some breathing exercises to calm himself down. Sure, he could have taken anxiety meds, but there were better times to start looking into that then when he was about to leave the country for six weeks. 

And so he took those breathing exercises and a big glass of whiskey instead of anxiety meds. A combination that would hopefully get him over the next couple of weeks. 

His CIA contact had informed him that he indeed was still on some kill lists in Colombia. But he was told not to be too concerned, the cartels had other issues to figure out at the moment. That, and he was traveling under a wrong name. 

Also set up by his CIA contact. 

Maybe if he hadn’t been a mess back then (well… he is still kind of a mess) things with Heather, the CIA contact, could have worked out. She was pretty, super intelligent and had a killer smile. They had met shortly after he came back from Colombia and had to get to one last DEA hearing where she was sitting in. 

It was a short but intense fling they had. And thankfully they parted ways as friends which was why he could reach out to her for a favour like this. 

She also took care of the gun permit for the journey for both him and you. 

„Flight 405 to Bogota, Colombia is now ready for boarding. Please proceed to your gate“

He took a deep breath before he emptied his glass of beer. Closing his eyes he counted down from ten as he took some deep breaths, before he grabbed his backpack and walked out of the airport bar and towards his gate. 

He gave the flight attendant a small smile, her cheeks flushing as she handed him back his boarding pass before he proceeded down towards the plane, pleasantly surprised that he would fly first class. 

Not that he had much from it. 

He was asleep before the plane was even up in the air. 

Maybe the next time you were considering a new project it should be somewhere more up north. Like…. Canada or…. The north pole. 

You had been in Colombia for four days and even though people around you were telling you that this weather was completely normal and actually quite cold for the season, you were sweating like crazy from the moment you got out of bed. The humidity was not something you were used to or fond of. 

You were more of a rainy day under a blanket type of girl.

Though you could admit that there were worse ways to spend a sunset than on a hotel balcony facing the ocean with a glass of white wine while only wearing your underwear. 

You had spend the day meeting up with the film crew who would already be busy tomorrow with scenery footage and interviewing some of the locals while you would go to the airport to pick up Javier. He had told you he could rent a car but you had waved him off, telling him that you had to get used to driving in this city anyway. 

If you were honest with yourself, you were excited to meet him. 

You had talked quite a lot in the last weeks and you got to know him a little. He had opened up a little about how Colombia had changed him and that while part of him was looking forward to see how the country changed, there was also the lingering anxiety about what had went down there all those years ago. 

You were pretty sure that only a fraction of the things that happened while they were working in Colombia had been made available to the rest of the world and you hoped that you would learn a little more. Sure, there would be things he could not talk about but the journalist in you wanted to at least try to get something new out of him. 

And, of course, you knew that he was an attractive man. 

Even if he aged very poorly, which you don’t think he did, you did see the ID of his DEA badge and ID that he sent to you via mail, he would still be just your type. 

Something you hoped would not disturb your work. 

Then again, a little flirting never hurt nobody, right?

But you were going to far ahead. You hadn’t even met in person yet and here you were already flirting with him in your mind. 

You sighed, watching the sun disappear into the ocean. 

In four days you would take him to the old search bloc building and after that to one of the drug labs that he had taken down that was now a restaurant. 

You had high hopes for the next weeks and you were excited to start working. 

His plane had touched down almost 45 minutes ago and you were growing a little anxious. You hoped that there were no issues with him traveling under a cover name or with his gun. 

You were pleasantly surprised that the permits had been dealt with so quickly. 

Just as surprised as when you learned that he was still on four kill lists from new cartels that had formed in the wake of Escobars death and the downfall of the Cali cartel. 

You hadn’t told Javier yet that depending on how good this documentary did, you might get the chance to do one on the Cali cartel too. 

But that was not something you were concerning yourself about now. 

There would be a time for that in the future. 

Now, you were excited and a little anxious  as you waited for Javier to walk out of baggage claim. 

And you didn’t have to wait for that much longer, the doors opening and there he was in the flesh. 

Carrying a big brown suitcase in his left hand, his eyes hidden behind some dark sunglasses as he walked out. Since he didn’t know what you looked like, it gave you some time to take him in. He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome and if you thought yesterday that he could become a problem, you were now downright fucked. 

There was the hint of grey in his otherwise dark brown temples, his moustache trimmed to perfection. Dark, full brown hair that looked perfectly messy, as if he walked right out of a photoshoot. His pants were tight, his baby blue dress shirt, the first couple buttons open and revelling his chest, tucked into his jeans, a leather jacket covering his broad shoulders. 

If he was only half as a flirt now as he was back when he was working here, things were going to be interesting in the next couple weeks. He came to a stop, taking his glasses of and let his gaze wander through the crowd, most likely trying to find you. 

You took a deep breath, suddenly not the humidity being at fault for making you sweaty. 

„Javier?“ You asked as you walked towards him, his head turning as he heard you, a small smile sneaking to his lips as he said your name. 

„Yeah, that’s me,“ you couldn’t help but grin, stopping when you were in front of him, holding your hand out for him to shake. 

He took it, his hand enveloping yours completely as he shook it and you gulped. 

„It’s so nice to finally meet you in person,“ you said.

Going through security was surprisingly easy considering he was traveling under a false name. They checked the documents, asked what he was doing here and how long he would be staying and if he had a ticket for his return flight. 

The long part was waiting for his suitcase. It gave him time to get to the restroom to pee and then throw some cold water into his face after he looked at himself in the mirror. 

He really was back in Colombia. 

Giving himself twenty seconds to freak out about it, he threw another hand of cold water into his face before he used a shitty paper towel to dry himself up. Walking out to the baggage carousel the suitcases were finally getting thrown out, yet it took another ten minutes for his to make an appearance. 

With his backpack over his shoulder and his suitcase in his hand he finally made his way out onto Colombian ground. The airport looked a little different from how it did the last time he was here. 

Apparently Starbucks had also finally made its way to Colombia. Something he found quite weird with how good the local coffee was. 

He was still wondering about that, when he took his sunglasses off to let his gaze wander over the people who were waiting. He never saw a picture of you so he had no idea what you looked like. 

Yet for some reason pretty came to his mind when he thought of you. Even though he only knew your voice. 

He heard his name being called from his left side and he turned his head just in time to see a woman approach him. 

You. 

He said your name and you smiled and fuck if he thought you were pretty, actually seeing you with his own eyes and seeing how pretty you were? Well, fuck. 

He took your hand, shaking it once, seeing your smile light up your whole face. 

„It’s so nice to finally meet you in person!“ You said and he nodded. 

„Likewise,“ he said, cringing internally. Likewise? Really Javier?

„Was your flight okay? I had the worst turbulences on my way here. Almost kissed the ground when I made it out of the plane,“ you joked and he smiled. 

„I slept all the way through. I think the realisation that this was really happening caught up with me there,“ he said, nervously rubbing his hand over his neck. 

„I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling. Only reading about everything that happened and knowing that you were there for almost everything? Unbelievable,“ you said in awe and he was sure he was blushing. 

„Yeah. The last time I’ve been to this airport I had just been fired,“ he snorted and you huffed a laugh, starring at him. 

„Are you ready to get to the hotel?“ You asked him and he found himself nodding. 

„Follow me,“ you said and turned around and Javier found himself falling into step next to you as you led him out of the airport. 

„The car rental gave me a super tiny car but I am supposed to get a new one tomorrow. So…. I hope you fit into the seat,“ you joked and he found himself grinning. 

„I am sure I’ll make it,“ he said, winking at you as you looked up at him. 

He caught himself looking over his shoulder, seizing up every person around him, looking for a potential threat. He felt his hands getting sweaty and he reached for his sunglasses, putting them back on his nose while he took a calming breath. 

For the first time in a long time he felt the need for a cigarette.

The humidity outside was like running against a wall as they made it out of the airport building. You slowed your steps, noticing Javier was looking around, his sunglasses back on his nose. 

„It looks different,“ he said after a moment, looking back at you. 

„Yeah?“ You asked and he nodded.

„Also feels fucking different,“ he chuckled a little uneasy, trying to work through his anxiety. It had been a long time since he felt like this. You gave him a small smile, fighting down the urge to take his hand or touch him, feeling like you wanted to comfort him. 

„We’re almost there. I hope you like the hotel. It just opened this year,“ you said as you stepped inside the car park, leaving Javier to feel like he could finally take a breather, a lot less people now around him. 

„I’m sure it will be fine. As long as I get a bed and a beer I am happy,“ he said, adding „I think I underestimated how being back here would have me on edge.“

You stopped walking and looked at him.

„If at any point it gets to much, please tell me. I know you said you’d be fine, but being back here must be a lot for you. I’d never judge you if you ask for a break or even stopping this whole thing. I don’t want this documentary and being back here to be a reason that you end up hurt in any way, okay?“ You asked. 

He took a deep breath after he listened to you, exhaling with a sigh. 

„I’ll be fine,“ he said and you narrowed your eyes and he found himself smiling. 

„I’ll tell you if anything gets too much, I promise,“ he added and your eyes softened, before you nodded and turned away from him to continue to lead him to the rental car. 

And if Javier found himself checking out how great your ass looked in the jeans shorts you were wearing? Well he had to get the thoughts in his head to focus on something else than being back in Colombia now, right?

The drive towards the hotel was quiet. 

Javier was busy looking around and noticing all the changes in the city and you were busy, well, driving. 

It’s not like you can’t drive. But with living in New York City you don’t get to do it much and definitely not with being yelled at in a language you understand but never felt really confident to speak. 

Javier on the other hand was surprised how much he recognised as you drove. Then again he did spend many years driving these streets. There was something different though. There were a lot more people out on the street. No buildings were damaged from gun holes or explosions. 

It seemed…. Happier. Brighter. 

„The hotel is actually on the ground where the old embassy building was,“ he heard you say and was reminded that he wasn’t alone. He had completely zoned out. 

He looked at you, seeing how you were gripping the steering wheel tightly, muscle tensed. There was sweat running down your temples even though the A/C of the car was running on full speed. 

He got the impression that driving was not your most favourite and he made a mental note to ask and offer to drive himself later on. 

„They relocated the embassy?“ He asked and you nodded, changing the lane, blinker set to drive to the right. 

„They didn’t need a big building like that anymore and they wanted higher security, so they moved to a new build building around twenty minutes from here,“ you explained, releasing a sigh of relief as you finally saw the hotel right at the end of the street. 

Javi on the other hand was impressed by the big building in front of him that had no resemblance to the office building he had spend countless hours chasing after cartels and making numerous, oftentimes questionable decisions. 

The whole area around where he used to spend his everyday life for years was completely transformed, nothing reminding him of the familiarity he felt walking these streets everyday. The café he used to get his coffee from was gone, replaced by a flower shop. The little empanada shop he used to get 80% of his dinners from gone, the whole building transformed into what looked like apartments. 

There were big trees lining up the street. 

If Javier didn’t know that he had been driving this street daily for two years he would never think this was the same place. 

You drove around the hotel and down the street until the car stopped in front of the entrance. You turned of the engine and let your head fall back against the headrest, closing your eyes as you released a long breath. 

„Not the biggest fan of driving?“ Javier asked softly. You shook your head. 

„Not the biggest fan of driving,“ you said, before you looked at him with an exhausted smile. 

„I’m sure you want to freshen up and relax. I made a reservation at the hotel restaurant for later today so we can talk through some of the things I have planned for this week. But we only start the day after tomorrow, so… there’s no rush, okay?“ You said and he nodded at you. 

„Great,“ you nodded back before you took a deep breath and got out of the car. Javier did the same, walking towards the trunk to retrieve his suitcase and backpack. Before that though, he took his leather jacket off, the heat outside being really unbearable. 

Was this the climate change bullshit he had read about? He didn’t remember it being that fucking hot in this country apart from the time he was forced to spend time with Stechner in the jungle. 

You on the other hand schooled your face into what hoped look like expressionless once he was out of his jacket. It definitely wasn’t the jacket that made him broader, it was just… him. 

You turned towards the hotel and the valet who thankfully would park the car for you before Javier could catch you starring. You were still mezermermised by the foyer of the hotel, a chandelier that was bigger as the car that you had just driven hanging over the desk, hundreds of lightbulbs artfully arranged. 

You smiled at the woman behind the desk, having talked to her for a while the day before to get some recommendations for restaurants and bars in the closer area. You more felt that saw Javier as he followed you, a shiver running up your spine, the hairs on your neck standing up. 

It was like you could feel his eyes on you and you fought the urge to turn around to confirm it for yourself. 

In broken Spanish you asked for the keys to yours and Javier’s room and she gave them to you with a kind smile. Turning around you indeed caught Javier starring at you, sunglasses back in his chest pocket, eyes snapping up from what you were sure was your ass as he looked at you. 

„You got the room next to mine. Both are facing towards the ocean more or less,“ you said, handing him the key to his room and he nodded. 

The elevator ride up to your floor was a quiet one, both of you in your thoughts, the ding of the elevator arriving making you jump. You glanced up at him, finding him already looking at him before he stepped out and walked down the floor, you following him. 

„I made the reservation for 7pm, is that okay?“ You asked. 

„Perfect. I hope they got some good tamales. Otherwise we have to check if the place Steve and I used to get ours is still there in the next days,“ he said and you smiled a little, nodding. 

„I would love that,“ you said, stopping front of your room. 

„I’ll see you later?“ You asked, Javier nodded. 

„If you need anything, just call or knock. I’ll be researching for another project, so I’ll be awake,“ you said, opening your hotel door and looking at him. 

He just nodded again, giving you a small smile as he walked past your room and towards his own. You took a step inside, letting your head rest against the door as you heard a click when his door closed. 

Yeah. 

You were in trouble now. 

Even though he had slept through the flight, the moment he got out of the shower in his hotel room he fell asleep again. And surprisingly he hadn’t dreamed of anything. It was just a blissful two hour long nap he woke up from once he got cold, having fallen asleep with just a towel around his hips. 

With a groan he turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

If he felt anxiety about being here when he first got here this morning, his feelings now where…. Different. He just didn’t know how exactly yet. 

Then again he didn’t know how he felt most days. Now only the added confusion about being back in a place that plagued his nightmares came on top of it. 

And then there was you. 

When he talked to you on the phone leading up to this stay in Colombia he felt himself more and more looking forward to talking to you. The phone calls to you being the highlight of his day. He found himself thinking about what you were doing through certain times in the day and he questioned if he could be attracted to someone he had never met before. 

But then today you had met and fuck if Javier thought he was in trouble on the phone with you, right now, knowing you were just on the other side of the wall of his hotel room was a whole different story. 

You were beautiful. 

In every single way possible and he had only spend an hour with you. Part of him was scared to find out what would happened once you spend every single day with each other, but there was also a part of him, a part he forgot existed, that was excited. 

Excited to get to experience this new version of Colombia with you. 

Excited to get to know you.

He took a look at the clock on his bedside table, realising it was later than he thought. And maybe he spent a little more time getting ready, before he made his way towards your room to pick you up for dinner. 

You on the other hand did everything but research the project you had planned. Almost immediately after you took your shower you had called your friend in the states who knew about the documentary and about how much you already had started to like Javier during your phone calls. 

But now?

Holy crap this would either be a very long and exhausting six weeks or this would be the best six weeks of your life. And you needed to let all these thoughts out before you were going out with Javier to dinner. 

No. Not going out. 

This was just a work dinner. 

A meeting. 

Going out sounded too much like a date, which it definitely wasn’t. 

Which is why you did not wear the little black dress that had somehow made its way into your suitcase. You chose the light green summer dress that made your ass look great instead. 

And if you spent more time on your make up and hair?

Well you were going out to a four star restaurant. That’s why you did it.

And you really didn’t do it for the look in Javier’s eyes as you opened the door, ready to join him for dinner. 

You sat outside in the lush parklike garden of the hotel, enjoying the last hues of the sun warming your skin. All the way from your hotel room, throughout the lobby and into the restaurant you could feel Javier’s warmth next to you. 

You didn’t know his hand had been hovering behind you all the way, 

Now you were sitting across from each other, both trying desperately not to ogle each other while waiting for the drinks you had ordered and reading through the menu. 

You had ordered a glass of white wine and Javier a glass of whiskey. 

„The menu sounds good,“ he said finally and you looked up at him, his eyes still reading the menu. 

„Yeah? I don’t think I ever had any of this except the salad,“ you said, pursing your lips. 

„Really?“ He asked and you nodded. 

„Even though I travel a lot for work I keep eating what I know like a true American tourist,“ you cringed and he chuckled. 

„I could order for you? I know my way around the local cuisine. Or at least I did,“ he offered and you set the menu down with a smile. 

„I would love that,“ you said, leaning back in your chair. He gave you a small smile before he continued to read through the menu. 

„Any allergies?“ he asked. 

„None that I know of,“ you said and he nodded. 

You used the time the waiter took to get your drinks to look around the beautiful property, your eyes seemingly always landing back on Javier as he still read through the menu. 

He had changed into a simple white polo shirt and some black jeans. You knew he must have showered, his aftershave filling the whole elevator cabin, making you positively dizzy. He smelled like he looked, sexy and a little dangerous. 

„You sure?“ He asked once the waiter brought your drinks and you just nodded, listening to him as he ordered for the both of you. 

Waiting until the waiter had everything written down and taken the menu’s back with him you reached for your glass of wine, bringing it up to smell it, closing your eyes. 

You may not know your way around food, but wine? Yeah. You knew enough. 

„Can’t believe what this place turned into,“ Javier said after a while and you looked at him as he looked around. 

„In my research I learned that the old building had so much asbestos in the basement, that the renovation would have cost more than just to tore it down. That’s probably why the hotel chain got the property pretty cheap. And the location is really great. I walked toward the presidential palace earlier this week, it was so close,“ you smiled, finally taking the first sip of your wine. 

„I had a lot of meetings in there,“ he sighed and you tilted your head in interest. 

„What if I said we’re going in there next week?“ You pursed your lips and he raised both eyebrows.

„Really?“ He asked and you nodded. 

„I haven’t told you yet but I do have some meet ups arranged throughout our time with people you have worked together. And from what I gathered from talking to them before hand you were all friendly with each other,“ you explained and he narrowed his eyes. 

„I didn’t make any friends here,“ he said slowly. 

„Now I know that that isn’t true. Steve Murphy and you seemed like friends,“ you said and he rolled his eyes, picking up his drink.

„He’s a fucking pain in my ass, that’s what he is,“ he snorted before he drank from his glass. 

You chuckled. 

„I bet the two of you were nothing but trouble working together. From what I gathered from our phone calls….“ 

„Honestly, and don’t tell him that. He was the best partner I could wish for out here. We went through a lot of shit out here. But he always had my back, even when I fucked up. And I really fucked up,“ he sighed.

„What did you do?“ You whispered and he looked at you, setting his glass down. 

„I’m afraid, that’s classified,“ he winked and you laughed. 

„Of course it is. I hope I can get some insider scoop out of your on our little journey through the drug history of this country,“ you said and he hummed, lips twitching into a grin. 

„Guess you have to find a way to get your inside scoop out of me,“ he winked. 

„Oh I have my ways, Agent Peña, don’t you worry,“ you winked back before you both laughed. 

„We’re gonna start with you showing me your favourite places, or what’s left of them,“ you explained after you had the best empanadas you ever tasted as a first course. Javier, or Javi as he told you repeatedly to call him, told you a little about the work he was doing now, working as a consultant for the DEA in San Antonio.

He also told you he kind of hated his job, but had been doing it all his life and didn’t really know what else he could be doing instead. 

„I’ve been working on movies all my life really,“ you said with a shrug after he asked how you got into your job. 

„Really?“ He asked with a grin, you nodded. 

„First movie I made was to blackmail my sister after I found her kissing Jimmy Miller in our garden when our mom was getting groceries,“ you said proudly and Javier laughed with a shake of his head. 

„Remind me to never get on your bad side,“ he chuckled.

„It was her fault really, she broke my favourite toy,“ you chuckled too. 

„God, sometimes I’m really glad I don’t have any terrorising little siblings,“ he sighs, still smiling. 

„None?“ You asked, and he shook his head. 

„I was a miracle baby more or less. Mama tried for a while to get pregnant and once the doctors said it was better to stop, boom, I happened. But she was already in her mid thirties which back then was… ancient to become a mother so both her and papa decided I was enough,“ he explained. 

„Well, you haven’t missed anything without siblings. They’re kind of annoying, honestly,“ you say. 

„You and your sister not on the best terms?“ He asked and you sighed. 

„I wouldn’t say we’re on bad terms but… she’s the poster child. She went to college, married her high school love and had a baby. And because of all of that she sometimes does this thing where she tries to  tell me how my life should be going. Because that’s what’s expected, right? You get married, you have the child, or children, and you life happily ever after while your husband brings home the money so you can have your picture perfect life, right?“

„If that makes someone happy, sure,“ Javi shrugged. 

„Exactly. If that makes someone happy, they should do it. But I am not like that. I love my job. And if I end up falling in love and having kids, that man would have to deal with that. Cause I can’t see myself quitting my job go become a housewife,“ 

„I think I could become a stay at home man,“ Javi mused and you were so stunned after your little rant you could do nothing but laugh, enjoying the way the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. 

„What? Don’t I seem like the type to stay at home, take care of the house, maybe the kids? All of that of course only after I trick someone into marrying me,“ he joked and you smiled softly. 

„I think you’d make a great stay at home husband for a very lucky lady some day. Or man. Whatever you’re into,“ you added quickly and he laughed. 

„Woman. Just women,“ he clarified quickly and you raised one eyebrow. 

„Really?“ You asked and his eyes narrowed. 

„What’s that tone supposed to mean?“ He wanted to know and you just hummed. 

„Nothing… Just…. Surprising. I would have bet you’re into men too,“ you shrugged, and he pursed his lips, bringing one of his hands up, his fingers rubbing over his perfectly groomed moustache. 

„Are you?“ He asked.

„Into men? Oh yeah,“ you winked and he huffed a laugh before he shook his head. 

„Into women,“ he clarified. 

„I think so. Like, I’ve never been with one, but if I end up meeting a woman and fall in love with her? Who am I to run away from that?“ You asked and he hummed. 

The waiter came and took your empty dishes, informing you that the main course would be served in a couple of minutes. 

„Do you…. Do you have someone at home waiting for you?“ Javier asked and you couldn’t help but smile. 

„I do,“ you said seriously and you might have imagined it, but Javier’s face fell for a moment. 

„His name is King George and he’s currently staying with my best friend,“ you said, his face changing into confusion. 

„He’s my cat,“ you clarified and Javier released a breath he was holding in a chuckle. 

„So no. No one waiting for me at home Javi,“ you smiled, „What about you?“

„No,“ he shook his head, „I think I have some issues letting people in,“ he confessed, eyes widening as the words tumbled out of his mouth. 

„But that’s not something I should talk about with anyone else than my therapist or my fictional future wife with,“ he added and you smiled softly. 

„It’s okay. I have the same problem. When you’ve been on your own for so long, it’s hard to do this step of letting someone in. Not just in your head and heart. But in all your routines, your house, your life, your  family. It’s….. The person has to be worth it,“ you said and he nodded. 

„Yeah, It’s…. It’s sometimes easier being alone than opening up to someone only to get hurt in the long run, a sentence no one at home would believe I just said,“ he chuckled to himself, picking up his drink. 

„Well I get what you mean. I rather be happy alone, than miserable in a relationship. Though I have to admit there are some things I miss about it,“ you hummed, resting your arm on the table.

„Like what?“ Javi asks, interested.

You hummed. 

„I miss cooking for someone. Which sounds dumb, but cooking for yourself feels like a chore. If I get to do it for someone else? Well that’s something else entirely,“ you said and Javier smiled a little. 

„Yeah. I hate eating fucking microwave dinners on the couch by myself,“ he said and you chuckled. 

„Exactly. Like…. I am good most times, I am happy with how my life is. I just ask myself sometimes if there’s more? Like am I going to stay alone until the day I die or is someone out there who can handle my crazy ass?“ You asked and he hummed. 

„You don’t seem so crazy to me,“ he said with a small grin and you raised one of your eyebrows, challenging. 

„You’ve meet me what? Six hours ago? Give it time,“ you nodded with confidence. 

„I’ve known you for a couple of weeks and from what I know? I think you’re an intelligent woman that loves her job and is good at it. You’re funny and between us, you’re fucking sexy as hell,“ he said like it was the most obvious think while your eyes widened, warmth spreading over your cheeks. 

You were trying to come up with a response to his words when the waiter approached, serving the main courses. Javier winked at you and you suddenly felt so hot, you were sure he could see it. 

You took a deep breath, reaching for your glass of water to take some sips. 

„This looks good,“ you finally said, picking up your fork. 

„Yeah,“ Javi said, eyes still on you with a look you couldn’t quite place. 

„Shall we eat?“ You asked and he nodded before he picked up his fork too. 

You continued to talk all throughout your dinner, though you made an effort to talk more about the trip and less about your personal lives. You were not sure why, but you felt way to comfortable with Javi and opening up to him about your life. 

Not that this was bad, you just didn’t want to dump everything on him. This was a job and once this was finished you would most likely never see him again. You would move on to other projects while he moved on doing god knows what. 

Sighing you picked up you new drink, looking up into the by now dark night sky, Javier having left to look for the restroom some time ago. 

Why were you freaking out right now?

This was a dinner. Technically a dinner with a client. 

A very attractive client who kept looking at you with his big brown eyes that seemed to hold so much longing and hurt in them that you felt like you wanted to hug him and never let go of him. 

There was so much more to Javier Peña that you thought in the beginning. From interviewing people in preparation for the documentary the people seem to respect him for the work he had done and was still doing, but were judging him harshly for everything else he did. Be it how he got the work done or how he spent his private life. 

More than once you had heard the word manwhore when talking about him and frankly?

If you would look like him, you would be one too. 

„Penny for your thoughts,“ you jumped when you heard his voice behind you, a plate of what looked like cake in his hand that he set down in front of you. 

„What’s that?“ You chose to ignore his questions as he sat down across from you. 

„This is Postre de natas. It’s a kind of milk pudding and it’s maybe my most favourite dessert on this planet,“ he said and you nodded.

„Where is yours then?“ You picked up your spoon.

„It was the last one, you should have it," he said with a warm smile and you found yourself smiling back. 

„That’s… That’s very sweet Javi," you said softly before you brought the spoon to your lips, eyes widened when the sweetness exploded in your mouth. 

„Oh this is fucking delicious,“ you hummed happily, loving the was Javi’s eyes lit up as he smiled at you. You ate almost half of it, before you sat your spoon down and pushed the plate towards him. 

„You take the rest, or I will have a sugar shock that won’t let me sleep,“ you joked and he laughed quietly before he started to eat, a long moan escaping his lips as he tasted the first spoon. 

He closed his eyes in complete bliss while you schooled your whole demeanour to not react to how watching Javier eat his dessert felt like watching porn. 

He licked his lips, humming to himself, sighing at every taste. 

„I feel like I should give you two some privacy,“ you finally found the words to tease him and his eyes dropped open, looking at you before you saw his cheeks flush a little. 

„I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. This might be the closest I got to having sex in a long time,“ he said, chuckling and your eyes widened, before you laughed. 

„Guess I gotta find myself a desert that’s that good, huh?“ You joked and he licked his lips, having finished the dessert. 

„Or someone to have sex with,“ he shrugged and you rolled your eyes. 

"Like it’s that easy,“ you said and he pursed his lips, eyes playful.

„The guy at the bar has been eyefucking you all night,“ he said and you were about to turn your head to look when he stopped you. 

„Don’t look. He’s not worth your time,“ he said and you titled your head. 

„And how do you know that?“ You asked and he smirked. 

„Saw his dick in the bathroom, he was next to me. Trust me, he is not worth it,“ he said seriously and your lips parted in shock before you giggled. 

„Oh my god,“ you shook your head and he grinned. 

„This is the weirdest business dinner I’ve ever had in my life,“ you still laughed, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. 

„Well this has been the best dinner I’ve had since I can remember, so thank you for that,“ he said and your smile at him softened. 

The waiter approached, asking if you wanted to order anything else but you shook your head, much like Javi before you asked him to bill the dinner to your room. 

Both Javi and you emptied your drinks before you both decided it was time to head back to your rooms. 

You walked through the restaurant back towards the elevators, walking close by each other. You couldn’t help sucking your lip in to hide your laughter when you past the man Javi had talked about sitting at the bar, nodding at you with a grin. 

Even if he was attractive, all you could think about was what Javier had said about him and you had a hard time not bursting out in giggles all the way to the elevators. When you risked a glance at Javier he was grinning too and you both chuckled as the elevator door opened. He waited for you to step in, following you, standing beside you as you pressed the button to the floor. 

You didn’t know if it was seeing the guy, being so close to Javi or the three drinks you had but you found yourself asking „So if he’s not worth my time, how do you compare to him?“ 

You saw him suck his bottom lip between his teeth, before his tongue dared out to lick over his bottom lip. 

He was about to answer when the elevator doors opened, having reached your floor. This time he put his hand on your lower back as he led you out of the elevator, slowly walking up the hallway towards your room. 

You were already fiddling with your key when he stopped in front of your hotel room door. 

„I’e be definitely worth your time,“ he finally said and you looked up at him. 

„Yeah?“ You asked, voice just above a whisper. He nodded. 

„And not just because my dick is bigger than his,“ he said, before he slowly leaned down to kiss your forehead. Your eyes widened, processing his words as he reached for your room key, unlocking the door for you. 

„I’ll see you at breakfast?“ He asked and you dumbly nodded, before you slowly walked into your room. 

„Sweet dreams," he winked as he pulled your door closed and only then did you realise that you had held your breath. 

„I am in so much fucking trouble,“ you mumbled to yourself with disbelieving laugh, looking forward to what the next few weeks would bring. 

next chapter

Taglist (please send me an ask if you want to be added to the LCC Taglist, I only have a taglist for this series, not for all of my works)

@pasc4lfuzz// @kirsteng42 // @imdreaminghere // @greenwitchfromthewoods // @theorganasolo // @inept-the-magnificent // @maried01 // @nationallampoonlemmings // @sunnytuliptime// @desuidesu // @galway-girlatwork // @missladym1981 // @bergamote-catsandbooks

[amongemeraldclouds]

not being romantic

Jess Mariano may be cute, possibly charming, but he is most definitely annoying. He certainly can’t hold a candle to your secret pen pal who’s smart, loves books, and aspires to be an author. Or can he?

Jess Mariano x f!Reader

Warning: no use of y/n, mostly fluff, some angst, cursing, suggestiveness. This fic is set after he left Stars Hollow.

✿ Masterlist | 3.3k words

The cafe buzzed with the rush of customers lined up for their afternoon caffeine fix. Coffee machines droned on churning coffee as sunlight streamed through the windows and the smell of baked goods wafted through the air.

You smirked at Jess Mariano before you called the customer to hand them their drink. You proceeded to add another point to your scoreboard, waving your arm for emphasis. He rolled his eyes at your dramatics and hurried up, adding whipped cream to the drink he was preparing. 

Everything was always a game with him. Who could get the highest amount of tips? Who could guess the new customer's coffee order? Who could make the most convincing foreign accent?

Today’s game was: who could make the fastest coffee order?

“You’ve gotten better,” he observed as you grabbed a cup for the next customer. “Aren’t you glad to have had an incredible instructor like me?”

You scoffed, “more like an incredible loser if you don’t hurry up with that order. Just because you taught me, doesn’t mean I’d go easy on you, Mariano,” you taunt, narrowing your eyes for emphasis.

He shook his head with a smile, “I expected nothing less from you.” He made his way to the other end of the counter to call the customer and handed them their drink.  

Another busy shift flew by and before you knew it, it was time to close down the cafe.

You grabbed the scoreboard, beaming with pride. “I won! You can now call me the Queen of Speed, Barista Extraordinaire. Bow down before your queen.”

Jess looked up from where he was wiping the counter with a flat expression. “I’ll call you the Queen of Clean if you help me with these last few tables?”

You frowned at him and stuck your tongue out, of course he had a whole arsenal of retorts with him at any given moment. You grabbed the towel and disinfectant spray from behind the counter and moved to wipe down the tables. “You’re no fun, but I’ll let it slide since you now owe me a favor.”

“As long as I don’t have to help you dispose of a body then it’s fine,” he replied, eyebrow raised. 

You rolled your eyes, “if I ever need to dispose a body, it would probably be yours.”

“Are you confessing to something you’ll commit? I don’t think that’s very wise.”

“I’m not planning anything,” you sighed, pinching your nose. The conversation was getting more and more off topic by the second. “You, however, will be the dea*h of me.”

“I’ll add you to the waitlist,” he nodded as he set aside the towel and grabbed the key, ready to close for the evening. Of course that wasn't the first time that line was directed at him.

“You’re just trying to avoid what you owe me. Stop deflecting, Mariano,” you accused, heading towards him to return the cleaning materials. “I need your help with my toaster, it stopped working and I can’t afford to get it fixed or replaced. Can you help me with that?”

“Of course, anything for the Queen of Speed,” he replied.

“You forgot Barista Extraordinaire,” you added helpfully.

Jess just shook his head as if to say, I can’t win with you. He fought the smile that threatened to break across his features. Perhaps you too had your own arsenal of comebacks.

With the final turn of the key, the door swung in and you and Jess headed into your tiny apartment. It was a studio that’s three steps away from the kitchen, five steps away from the bathroom, and ten steps away from the bed. You liked to keep it simple, minimalistic. It definitely had nothing to do with the cheap rent.

“Welcome to my apartment. It’s not much but it’s home,” you said, gesturing around the place.

“It’s cozy and it’s very you,” he remarked.

You folded your arms and stared at him, “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Let me see. Second hand furniture, potted plants around the area, and the artwork looks similar to your napkin doodles. Don’t think I didn’t notice them. It’s a mosaic of different things, but you managed to tie it all together and make it work. It’s just like you to make good out of a potentially bad situation,” he observed.

“Slow down there or you’ll end up hosting shows about house tours,” you teased. “And hey, I’ll take the compliment. Who knew Jess Mariano could be nice?”

He shrugged, “I just call it like I see it.”

You took the three steps necessary to reach the kitchen. “Here’s the troublemaker, by the way. Not you, well, aside from you,” you amended and pointed to the toaster. “Not sure what’s wrong, it just stopped working.”  

He approached you and it struck you just how small the kitchen was, certainly not big enough for two. When you turned to speak to him, all the words left your mind as you realized you’re only inches away from him. Heat crept up your cheeks and you blinked.

Jess smirked at your reaction, keenly aware of the effect he had to you. That cocky bastard. He leaned in a bit closer and your breath hitched. “You know, if you just wanted me over at your place, there’s a lot of other fun things I can help you with.” You scrunched your nose and took a step back, immediately transported to the area you considered your bedroom. “If that’s your way of confessing your feelings for me, it’s not very romantic at all. Thought you’d have more game than that, Mariano,” you hedged.

“Oh, that’s because I’m not trying to be romantic. If I were trying....” he said, taking a step forward, closing the distance you tried to place between you. He brushed the hair away from your cheek, the touch so unexpectedly tender coming from Jess. You took in how soft his lips looked up close.

When he touched the side of your face, your attention returned to his soulful eyes. “...I’d do something like this,” he concluded, his breath against your lips like the ghost of a kiss. That’s all it took for him to steal the breath from your lungs.

You’re disoriented when cool air greets you again as he took a step back and the only trace left is the fading warmth from where his hand caressed your cheek. “But like I said, I’m not trying to be romantic,” he shrugged.

You cleared your throat, brushing off the lingering heat of the interaction. You ignored the pang of disappointment that hit you. Besides, someone else already had your heart, this was nothing but a silly little crush. “Well can you please try to fix my toaster?” you asked, trying to stay on topic as always.

“Sure, I have tools at home. I can take it with me and bring it back when I’m done.”

You nodded, “okay thank you. Let me just grab a bag you can carry it in.”

He scanned the room while you opened the cabinet to grab a reusable bag.

“Why do you have lots of mail?” He asked, thumbing through the pile of opened envelopes on your kitchen counter.

You mulled over the question, unsure how much you wanted to share with Jess Mariano and risk a round of his teasing. Then again, you could handle Jess. “Well, there’s this guy I really like. We send each other letters. If you really want to know what romantic is, Mariano, it’s hand written letters. No one bothers to write them anymore. There’s something sweet and sincere about it.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“I’m not really sure. I got his first letter from the bookstore I frequent, the employee handed it to me and I asked him to hand back my reply. We just kept going from there, I think the mystery just adds to the romance.”

Jess shot you a worried look. “You mean to say, you’re corresponding with a complete stranger? For all you know he’s hiding his identity because he’s a stalker or a serial killer.”

“Please, he is not. He is smart, funny, and he’s writing a book. I just don’t feel like he’s that type of person.”

“You’re going off this based on your feelings? I don’t think that’s wise or safe.”

“Jess, it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about,” you replied, having had enough of him for the day. After handing him the bag with the broken toaster, you shoved him towards the door and out from your apartment, wishing him a good night.  

“That was quick,” you said as you headed out of the cafe and walked towards Jess’ apartment to retrieve your now functional toaster.

Jess shrugged, “it was no big deal, just had a few loose screws to reattach. Speaking of loose screws, how about that imaginary boyfriend of yours? Finally decide to reveal himself?” 

You sighed, Jess had been on your case the whole week since you told him about your mysterious crush. Needless to say, you regretted telling him about it. “No, but he hasn’t written to me recently,” you pondered. “He must be busy writing his book.”

“Or planning your untimely demise,” he retorts.

“Jess, I swear,” you grit your teeth, “I’ll be planning your untimely demise if you don’t drop it. Why do you care so much? Are you jealous? Is that what this is about?”

“Well I’m trying to look out for a coworker, why does this have to be about me? But hey, I’ll drop it,” he relented. “Besides, I won today so you owe me a favor.”

You groaned, but don’t say anything further. He won fair and square, you were ready to accept your fate.

Jess continued, “My uncle sent some food last night and I have a lot more than I can finish myself. Help me with that before you leave with your toaster?”

“Jess Mariano,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “are you asking me out for dinner?”   

“No,” he quickly said and then caught himself. “We’re not going out, we’re dining in. Besides if I were being romantic, I might bring you flowers, pick you up, take you somewhere nice. So this,” he said, pointing between him and you, “is not me being romantic.”

“And there goes Mr. Defensive,” you smirked. Of course he was not being romantic, not to you. He had a hundred and one ways to tease and annoy you but never to charm you. Still, you couldn’t help the way it killed you just a little inside.

“I swear if you tell me this is where the magic happens, I will smack your head,” you deadpan as Jess opened the door to his apartment.

“Why does that turn me on?” He teased. Your face twisted in confusion and disgust and Jess laughed triumphantly, having drawn out a reaction from you. You had no idea you were adorable, he thought.

“Just welcome to my home then,” he said. 

You stepped in, admiring his cozy space. You imagined a messy home with leftover containers and soda cans strewn about reeking of old laundry and faded furniture. You had little to no expectations at all.

Instead what greeted you was a small space, similar to yours. The bed was made, blanket tucked in neat corners and the furniture, while undoubtedly secondhand, was well maintained. If anything, the mismatched pillows against the pale blue sofa and the sanded down wooden table gave it personality. It smelled like subtle household cleaners and carried the scent that is so distinctly Jess, a mixture of soap and sweat, plus a hint of cologne he would never admit to wearing.

“It’s very you,” you remarked, “and I don’t mean that as a bad thing.”

He shrugged, handing you your toaster, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Thanks again for the toaster. Now there’s only one troublemaker here in this room,” you quipped as you move towards his kitchen to help him set the dinner table.

“That’s definitely you,” he replied, handing you the plates and utensils while he moved to heat up the food from the fridge. “Hand me the glasses over there?” He asked, pointing to the drawers on the opposite end.

You nodded, setting down the plates on the table and headed towards the drawer. “Well, I’ll let it slide just this time because you’re feeding me and I can’t say no to free food. Thank you Jess,” you said, a small hint of affection blooming in your chest.

You opened the first drawer and found only papers. You were about to close it to check the next drawer when the familiar edge of stationery caught your eye. It was exactly the type of paper you smiled at for hours on end, trying to memorize each word. Curiosity got the better of you and you lifted a half written letter to your eyes. A half written letter addressed to you.

A storm of emotions struck you then: confusion, hurt, and anger. All this time. The boy who weaseled his way into your heart, who called you cute in his first letter and wanted to get to know you. Who charmed you into the romantic idea of secret identities like spies undercover. Who shared your love for books and had the best recommendations that made you feel seen like no one ever has. Who spoke about his love for writing with a passion that inspired you. 

All this time it was Jess Mariano.

All this time it was a lie.

Just another one of his games.

“What about those gla—” he stopped mid-sentence when he turned back and saw you reading his letter.

“Fuck,” he exhaled softly as heat crept into his cheeks.

You looked at him, fire burning in your eyes. “Is that all you have to say, Mr. Fantastic Writer?” You huffed, trying to quell the tears that threatened to choke you. 

Jess opened his mouth and closed it, wanting to say a million words and failing. You watched the war raging in his head.

“Well then indeed, fuck!” You exclaimed in frustration. “And fuck you too. I know you love your games Jess, but you can’t just go around playing with other people’s feelings.”

You retreat and grabbed your things, shaking your head. “God, I feel like such a fool.”

You threw the door behind you and was a few steps away when you realized you left your toaster. Shame and betrayal marched with you as you opened his door again and found him still frozen where you left him.

“I’m just here for my toaster, which I actually need. Unlike you, I don’t need anything from you, Jess. I’ve read and heard enough,” you said, your voice wavered at the end and tears spilled down your cheeks.

You turned away from embarrassment, toaster in hand, and ran the rest of the way home. He didn’t deserve to hear your sobbing. He didn’t even deserve any of your tears. He was just a stupid boy that your stupid heart fell for. No big deal.

The next week passed in a blur. Unable to switch shifts with anyone else, you called in sick at the cafe and lived life between your university, the library, and your apartment. Never mind that you needed the pay, you could drown in instant noodles for all you cared. It didn’t matter anyway. A broken heart never cared for a full stomach.

That Friday, you were about to call it a night when the doorbell rang. The was odd, you thought, you weren’t expecting anyone. 

“You’ve got the wrong—” you stopped mid-sentence when you saw the last person you ever wanted to see, Jess Mariano holding a bouquet of flowers and books. If it were any other day, it might have sent butterflies to your stomach. Now all it did was fan the flames of your anger because it was much easier to be angry than hurt.

You slammed the door close but Jess stopped it with his outstretched arm. “Are you trying to get yourself injured?” You accused and you hated it, how much you still cared.

“Please, I just need to talk,” he said, pain and sincerity etched in his handsome face.

You sighed and let him in, not wanting to cause a scene at the hallway. “You have five minutes,” you held up your hand for emphasis.

“Fine, five minutes,” he breathed, steeling himself. "Here’s a story for you: I met this girl working at a cafe. She’s smart and quick witted, she never runs out of comebacks. Her smile makes my day and I needed to see more of it so I came up with these games. And damn it, I looked forward to going to work every day because of her.

There was a nagging at the back of my mind to get to know her better. I wanted her to get to know me too, but I have a track record of screwing things up so I sent a letter. Just one couldn’t hurt, right?

Clearly, I underestimated her. One letter was never going to be enough. I loved hearing about her dreams, her stories, the inside jokes we created along the way. Without meaning to, I fell for her. I fell for you. It was never a game for me, all of it was real. Is still real.

When I heard you liked your secret pen pal too, I didn’t know if I should reveal myself or just disappear, let you forget me. Of course, I screwed things up again. I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you but clearly I have. Would you give me a second chance? I’m not good at this but I want to try."

He’s breathless by the time he ends his speech and you take a moment as the words settled in. No wonder he discouraged your interest in your secret pen pal, which also turned out to be him.

You sighed, “you really screwed it up.” Your heart broke all over again only to come back whole together because he did like you. All those silly gestures he brushed off really did mean something. And the boy you loved through letters and your cafe crush turned out to be the same person.

You pondered his question. The way he went about it was all wrong, but a second chance might be worth a shot. “Fine, we can start over, but you’ll have to make it up to me. You owe me unlimited favors.”

“I'll fix all the toasters you need,” he said, presenting you with the bouquet of flowers and books.

“Oh you’ll have to do more than that. I have a broken bulb on the ceiling, the heater needs fixing, and the microwave will definitely break tomorrow,” you taunted him, accepting his bouquet nevertheless.

He just smiled, “I have a lot to make up for, but I’ll do it for you.” He moved closer to you, bringing the bouquet to rest on the kitchen counter, so he can wrap his arms around you. “You’re worth it,” he whispered in your ear and you hugged him back, fighting off the delicious chill that ran through your back from his words. Being in his arms felt so right.

“You like me,” you sing, teasing him like a child and you enjoy the way his chest rumbles against you as he laughs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Besides, you like me back.”

You removed yourself from his hug, already missing his warm embrace. “I never said I liked you,” you teased. 

Mock hurt danced across his features, “what’s not to like?”

You laughed at his arrogance, the need to touch him overwhelming everything else. “Fine,” you relented, “we can call it even.”

You closed the distance this time, “just to be clear, this is you being romantic?”

He smirked, wrapping his arms around your waist again. “Yes, this is me being romantic and I will show you so much more,” he said, bringing his lips to yours with a thousand unsaid promises you were about to discover.

✿ Masterlist

Author's note:

✿ When I came across a Jess Mariano fic, I just knew I had to write one too. Jess and his sarcastic ass in a (sort of) rivals to lovers trope, heck yes. ✿ Thanks to my lovely wife @pizzaapeteer for encouraging me to write this all those weeks ago ♡ ✿ Published this fic from a cafe, very on brand for the story.

[ifimdreaming]

come over?

luke hughes x reader

summary: you and luke have a secret/not so secret relationship

a/n: no warnings really, this is cute i think and very cringey fluff tbh. not proofread.

word count: 1.3k

-

Keeping your relationship with Luke a secret from your friends was a hard enough task as it is, but having to keep it a complete secret from your family was proving to be an even more difficult task. It has been over 6 months of you and Luke being together now and everyday you just want to shout from the rooftops just how much you love him.

Although you knew being in the spotlight was 100% not what you wanted, it was so much harder than you thought to have to sneak around and pretend to be single around some of your very closest friends. And Luke knew how much it meant to the public for you to be known solely as ‘Luke Hughes’ Girlfriend’ so you had both agreed on the whole keeping-things-a-secret thing until further notice.

Because of this, It had been almost 2 weeks since you had last seen your boyfriend. Both you and him being respectively busy, and also having absolutely nowhere to spend time together as your two roommates had not been out of the house for any extended periods of time lately. And in the midst of that, Luke and Jack had a guest staying at their condo since the beginning of the month, making it nearly impossible for you to spend any time there at all.

This had you up late at night thinking about Luke for what felt like the millionth night in a row. wishing he was beside you instead of just your childhood stuffed animals. Wishing he was rubbing your back, soothing you to sleep, kissing your neck gently, tracing shapes on your skin - there were so many little ways he showed you his love and you missed every single one of them. And as much as you hated what was at risk with you sneaking him over - laying in bed dreaming about it caused absolutely no harm at all.

Pulling you out of your daydream, you hear buzzing begin to come from your phone that is left charging on your nightstand as you are trying desperately to fall asleep. You look over to see that it is Luke calling you, at almost 1:00 in the morning. You wonder if he had been up thinking about you too.

You reach over and grab your phone to answer him, “hi baby” you whisper into the phone, not wanting to wake up anyone else in your apartment.

“baby I cant sleep. I miss you so much” he says with a tired rasp in his voice. He lets out a sigh on the other end of the phone and its almost like he is right beside you. You can hear the longing in his voice and can just sense how frustrated he is with the single sigh.

“I miss you too lukey. I literally cant sleep either - ive just been up thinking about you” you say honestly. 

You have always been super honest with him about everything. Weather it be you telling him every single detail about how horrible your period is that week, how you absolutely dread doing the dishes and let them pile up for days before getting to them, how you refuse to go out past 5pm by yourself because you are terrified of being kidnapped, or explaining to him word for word why you love the movie ‘love rosie’ so much and how much it means to you when he agrees to watch it with you. Luke knew you so well and you knew him just the same. Because you always communicated with each other. about everything. No matter what. 

Thats why what he said next came as such a shock to you.

“Ive been thinking too..’’ he trails off, his tone quieter than before

You stay quiet on the other end of the phone, curious about what Luke is about to say and suddenly extremely aware of the fact that it is so late at night and he decided to call you without warning. After your silent thinking, you hum a quiet ‘mhm’ in response, urging him to continue.

“Ive just been thinking.. maybe I regret keeping things, with us, a secret for so long. I know I- We agreed to hold off, especially because of how it would affect your life and everything. And I know thats a really big deal. I dont want you to think im being selfish..” he begins, but waits for you to chime in with your thoughts.

Things have worked well this way for so long, that it surprised you he felt this way. Especially because Luke is a very private person in general, you assumed this is how he wanted things. It broke your heart if you made him feel like this was all your idea in the first place. You just thought it would be best for the both of you.

“Luke I dont know what to say. Honestly i thought we were on the same page so I didnt offer to change anything…” 

“How long have you felt like this?” you add, trying to speak loud enough but still with your voice in a whisper.

“I mean. I dont really know?” he says almost as a question

“Luke…” you urge him, hoping he will answer your question honestly.

“Well I guess - about a month now I guess? I know i shouldve said something sooner but I just didnt want to ruin anything. I know thats kind of..shitty..” He says regretfully

Theres the honest boy you know.

“I..I didnt know” you say. Honestly you ddnt know where to go from here. You wanted to tell everyone everything about your relationship at this very moment, but werent sure if thats where Luke was going with this.

“I- What are you thinking? I understand if you want to keep things the way they are. I wanna be clear that I really dont want to force you into changing anything. I just i couldn t keep it to myself anymore” 

It was so exciting to you knowing how much Luke cared about you. The way he cares for everyone around him has always been something you admire about him. He has the biggest heart in the world and you only hoped to be at least half as caring as him. Clearly this has been on his mind for a while and he cared so mch about your feelings towards it that he didnt want to let his feelings ruin what you have.

“Luke I love you, obviously as long as you know that, thats enough for me. But i do want everyone to know that too.” you say as the lump in your throat grows and tears well in your eyes. 

You honestly didn't know why this was making you emotional. But the combination of missing him, hearing him so delicately approach you with this, and knowing this might be the moment you get to share your love for him with the world, is making it hard to get your words out right now.

“I love you so much. and I want everyone to know I do too” he says matter of factly and your heart melts completely. 

You both sit in comfortable silence over the phone for a moment as your slight sniffles fill the quiet air. 

“I dont know why im crying..” you say through quiet laughter and hear Luke share laughter in response. He was so used to you being emotional over the most random things, this not surprising him one bit.

“What can i do baby?” 

You dont even have to think twice of your next response but pretend to be contemplating anyway,

“hmmmm, come over?” you respond hopefully. It thrilled you to think he might actually say yes. Even at 1:00 in the morning.

“Absolutely,” he says with a laugh and you grin ear to ear with giddy excitement, 

“give me 20 minutes”

-

-

[cuntyhunty22]

SWITCHING THE POSITIONS FOR YOU.

•

Mature content 18 plus

Javier Peña x reader

Description: reader is a journalist.. trying to make a name for herself. Covering the narcos and the state of the world. Reader goes undercover in her alter ego meeting someone who complicates her actual career and life. Fantasies and boundaries are tested and explored.

Tags : smut. Bdsm. Latex. Rope play. Whip. Shoe kink. Papi kink. Daddy kink. Rough sex. P in v. oral on both ends. Fingering in public. Cream pie. Squirt. (And a shit ton of other stuff I forgot. It's just filthy okay. 🫶🏼

•

First time writing Javi P and I'm still getting my groove back.. FEEDBACK APPRECIATED.

•

The sun tingles on your skin, the echos of music in the distance, and groups of drunk spring breakers. You wanted to do a quick trip to Miami make some extra cash but it's all turned into a cliché you being here.

You yourself are a college student by day, journalist major , but something totally different by night.

When you booked this trip you didn't have in your brain it would be the same week as spring break instead it was entirely different.. Miami is the hot spot for drug trafficking in the states and a pipe line straight to Colombia.

journalism is hard , but journalism as a woman to cover politics and events going on around the world is entirely different.

Right now the big story is Pablo Escobar and the whole world of narcos.

A little birdie may or may not have told you some inside info on people being in town this week and you were here to see what you could find out for yourself.

After a quick tan, you headed back to the condo you rented for the weekend, gathered your things to switch into your alter ego for the evening.

•

You show up to the club, it's in the not so safest area of downtown Miami but it's not your typical strip club. The inside dark, dimly lit by red lighting.. booths all black leather. Different stages throughout the building, hallways the lead to different rooms for different fantasies.

This was a gateway to pleasure, the gateway to live out your deepest secrets, fantasy's , and to just let go of reality and let someone else take charge.

For you this was a way to relive the stress college and work put on you, but it was also a way to gather information because even the strongest, richest deadliest people have fantasy's and typically you will find them lurking in a place like this where no one questions a god damn thing.

You got here early to scope things out, you've worked here before but it's been a few months and putting yourself in this position it's best to stay steps ahead.

You got ready for the evening , you started with a skin tight black latex mini dress with a cut out thong back. the straps with buckles clinging to the curves of your ass. black stiletto boots. Your long hair sleek down past your waist and dark red lips.

You made your rounds looking for customers as well as any familiar faces when you spotted a man at the bar.

tight pants, aviators on, sipping whiskey, talking to every woman the passes by.

Looks like you aren't the only one here to gather information. Javier Peña DEA agent. Your goal tonight was to avoid him, you wanted information just as badly as him if not worse.

You did a few dances, took some customers back to the poison of their choice but so far the birdie lied to you. You have not made any progress on gather information till now.

You walk back out and a whole section has been taken up, tequila bottles being brought, all woman scurrying over because they were the high rollers the ones that spend money.. but they were also associates of the cartel.

You bide your time, that's your specialty. You let the other girls who lean more submissive do their job, your job is to lure in the men or woman that for one night needs to be dominated. That needs to be out of control, needs to get away from reality and be put in another position another life where you dictate what goes on.

Finally one of them walk over to you, you recognize him. He's high up in the cartel, not under Escobar but he definitely has alot of knowledge. "So what's your poison." He looks you up and down. Hyper fixating on your boots, and the rope you have strapped to your garter on your thigh.

You reach into your clutch pulling out a collar with a leash attached to it.. "can mommy put this on you.?" Sí, he responds. Typically you're very good at blocking other things out around you to just focus on the moment with the customer but you notice a set of eyes your direction.

Javi is still surrounded by woman, but he looks bored, or maybe he is just evaluating the situation. whatever you didn't care, either way you just wanted him to stop staring and stay out of your way.

You pull the leash leading the man back to a secluded section. back here there are many things you can get into.

"Kneel"

you demanded as the man got on his knees.. "

"are you going to do what I ask.?"

You pull on the leash making the man wimper.. "sí.. " "sí who..?? Who am I.??"

He didn't answer so you pull the leash , and the man is now on all fours.

you smack the man with the tiny whip you have.. "YES WHO.." "mistress.. Sí mistress, tie me up." The man begging.

"You lack manners."

You hear footsteps coming your direction, but you're sure it's just another worker and a client. you were annoyed once you seen who.

Javi is now in the booth next to where you are. Sitting so he has eyes on you. Either this man is on to you, or the man you have on a leash.

"Because you were a bad boy mistress has to punish you. "Lay down." Man obeys. You caress his cheeks with the leather on your boots, toying with him..

"mistress is gonna step on you now, teach you manners as I am in charge. Next time you think to not call my name you will remember the weight and point of my boots onto your cheek.. the burning pleasure to be pinned to the ground looking up at my thighs begging to touch mistress but you can't."

You hear conversation in the background, javí just told the other girl to leave him because he was bored. But he stayed. Eyes locked in.

You step on the man's face, he cried in a rather contradictory moan, whether it was pain pleasure or both. You look away for a millisecond, Javi sitting legs open, swear you can see the bulge in his pants, smoking a cigarette watching you.

You look back to Javi, licking your lips caressing your own breast.. if he's gonna watch might as well make it worth it. Typically there is where you'd pry for information from customers but how can you do that with a fucking DEA agent right next to you.

Session ends, the man pays you. Invites you back to the house they have, it wasn't much information but it was something.

You clean up your props, and walk over to the bar they have back in this area. You have a brief conversation with the bartender, when the stool next to you becomes occupied.

"Whiskey neat, and whatever mistress is having." Javi smirks at you.

"Oh am I supposed to thank you now, does this work on all woman.?"

"Well considering you are big on manners, maybe you should thank me." Javi says with a sarcastic chuckle.

"And maybe you should see.. uh what's your name? That I demand the manners around here not you."

"I'm Javi, but I think you knew that already..."

"excuse me.?"

"You heard me honey.. who are you.?"

"I am no one you need to worry about, here for that same reasons you are."

"I doubt that baby."

If you doubt that, why don't you cuff me right here.?"

You lean into him. Your lips hovering above his ear.

"So the mistress, is a switch.?" Javi cocks his head.

"Let's just say, I adapt" you take the shot and leave Javi at the bar.

•

The shift ends and you head out for the evening. you exchange your latex, for a pair of bell bottom jeans and a tight black top.

It's late and you are debating on stalking the address that was given to you. You would take anything, even if was the most un useful piece of information. you just wanted to feel that this trip was worth it.

Fumbling with the keys to unlock the condo door , you were startled by a man sitting in the chair outside the door.

"How-"

not saying a word javi stands up, grabbing your throat pulling you into a kiss. Instantly heated.

Nothing behind it besides lust and possibly a common enemy. You reach down and grip javis hard bulge not even being discreet making Javi let out a groan.

"You like that. I can see how har-"

javis hand covers your mouth. "how about you let me in control baby, Open this door so I can fuck you."

You obliged.

Door swings open. Javi pushing you backwards through the condo, leading you to the bedroom. stripping you of every article of clothing every step you took, till you were left in your lace lingerie.

"Jesus Christ." He groans. I need you.

"Then fucking take me."

Javi throws you to your back on to the bed. he doesn't even take your panties off, he rips them in two. He grabs your things pulling you to the edge of the bed.

Javi sheds his pants no underwear under. which was so slutty for a man. And that ignited your want for him more.

As much as you hated to admit it ,since you seen him tonight a part of you wanted this.

He is rock hard, and the biggest cock you have ever seen, and let's face it.. you've seen your fair share.

Javi could see the thoughts by your facial expression.

"What baby, my cock too big..? You dish it but can't take it.?"

"I said fucking take me Javier"

and that's all it took.

No foreplay. No building up for his cock. He lines up with your entrance and shoves the full length if his cock into you.

"Hmmm, were you thinking of this all night, I seen you watching me "Javi said

"Is that why this pussy is so fucking wet. Were you thinking of how big you thought my cock was while you stepped on that piece of shit."

Your body arches and you go to move and Javi pulls you back with another thrust.

"Don't fucking move "he snarls, tell me you won't move. "

"I won't move.."

"say I won't move papi, and I will take your cock like a good girl."

You smirk. He thinks he can pull this off. But he doesn't realize how good at this you are. Say it, he demands. Slamming your cunt over , and over and over.

"Papi ah fuck." You move again.

This is a game to you. This sent Javi overboard. He shoves your legs above your head pining you to the point you can't move even if you wanted too. At this point you can't say anything besides scream.

"Javi Javi fuck I'm gonna cum , please papi."

Javi still has you pinned, his pace hasn't changed just completely running you. Javi grazes over your clit with his thumb, and he had you exactly where he wanted you.

you have came to the conclusion this battle you lost. Damn was he good.

"You wanna cum , baby..?"

"Yes papi I do, please don't make me beg."

"What if that's what I want.? What if I want you to feel what it's like.?" "

"Then make me beg Javier"

you could see it in his eyes when you called him Javier and not Javi. that it did something.

Javi pulled his cock out of you, leaving you feeling completely empty, but his thumb stayed applying pressure to your clit, continuously edging you. He would get you right there and just stop. Javi did it again, looking at you straight in the eyes, as your eyes water begging for a release.

"Javier please, please fuck me, please make me cum, please give me all of your cock, I need it, papi pleas-"

Javi cuts you off by shoving his cock back in you. it took three thrusts for you to see black and be taken over by your orgasm. Javi didn't stop after you came.

"Hmmm so slutty begging for papi to make you cum, but you didn't think I was gonna stop after right..?"

You're unable to speak.

"I'm gonna ruin this tight little pussy, so when you think you're in control.. you remember this, you remember begging for my cock. "Javi is thrusting furiously.

"Mhmmm fuck it's so good baby I won't even lie. I'm close."

"Javier cum for me, wherever you want."

"Wherever "he grunts.

"Oh baby I'm gonna cum in this pussy I'm ruining you."

Javi has his release and he collapsed next to you.

"So you gonna tell me how you found me.?"

"Baby I work for the government it's not hard."

You pass out. when you wake up Javi is gone. All that remains of him is his tie he left.

•

6 months later

You ended up scoring an internship at a tabloid magazine It's a political based. You told the boss about your knowledge on the cartel and events in Miami connecting to Colombia. he told you that you have 3 months to come up with a story that would change the world. All the dirt. On the cartel. On the government. EVERYTHING. He booked you on the next flight out to Colombia.

•

•

It's been about a week since you have been here. You ran into a DEA agent yesterday. Steve .. you think that's his name. you ease dropped as steve and his wife had dinner. Siping on your wine, acting oblivious.

Dressed like any other woman alone in here. Then you heard the name ... Javier.

You got the bare minimum, Steve and Javi are partners. Trying to pay attention to the conversation you were interrupted by the ache between your thighs.

remembering that night you shared. That ever since nothing has even came close to what you had with Javi.

You wonder if he knows you are here, how easy it was last time for him to find you.. I mean you have been here for a week already.

Dinner was useless, you go back to your hotel, there's girls out working the corner and you think maybe you go that route. Befriend one of them, maybe get them to introduce you to their pimp, because everything that happens here leads to Escobar.

You gave up for the night. exhaustion sets in and jet lag. Just when you were about to sleep your phone rings.

"Hello"

"hey it's the office, boss said he got you a meeting at the U.S agency in the morning, some DEA agent is willing to speak."

Who you have a name.?"

"No that's all I know, just be there 8:30 am. "Okay got it thank you."

The next morning

You didn't sleep. You laid awake thinking of every possible scenario. Then back to how Javi had you pinned. then back to how the hell you are gonna pull this off.

You pulled on your skirt, button up blouse with your lace bra slightly peaking through.

You arrive to the agency about 10 mins early.

"Miss.."the receptionist says.. "they are ready for you."

"Great , thank you."

You walk back and they lead you to an office. They seat you at two desks pushed together.

"Morning, how are you.?" I'm Steve. He reaches out to shake your hand.

"Good morning, thank you for meeting with me. My boss said he spoke to you.?"

"Yes when I was In Miami I knew him pretty well, he reached out saying he had journalist over here undercover putting something together."

"That's great I really do appreciate it, I'm lowkey I'll stay out of your way, just anything you can tell me before other journalists know would be incredible. I'm really trying to make a name-" you feeeze.

Javi walks in.

"Oh by the way, this is my partner Javier pená. Javi this is a friend of a friend from Miami. "

"Miami.. "Javi trails off with a small chuckle.

"Oh yeah that's right jav, you went there a few months ago.. her boss said she has some inside information about what's going on there, that she was undercover."

"I know. "Javi replies.

You know.? Steve asks confused..

"Javi you didn't.. "

"we did.. hello Javier." You smirk.

•

You leave the embassy, it went well.. well as well as it could.

Steve and Javi seem like they will cooperate with you.

You go to the coffee shop across the street needing the pick me up. You choose to sit in the corner by the window so you can watch outside. But still be discreet.

Javier is outside smoking a cigarette. tight jeans, button up shirt, aviators on and that mustache you just wanna stratal but you won't.

You aren't giving in this time, this is strictly business. Lost in thought your startled by a chair being pulled out.

"What are you exactly doing here." Javi's tone very stern.

"I told you this morning."

"Why didn't you tell me in Miami.?" he questioned.

"Well we didn't exactly do alot of talking, and I just figured you put something together of who I was or you just didn't care... I didn't think I would ever see you again. Or I would even be here."

Javi stars at you, his hands linger under the table, as he touches your thighs moving it up under your skirt.

"No javier. I'm not messing this up, this is strictly business."

You let out a tiny whimper only you and him could hear in this crowded shop.

He continues stopping between your thighs grazing over your panties. Already becoming wet.

"You help me... I help you.." Javi whispers.

Javi moves your panties back sticking two fingers gently in.

"Javi we are in public. Ah-"

"shh baby. No one is paying attention. "

You couldn't believe what was going on. you of all people don't kink shame or judge any situation. But this is different.

He makes you completely submissive.

You are letting this man finger you in a coffee shop.

"Javier "you spoke his name with a light moan.

Finally snapping back to reality you grab his hand shoving it away.

"Goodbye Javier." You left not uttering another word.

•

A few days go by, it's been slow. News on the tv of another bombing, but this one was the most devastating.

Rumors of sending agents back to the states fly around.

You haven't heard too much from Javi, honestly you haven't heard from him at all besides what Steve tells you. one of the girls downstairs mentioned that a girl she knows gives Javi information, which you knew what that meant. oddly it made you so fucking jealous.

It's getting late In the evening and there is a knock at your door. You peep out the peep hole and who it is just infuriated you.

"What the fuck do you want Javier. Shouldn't you be with one of your informants."

You go to turn away from him and he grabs your arm pulling you back to him.

"I'm here aren't I. Javi looks at you with dark eyes.

"Why." You let him come in.

"Because I need something from you."

"You tried this the other day, Javi if you want sex there is tons of woman here, go do that I am busy.. "

javi comes behind you, breath hot on your ear.

"I could have any of them, but that's not what I want.. what I need.." his voice sounding desperate.

"Javi pussy is pussy... just go.."

Javi nibbles your neck leaving you whimpering.

"I need something.."

"Fine Javi, what is it.?"

"I need the mistress."

You turn around fast to look at him, not saying a word, you take off javis tie.

"Okay. Get naked. And don't fucking speak."

•

You strip. You have on a black silk lingerie set. Javi is now naked laying in the middle of the bed. You grabbed some things out of your bag, rope, and the tie Javi left in Miami.

"Are you missing this..?"

You trail it down his body, chest, to stomach to across his cock.

Javi reaches to touch your ass.

"did I tell you that you you'll touch me." You smack his hand.

" No", he replies. Breath shakey.

"No who.?"

"No mistress.."

"good boy,i have to punish you okay. You disobeyed me.

"Okay mistress."

"Good.. hand above your head."

You take javis hands, bound them together with one of his ties. You tie him to the mental bed frame.

"Do you know how many times, I've touched myself with your tie, wishing I could grind my pussy on you how I was on the tie does it feel good knowing you make me weak."

Javi groans.. hips bucking..

"This is really my punish-"

you smack him across the face.

"Once again did I say you could fucking speak.?"

Javis eyes dark, with need, for lust, for control.

"It's killing you isn't it, to be in the other end.. but this is why you asked for right.. tell me.."

"it is mistress.." Javi breathless, unable to speak more than that.

"good boy.."

you start kissing him. Working your way, down his jaw to his neck down his body, to the tip of his cock.

Javi groans.

"You utter a word.."

"or what.." Javi manages to speak.

you crawl up his body positioning his face between your thighs.

"Shut the fuck up and let me fuck your face, like I fucked your tie. My pussy is the only thing your mouth is good for."

You plop your self down on Javi pulling your panties aside meeting his warm hungry tongue, swirling over your clit, sucking licking flicking every sensitive spot like his life depends on it, which it kinda did.

you rock your hips, you both meeting a rhythm, when it took over you. Grinding on his mustache lost on the lust and the feeling of control.

He's addictive.

You feel your release building but you can't give in, you need to drag this out.

" I've thought about this all day, riding your mustache , coving it in my squirt."

Javi curses under his breath.

" I heard that."

He moans continues devoring your pussy. "Fuck Javier"

he groans again.

As you feel yourself leak all on him, you pull your self down to taste yourself on his mouth.. he's kissing you with such need, such want. You can still feel his body language that he craves being in control that he needs to let that go.

"Mistress.." Javi shakily says between kisses.

"You redeemed yourself, Javier.. but we aren't quite finished."

You move between his thighs, you grab his cock stroking it, twitching with every little move. It was so hard that it looked almost painful. You put his cock in your mouth no warning and the most animal like moan left this man's body. You bob your head up and down, shoving it in your throat as far as you can. Gagging on it covering him in your spit.

You gently squeeze on his balls and his whole body twitches.

"Javier you are holding out on me, fucking let go."

Javi groans. "Mistress, I need you. Please."

"Please what Javier"

"God damn it woman, I need you to fuck me I've had a shitty-"

You cock your head.

"And who is in fucking control.? I am. I'll fuck you when I want to fuck you.. you asked for this."

And that's when it hits you. You want to submit to him so bad and just make his day better, but maybe in a way he needs this as a lesson. You need to stay strong. Because as bad as he wants you to fuck him you want to fuck him more.

"You want me to fuck you huh..? Okay fine."

You climb on top of Javi, sliding his cock inside your wetness. You bounce up and down taking every single inch. your ass slapping against his thighs. You lean back to a slight arch to take him even deeper and to an angle that hits your clit slightly. Lost completely on riding him you were taken by completely surprise when a hand was now wrapped around your throat.

Javi has untied the bound. This man is insane.

"Javier" you moan.

Javi grips your throat tighter.

"You are a switch.. I knew it." He growls.

"Only for you..."

Javi reaches up cupping your cheek as you continue to ride him. His thumb brushes your lips and you gently suck on it. You feel yourself tighten around him.

"Fucking tight, clenching all around my cock."

"Javier.. fuck- oh my- "

"Say the words baby..."

You knew exactly the words he needed, wanted to hear.

"Fuck me Javier" "fuck me papi."

Javi growled picking you up. Flipping you on to your back. Not wasting anytime Javi pumped inside you, every thrust kissing your cervix.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you.. that attitude.. the whimpers when your pussy clinches on my cock. Months it's been on my mind." Javi grunts slamming his cock in and out.

"Javier- mhmmm-"

"That cock feels good doesn't it baby, you and I we are one and the same.. craving control but losing it at the same time."

Something about him slamming his cock in you but saying these things were pulling you to the edge, there is something here, something you don't know if either one of you would explore but for now this is what it was.

Javi looks down at you, his face inches from yours. You gave in to your intrusive thoughts, hands in his hair pulling him into your kiss. Javi gives in, moving one of your legs to wrap around him keeping him as close you you as possible, this kiss was different. Still hungry but in a different way.

"Javier I-" you let out a loud moan as Javi circles your clit sending you over the edge.

"I know baby-" Javi grunts and you feel him spill inside you.

Javi collapses on you, and you get Deja vu.

"Are you gonna leave me again." You ask

"I don't think I can this time. I don't think I can leave you ever again." Javi sighs.

"In what world Javier does this work.?"

"The world where we only submit to one another and that's this one."

[hitlikehammers]

forgive me if I jump✨

steddie post-s4 established relationship ♥️

~ for @pearynice 💕🎂

He shoots up at the sound of the flatline; the screaming follows him as he wakes. By the time Steve’s hand shoots out to the other side of the bed, his pulse is already in his throat—it doesn’t get any calmer for finding it empty, sheets cold under his clammy palm but at the same time: it doesn’t get any worse. ~~~ OR: nightmares. trauma. fear. and LOVE being bigger than all of it. 💕♥️💕

🎶 title and concept inspired by this context-less post from Noah Kahan

(which ultimately became this, for reference, which is not so much aligned in terms of inspiration 🫠)

He shoots up at the sound of the flatline; the screaming follows him as he wakes.

By the time Steve’s hand shoots out to the other side of the bed, his pulse is already in his throat—it doesn’t get any calmer for finding it empty, sheets cold under his clammy palm but at the same time: it doesn’t get any worse.

Because it’s gotten less common with time. But to call it uncommon would be wishful thinking. Dishonest.

And there are so many things Steve’s learned in this relationship—not least how nothing that came before it could ever compare, really; or maybe couldn’t really have been called a relationship at all, more than varyingly convenient ways not to be alone—but one of those many things Steve’s learned?

Honesty.

Just…painful, terrifying, vulnerable fucking truthful, ripped out from the center of his fucking chest honesty. Nothing less. And sure, it’s usually messy.

But every single time, it’s more than worth it.

So: finding the other side of the bed empty and cold isn’t as routine anymore, which is progress. But it isn’t unheard of.

So Steve doesn’t wait for his pulse to settle before he swings himself out of bed to go find the warmth that’s missing at his side.

He hangs onto the railing on his way down the stairs, still shaking off the daze of the particular horror that’d visited his dream tonight, and uses the dig of his nails around the grip to coax himself to waking, to shaking the stupor off a little quicker; to focusing on the mission he needs to complete for the sake of his own heart in more ways than one: to find his boyfriend, the better, far-more-precious half of every part of him, and try to fix what he can of what drove Eddie from their bed, and comfort what can’t be fixed straight-out.

But in the same turn: Steve needs to find his boyfriend so that his own heart can stall how it’s trying to tear out of his skin for the way it’s still slamming against his ribs, through his veins. Steve needs to find him, and soak in every form of proof that he’s there, he’s safe, he’s breathing, he’s not dea—

Yeah. Steve needs to find his boyfriend.

And whether or not said boyfriend has escaped to his now-typical refuge: Steve’ll be better served to meet him wherever he is, the more awake that he is when he gets there.

He stuffs bare feet into the first shoes he finds—they don’t fit quite right, meaning they’re Eddie’s, but they’re close enough. They’ll do.

He grabs his keys from the table, plus his jacket because it’s the middle of the fucking night—doesn’t even have to consciously check in the dark to know Eddie’s is next to his own, because of course Eddie didn’t get his fucking coat, so he grabs that too and takes the garage-side door over the front, slings Eddie’s coat over his shoulder, and it’s autopilot that gets him in his car, just to back out and swing it at an angle, front wheels on the grass so the headlights will help him out—maybe he’ll have to jump the battery from Eddie’s van in the morning but that’s so fucking secondary; almost doesn’t register at all.

It does register just a little that his parents would kill him, to know he’d driven on the grass but, like: that only registers a sense of twisted satisfaction, and whole-bodied resolve: fuck his parents, he’d do, and has done, things far more drastic for the sake of the man he loves.

He climbs out again in seconds, ties Eddie’s coat around his waist in hopes it’ll hold more securely on the way up, and makes damn sure the ladder he heaves from where it’s propped along the wall inside the garage sits even and stands locked on the surface of the driveway before he climbs to the edge of fucking annoying-ass slant of the roof where it hangs closest to the ground, so he can climb up and around to the peak, lift up to the top, and swing into the tiny little hideaway Eddie’s made of the overhang outside their bedroom.

Climbing up here to find Eddie has definitely given Steve a whole new set of reasons to hate this fucking house, and its goddamn torture maze of a layout; he cannot wait until they save enough for their own place. They both agreed not to touch Steve’s trust from his grandad if they could help it outside an emergency, not yet, but…Steve’s beginning to think they should revisit that decision. They were gonna save and stay until Erica was graduated and gone, the last of them safe and out, but.

Maybe somewhere new, somewhere far enough—

He gets close enough for Eddie to startle—fuck, he must be out of it, stuck in his head so far to have missed Steve’s anything-but-silent ascent, especially across the shingles—and oh.

Oh, his Eddie.

Steve doesn’t know if distance, more time, or anything in this world at all they haven’t tried as yet can help—but meeting Eddie’s frantic gaze, catching the way his chest’s still heaving but nearly silent, too quiet for Steve to have caught before; that split second where Eddie is raw and hurting, eyes sunken and lips gnawed bright: Steve’ll plan later.

For now he closes the distance as quickly as Eddie does in kind, once he unfreezes, blinks back to the moment, what’s real: arms reaching, needing while Steve pulls him close and covers every trembling inch of Eddie he can reach with touch, with warmth, stroking his hair, breathing deep and even, murmuring low as he presses Eddie tight to his chest because he’s learned that Eddie’s nightmares come in a lot of varieties, but the ones that drive him up here? Away from their bed?

They’re the ones where he loses Steve, one way or another, and staying next to Steve feels unreal, still, for the way they claw and take gold that hard—they’re working on that, though.

But while it’s never been said out loud: in the wake of living that loss, even if only in his mind, Eddie gravitates toward proof of life, tangible ways to drive out the lies his sleeping mind concocts; it unlocks the tension in him with somewhere safe to fall apart—Steve’s arms.

Somewhere safe to unravel into: the rise-and-fall of Steve’s chest.

“Another one?” Steve eventually mouths at the shell of the ear he’s curled down to press lips along, gentle, rhythmic: real.

Eddie nods, as if he needs to, and presses tighter into Steve’s chest in the way that makes Steve aware keenly of his own pulse, the pressure on his lungs: by rights it shouldn’t be so steadying, so comforting, in the way that it is.

But it is, and he feels Eddie loosen, melt into him, and take what feels like a genuine breath in for the first time in far too long, straight between Steve’s collarbones before he stills.

Usually that’s how it goes. He stills, and he soaks in all the little proof points of Steve’s living, working, real body there against him, until he can let go of whatever haunted his dreams.

Or else: let go enough.

But then he’s tensing, and Steve frowns, already concerned, already preparing to catch and to soothe as Eddie tips his head up and pins red-rimmed eyes so wide on Steve, his cheeks the slightest bit shiny for tears Steve’s shirt must by soaked in, but he hadn’t noticed. That was the least important thing to pay attention to.

“You too?” Eddie asks, hoarse and devastated and Steve doesn’t get it at first, just then Eddie’s hand replaces his cheek on Steve’s chest, the pressure making a point of what’s racing underneath still, giving him away and—

Oh. Well.

Yeah.

This isn’t about Steve though, so he just strokes the pale-pink line at the corner of Eddie’s lips—he doesn’t mean to go all the way down to cup a hand around the side of his neck.

He often forgets that sometimes muscle memory doesn’t just leave when it’s not necessarily needed anymore—sometimes it lingers.

Sometimes it makes a hand on his boyfriend’s neck in affection land so that fingertips can count his pulse, because there was a time, there was a time and it—

“The hospital,” Eddie gasps, knows that’s one of the worst—knows wherever it starts it always ends with when Eleven told them the only way to get Henry’s hold out of Eddie for good, make sure that Eddie didn’t go down with the rest of it, was to let him crash then bring him back—and it’d killed Steve, it’d broken him in ways that weren’t just still tender, but that still hadn’t fully closed and maybe never would but Eddie knows that—

Which is how they end up sitting up, leaning back, Eddie’s hands now framing Steve’s face and drawing in for a slow, soft, but incalculably deepkiss that does help calm Steve’s heart: it’s not aimed to go anywhere, and lead to anything. It’s pure affection and care, and it doesn’t soften his pulse, or even slow it really, but it’s not…it’s more.

Like that love and care are flowing in when the valves open and working to convince him down to his cells that the things he fears—and did fear, in person, lived through and fell apart for—aren’t true, here. Didn’t end in the way that would have killed him, too.

“Fuck, Stevie, and I wasn’t there, I’m sorry,” and Steve’s drawn upward in the process of being pulled to lie on top of Eddie, roles reversing as he gets wrapped tight in Eddie’s arms and tucked beneath his chin where Steve’s pretty sure it’s on purpose that he’s crushed against to that wild pulse at its berth, and yeah.

Yeah, Steve breathes a little easier for it. Just…knowing this way. He always does, after that specific memory fuels his nightmares.

He thinks it says a great deal, that neither of them has to speak the need for this kind of comfort, this kind of reassurance. Steve knows it’s sings in his own veins like he’s never felt before, with anyone else, to not only be seen, but to be known for the whole of it. The whole of him.

He lets himself have a few more seconds, more than a few more heartbeats under his ear because Eddie’s still reeling for whatever drove him up here—but Steve lets the sounds of Eddie’s lungs filling up ground him before he wraps his arms around Eddie’s middle now and sits up, pulls Eddie with him.

“Don’t ever be sorry,” Steve kisses the crest of his cheekbone before he asks, so careful, so gentle, and only because the more he knows the better he can help, they’ve learned this.

But the honesty—as he knows just as well by now—sometimes has to hurt in the process.

“Which one drove you up here?”

Eddie shakes his head—not ready yet, and that’s fine, that’s so okay—and he moves to lean, to burrow in Steve’s neck and that’s okay, too, but his eyes catch on the dim headlight-glow against the tarp over the pool and Steve doesn’t even have to be this close to catch the flinch that follows so he asks soft, and only as he guides Eddie into his chest at the same time:

“The car?”

There’ve been more than a couple rough nights caused by contortions involving Steve’s car; Steve can’t know for sure which got center stage tonight, or if it was a new horror show altogether: just knows his chest burns for how Eddie trembles against him—still.

Eddie nods against his neck, though, doesn’t try to fight or deny at all and Steve leans to press his lips to the top of his head when Eddie speaks only—unwaveringly—against the place where Steve pulse beats at the line of his throat:

“Leaving.”

And Steve knows how he means it, and if anything could kill him more than knowing there’s space in Eddie’s head for the absurdity of such a thing—that Steve ever could, ever would even think about leaving him, what they have, what they are working together so hard to make for keeps in a forever kind of way—

The only thing that might have the capacity to kill him more is how that space in Eddie’s head doesn’t fade as quick as a dream, and follows him here. To this.

“But then, you were gone but then there was a,” Eddie hiccups a little—Steve can’t feel if there are tears but it doesn’t matter; there’s clearly heartbreak and that’s bad enough; “an accident, a bad accident, you…”

“Are right here, babe,” Steve takes hold of him and leans back like Eddie did before for him, tucks Eddie tighter up against his own heartbeat which is still heavy but calmer, now, so he whispers fierce as he buries his face in Eddie’s hair:

“I’m right here.”

And Steve holds him there; only moves to pull his unzipped coat up and around them both, to make a cocoon of what it means to live and breathe and feel this much, still, after being been hurt enough to easily have snuffed it all to ash.

It’s Eddie’s turn to need that proof of life: undeniable.

“We didn’t even fight,” Eddie mouths more than anything to Steve’s skin where his chin’s dragged down the collar of his shirt; “you just,” his voice breaks again, and Steve’s arms tighten further by default; “couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t handle…”

He breathes shaky, and shakes his head kinda nonsensically against Steve’s chest, only slightly, never sacrificing where his cheek lies and his ear holds to hear, to listen, and Steve cradles the back of Eddie’s head closer to him, breathes steady and slow as best he can just to try and give Eddie somewhere to grasp at, a foothold to stand on. Anything.

Everything.

“I’m so scared, Steve,” Eddie finally halfway-sobs, so lost and desperate, and clinging so hard onto Steve that it’s tight in Steve’s throat, in Steve’s chest, too. “Yeah, it’s gotten better, but I’m still so fucking scared.”

And Steve gets it. Steve understands. Steve’s not immune to it himself in the slightest.

He still hates it exponentially more for how it hurts Eddie.

“It’s bad enough that that, that place still haunts me, haunts us both when its fucking burned to dust, when there’s nothing, we couldn’t even getthere, fuck, fuck, for all intents it doesn’t even existanymore,” and Eddie sounds bitter for it, which Steve understands well enough; he hates that they gave so much, and ultimately won the war, but that the war didn’t end with the victory. That it claws at them like this. That it hurts Eddie so much, for how soft and big his heart truly is—Steve would have him no other way.

But Steve would give anything to take that hurt from under those ribs and into himself, just to spare him.

“Jesus,” Eddie’s inhale catches, and he shakes more than he was—Steve pulls the coat around them closer, though he’s not sure he actually can, but fuck if he’s not gonna try, just in case any part of it’s something he can help fight back.

“But then I have to dream, still, of losing you to the simplest bullshit, these, these normal fucking tragedies anyway, after everything we survived,” Eddie’s voice pitches louder, but stretches thin to breaking; “or straight up losing you because of mybullshit—”

And that, that’s also not new, so neither of them can possibly claim it’s a surprise how Steve hauls Eddie up and stops the words, the simple suggestion with the press of his mouth because: no.

Steve will spend the rest of his life proving it—he’s not immune himself, knows he needs it too, sometimes—but if kissing the nonsense quiet, smothering the sheer pain that the very thought lances through him, twists in his ribs with how much Steve feels the very opposite?

So fucking be it.

“I’m afraid that there’s still stuff you don’t know, even now, not yet,” Eddie whispers between them finally, a little wet on the last syllable in a way that wrings Steve’s heart, and once upon a time Steve would have said that in itself was just so very not-Eddie.

But Steve knows better, now. Knows Eddie better, now, and knows this part of him that’s rarely been trusted to the world at all and while Steve hates with everything in him that it has to exist at all, he’s so goddamn grateful, fucking honored to be trusted; to have proven himself good enough to merit it: to hold the privilege in the palm of his hands to try and keep it safe, and make it better where he can, always.

His Eddie: through and through.

“And then when you find out you’ll know, you’ll realize it was all a fucking waste, on me—“

And that: that’s more nonsense. So Steve’s mouth knows automatically where to go.

Because Steve’s in this forever. Steve’s in this for always. He’s thought himself a romantic from the first suggestion of the idea and yet he had no goddamn clue until he bumped shoulders with a pretty fucking nerd in a hellscape and felt butterflies; until he hauled a body everyone else screamed at him to leave, they couldn’t risk slowing down but they couldn’t understand what Steve already knew:

If the body weren’t a person, living and breathing and already winding tight through Steve’s heart, Steve would be dead, too. He knew that without a fucking doubt, even then.

And so now it’s only grown—the feeling and the certainty and the impossibility of ever letting go—and Steve’s learned well these past months how to say that, maybe best, in the way he kisses deeper than he used to know how, to feel it deeper than he knew anyone could—more likely than not only possible, really, because it’s Eddie.

And what he has with Eddie is something he never knew to think of seeing in the world at all, let alone something he’d even get to touch for himself—and then, to keep?

Steve Harrington’s not going fucking anywhere, not for anything.

He keeps his lips locked to Eddie’s until just past the point where they’re breathless and it could be terrifying—but Eddie chases it even as Steve eases them away, panting and gripping at each other as their chests knock, eyes blown in the dark to see everything.

And so he sees Eddie trembling—which yeah, he has been since Steve found him, Steve’s felt in it holding the man in his arms, and they’re both still levelling for the sake of needing air—but it’s not just the kiss. It’s not just a tightness Steve put there for pushing the way their tongues were trying to coax each other’s soul out whole.

So Steve leans to suck at the visible beat under Eddie’s jaw for a second before he tucks Eddie back in against him and lets him blanket across Steve’s chest, stretches so he can better nestle the base of Steve’s throat.

“Never,” Steve speaks it low, not least so that Eddie feels it rumble where he rests his head, like it could shake straight into that rapid fire brain of his; “I would never. I could never,” he hums; Eddie’s breath catches just short of a whine:

“It’s not possible.”

Doesn’t matter how long they’ve been this, together: Steve cannot imagine his life without Eddie. It’s not even just that he doesn’t want to; it’s that he can’t remember why it would be worth it, now that he knows what his life was built for: this.

Them.

Finally, after beat-after-beat-after-beat of just their gasping coming down, his breath so so fast, and voice so so fragile, Eddie tries to be, what’s the word Rob’s always throwing at him?

Contrary.

(He thinks that’s it.)

“But you—”

This time Steve doesn’t still Eddie’s lips with his own, not for lack of wanting, but definitely for the recognition that there are things that need saying, much as Steve used to chafe at too many words in a row: he’s learned that too, with Eddie. And he’s so fucking grateful for it; the life they’ve had to live, as much as the life they’re lucky enough to live now—all of it kinda needs the words.

“I’m not some defenseless maiden in one of your campaigns,” Steve tells him in the simplest, surest terms he knows; “I know you, you let me know you,” and he kisses the bow of Eddie’s lips at the top before he noses against the line of his jaw:

“And whatever bits and pieces that maybe haven’t seen the light yet,” he kisses the point of that jaw and goes further, mirrors Eddie again to kiss a ring around the blood beating still so fucking fast at his neck:

“I’m so ready to know them, and hold them close when they’re the scared parts, and square up when they’re the demons and fight them with you, and just,” and Steve finally just kisses that beating heart, when it pounds into the purse of his waiting lips like a gift all its own before he straightens enough to meet Eddie’s eyes:

“I signed on for all of you,” Steve brushes Eddie’s hair behind one ear, delicate and adoring as he’s flooded with how true the words are in his own chest: “because all of you, is what I fell for.”

“You can’t fall for what you don’t know is there—“ Eddie tries to protest, though it’s weak.

The fact that it’s there at all, though, isn’t something Steve was ever going to allow to stand.

“When did you know you loved D&D?”

Eddie blinks; frowns.

“What?”

Steve tilts his head, raises a brow: waits.

Eddie lets out a slow breath and answers, kinda hesitant—uncomprehending, but honest:

“First time I read more than a page of The Player’s Handbook at a flea market.”

Steve can picture it, the innocence; the wonder—how little has really changed, not at the heart of him.

“So you didn’t know everything yet, right?” Steve presses on. “But you still knew?”

And it’s in the inflection, the way he says that last word that Eddie gets it—it’s what Steve has wanted to get picked up and seen—and Eddie tries to sigh, to shake his head:

“Steve—“

“And you still feel the same, maybe more, now?”

“Steve, that’s just a fucking game. You, you’re,” and Steve would like to dwell on Eddie calling it just a game, not least to preen a little that it’s done to elevate his own significance in Eddie’s affections, but it’s not the time, and the tone of Eddie’s voice is too fucking bleak:

“I’m so fucked up, Stevie,” and he sounds just…so forlorn, so resigned; “I’m still so fucked up,” and there Eddie shifts, moves just enough to reach Steve’s face, to stroke his cheek like he’s precious beyond measure, his eyes glowing in the wan light that the car’s still giving, glinting with a welling up of tears that pull at the linings of vital things inside Steve’s chest.

“You’re everything there is, Steve. You’re what makes breathing still feel worthwhile, after everything,” and it’s hard, because seeing Eddie this way is killing Steve by a thousand fucking strikes but then, he can’t complain for being loved like this, would never; not least when he feels the exact same to the fucking letter.

“I’m damaged fucking goods, just a goddamn losing bet,” Eddie’s shaking his head and Steve can’t pretend he’s never felt the same but he likewise can’t pretend he’ll stand for Eddie seeing himself in a way that just so…

Wrong.

So he darts a hand and laces his grasp with Eddie’s in that way that’s become innate as he leads Eddie palm to his own chest and presses hard, to the point of pain, and it feels so fucking right as he near-hisses, pledges like a vow:

“You’re my heart.”

Eddie stills, barely seems to blink, stares at their joined hands. Presses close to feel, even harder.

Only more right.

“Simple as that, man,” Steve’s words land like a shrug, a given. “You’re kinda…the beat that keeps me breathing.”

Steve doesn’t know if that’s corny, or weird to say: but he doesn’t really fucking care, because it’s the unvarnished truth and he stands by it. And he thinks he’s more than qualified to say it and mean it, have it mean something real, because, like—

“And I mean, you know what it’s like, at least a little,” Steve lifts Eddie’s hand, gets a tiny whimper for moving it but makes up for it by kissing his knuckles; he knows that Eddie knows what it feels like, with his parents, with this fucking town; what Steve’s about to say isn’t wholly lost on Eddie, just a different…flavor:

“But I’ve had that heart ripped out and stepped on,” Steve takes a breath—remembering doesn’t hurt like it used to, especially not with Eddie in his arms, but that’s doesn’t mean the sting’s all gone: “spat on for what I tried to give along with it.”

And this time Eddie’s the one whose hand twitches: fierce, held tight, almost protective.

It’s a reaction Steve’s never been on the receiving end of before, not like this. As if he’s worth it, and unquestionably so. He’s definitely gotten used to it, a little at least, but is still always a little surprised how warm it lands, spreading through him molten like gold.

“Hurt like fucking hell, y’know, and I think that was when I stopped believing I’d ever find someone who could put up with me,” Steve admits, not as if he’s tried at all to hide it, but more in that he doesn’t think he’s said it quite so plain, right out loud; “like, who’d want me even if you erased all the Upside Down fuckery,” and the molten feeling gets a little extra kick for the sound that escapes Eddie at that, close-on to a growl.

“But then the fuckery grew, and then there were Russians and it was like I was made up more of just how it fucked my head up, wrapped in a bunch of gnarly scar tissue, more that than anything else, and my love was still too much, so I mostly tried to hide it,” he lands on, and somewhere while he was speaking Eddie’s curled down to replace his hand with his head over Steve’s chest again, still protective. More so, maybe.

“So I was scared, too,” Steve admits, not ashamed now but actually kinda proud, maybe a little, because here he is, actually putting it in words:

“I was scared at the beginning. With you.”

Eddie finally looks up, then, meets Steve’s eyes with lips parted, hanging on each word but visibly working through a struggle to make it all sink in, add up the way Steve means it to.

That’s okay. Sometimes it is hard; doesn’t mean it’s bad, or wrong, or anything less than the best thing he knows; the only life he even wants, anymore.

“I hid,” Steve nods, swallows a little rough; “in my own way, I hid, too.” From embracing how his eye was caught more indiscriminately than most; from accepting that his heart was always going to swell quick and ready first, and it wasn’t a fucking crime, it just more often than not was gonna hurt; that Eddie Munson had been a puzzle he couldn’t understand at the peripherals of his world for a while already before they were thrust into the apocalypse.

That’d all probably been a good bulk of the reason for his little nugget speech in the RV, which still gives Eddie a good laugh now and again, so no matter how mortifying, he can’t even fully regret what the hiding made him do.

Until—

“But then we almost lost you, we did for those horrible handfuls of seconds, worst of my whole fucking life, when all I could see out of nowhere was the future, and it was made of you, and it was the piece of me getting spat on except it felt like allof me,” and it had, the experience never leaving Steve, not really, that hollow fire that’d destroyed him unrelenting; “all of me just getting ground into dust because I’d lost you before I could ever have you, and all I knew was that you were all that mattered and you were gone, so what even was the fucking point—“

Steve runs out of breath, and Eddie sits up, but Steve’s takes the in to flip their hands caught between them, takes Eddie’s from where his own pulse has picked up for he memories, and the feeling and pressed his palm to Eddie’s chest: the point.

He didn’t expect to need proof of the whole fucking point as badly as he does.

“Then you were back,” Steve’s sighs out relief and gratitude the same way every single time, Eddie’s heartbeat a balm as much as a fuel, a sacred sort of fire in his veins to keep going because the words are maybe never going to be easy, never going to come natural like they do for Eddie but: for Eddie, Steve will do just about anything.

With that as the starting point: this is child’s play.

“Then you were breathing again and I knew I couldn’t let being afraid be enough. It could live here, maybe will forever,” he brings his other hand back to his chest, where the terror simmers, and Eddie sees the opportunity to touch again and slides his fingers in tight to hold there, too; Steve can’t help but smile, and relish the little extra beat that the feeling nudges through his veins.

“It could live here forever,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand against his ribs; “ but never at the cost of you.” Then he pulls, presses his other hand in Eddie’s on top and gathers everything to the core of him as he pledges, vows exactly that deep:

“Never more important, here, than you.”

And Eddie’s breath catches, and he tips forward into Steve’s neck again—and Steve slips one hand free to hold him, to protect him from all sides, too.

And to hold him together, in case the rest of what Steve needs to say, needs him to hear, shakes through him too strong.

“You were like,” Steve licks his lips, shakes his head, holds Eddie a little closer, this time maybe more for his own sake, as he breathes out just against Eddie’s ear:

“I think maybe we both, in our own ways, are scared fucking shitless,” he huffs, because it’s not that simple but it’s exactly that simple; “and on the surface even, we deserve to be ‘til the day we die, if that’s what it shakes out as,” and Steve does believe that, Steve’s come to terms with it and yeah, he’s still working on not judging it so harsh but he is working on it. Robin pushes him.

Eddie…inspires him.

“I hope it doesn’t,” Steve admits softly, because part of him is scared of being a little scared forever; “but it’d be more than understandable. More than justified.”

So yeah, part of him is a little scared—but more of him?

More of him—

“But I think we’re more scared, and so much deeper with it,” Steve threads his fingers through Eddie’s curls, buries his face a little in the mess of them to breathe him in:

“And in the deeper fear, that deeper place, I think it means that we,” he swallows, and is grateful that Eddie is held tight where he is just now, so that the words Steve says when words aren’t his strongest suit can be backed up by how fucking hard his heart’s beating again, because he feels this, he fucking means this:

“That we feel something so fucking big, this massive beautiful thing that could tear us apart as quick as it lifts us up and we want both, or either, or all, whatever it gives because we just,” Steve sucks in a breath, because honesty, honesty; “we need it, we—”

And Steve stops on a dime when he feels Eddie’s mouth press to the center of his chest even through their clothes, heady and potent; feels his lips move as he speaks, hoarse but not trembling, scratchy but sure:

“Loving is terrifying,” he says, and not at all like it’s a regret, more heavy like it’s a privilege with real goddamn weight as he slowly works his lips up Steve’s throat and the leans back just enough, onlyenough to meet his eyes:

“But I’ve never felt more alive than I do for every fucking bit of it, with you, because it’s you,” Eddie grabs the hand of Steve’s he’s not still holding square-on and laces their fingers, unshakable.

“Living at all hasn’t ever felt more right.”

And there’s something in those words, or maybe the way they’re said, that shakes Steve to his bones, tightens his hold on Eddie to the point of a blissful sort of pain.

“I jump when you grab your keys, when I hear them rattle,” Eddie whispers like a secret, like he’s not proud of what he’s saying but he can say it, because it’s Steve. “Sometimes even when you’re next to me, driving us both home, because home is the same for us both and most times I can latch on to that, and remind my body that we’re just going home,” Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes almost glow as he locks them onto Steve’s even more unbreakable, somehow:

“That you are my home.”

Steve’s heartbeat trips again for that, overfull, and Eddie’s hand clenches in his shirt so tight, still protecting.

“But sometimes,” Eddie closes his eyes, clenches his jaw before spilling out, voice suddenly so very small:

“Sometimes I’m scared you’re just dropping me off, and stopping in while you pack.”

And god, he…that’s what he…

“That’s why you were so,” and Steve doesn’t have to say on top of everything, he doesn’t have to say building on the obvious—he doesn’t have to.

“I went to the car.”

Eddie swallows hard; nods like it’s a battle. Yet he does it.

Steve’s so proud of this man. Steve’s honestly proud of the both them.

“Yeah,” Eddie grinds out, sandpapery and a little painful even just to hear but now it’s there, now they know.

And Steve can gather him close, press him in slow and arrange just so atop him as he lays back down, remembers he brought Eddie’s coat too as the real dead of night starts to settle in, so he shimmies it off his waist and doesn’t bother convincing Eddie’s arms to give up where they’re wrapped around Steve, he just tucks it in as a blanket around them over where his own jacket’s pulled as tight as it can go to keep them both, and then he sighs, exhausted but content and maybe they’ll climb down the ladder Steve had made sure was waiting; maybe they’ll swing straight into his room, the same as Steve’s sure Eddie made his way out in the first place. Maybe they’ll wake up to the sunrise right here, just like this.

Steve’s happy regardless of whichever he gets, because all of it happens together.

“Just for the lights, babe,” he breathes into Eddie’s curls, kisses them firm and holds until the sentiment, the single statement swells to keep the whole of what Steve means for the keys, the car, the idea that he’d ever go anywhere without Eddie that he’s not coming home from, and that his home is Eddie, too: always.

Always.

“Only the lights.”

♥️♥️♥️

✨also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here and here

[millervrse]

❝ BY THE COFFEE MACHINE ❞ javier peña x reader

summary: Javier Peña doesn’t like you. You’re too nice, too bubbly, and you get on his last nerve. He didn’t get how anybody in this line of work could be so goddamn cheery all the time. Though aside from your, in his eyes, forced and fake kindness, you had no bad features, and perhaps that, added to your beauty, is what ticked him off so much. Could he learn to like you the more time passes, or would you do this dance of hatred forever?

pairing: javier peña x afab!reader

warnings, notes: EVENTUAL 18+ smut, r! has a bit of an established backstory, a few uses of y/n but only when necessary, r! has a dog, references to narcos and thus real life people and occurrences (pablo escobar, the cartel, dea, etc), ENEMIES TO LOVERS but it’s one sided because javier hates r!, r! has an established personality, grumpy x sunshine, workplace setting, javier and r! are coworkers, use of cigarettes

word count: 2.6k+

LYN SPEAKING! so this is the first chapter of, again, a finished piece that was written nearly a year ago. you can read the prologue here! and again, this is all from javier’s pov, but i’m going to throw in some nsfw chapters using second person for the economy so, yeah! enjoy! lyn out!

DO YOU WANNA KNOW? @bishtrouille @axshadows @troubledsoul-black let me know if you’d like to be added!

“Coffee,” I said simply. Her smile softened a little, and she raised her eyebrows in confusion. “What?” she asks. ❝ YOU'RE BLOCKING THE COFFEE MACHINE ❞

CHAPTER 1: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

COLUMBIA, SEPTEMBER 1982

For once in our lives of chaos, the madness had died down, and there was no new news regarding the man who had been the focus of our missions for months now.

Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria: A drug dealer, and a major pain in my ass.

In the years that I’ve worked Escobar’s case, the man has put the DEA, and the whole of Columbia, for that matter, through hell and back. A war of drugs has been going on under our noses, and the man behind it is an evasive ghost.

We haven’t found him because he doesn't want to be found.

Days in the office have been passing by slowly. With no new leads, and little for us to do, we’re at a loss here. Can’t tell you how much time I’ve used clicking my pens or looking through the same case files over and over again, just to see if something appears that wasn’t there before.

It hasn’t happened yet.

For the third time that morning, I got up from my seat to get a cup of coffee, since having drained mine. Murphy’s eyes snapped to mine from where he sat across from me, and he raised an eyebrow.

Murphy was the guy I’d been working with on the drug cases for a few months, and we’ve come to be pretty friendly with each other during that time. Thus, his first words when he sees me get out of my seat.

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head at me. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack with all that damn caffeine,” he remarked, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

I shrugged, throwing away the paper coffee cup that I’d been drinking out of. “Murphy,” I scoffed, crossing my arms to mirror him. “If there’s a damn thing in this world that’s going to give me a heart attack, it’s going to be Escobar, not coffee.”

Murphy sighed in response. I could tell the guy was just as done with Escobar’s shit as me, even if he was better at not discussing it than me. He shrugged and rubbed his forehead before responding, “Yeah, fair enough. Drink away.”

I nodded at him, then made my way to the door.

As I made my third journey that day down to the coffee machine, I passed by the hallway where the ambassador’s office was. What was already a shitty day only worsened by the feeling I got in my gut only by looking at her door.

It was hard at the DEA, Murphy and I being the main people assigned to this case, the only two men in the world who knew as much about Escobar and his cartel as the man himself.

And regardless of that, what we knew was minimal.

While the ambassador wasn’t really our boss, just walking by her office was enough to remind me of the drug cases: And that we weren’t getting a damn thing out of them.

I shook off the feelings that crossed over me then and there, and just went on walking.

I was veering the corner to go to our break room, where the coffee machine was, when I heard and saw a view I surely hadn’t when I clocked in this morning.

“Where can I put my things?” a feminine voice rang out from down the hallway, the voice filled with a sort of cheer that wasn’t very common from those who worked here in the DEA building.

My eyes snapped to the speaker before my brain could even process it.

There was a woman at the very end of the hallway I was in, holding a brown box, presumably the “things” she had been referring to mere seconds ago. My eyebrows raised fairly quickly: I had never seen her in the office.

Because I’m sure I’d remember a face like that.

It was impossible to miss her. Her eyes seemed to mesmerize the man she was speaking to, because he was looking at her with an expression usually saved for old, married couples.

He wasn’t the only one.

I couldn’t take my damn eyes off of her: I was drawn to her appearance, and she wasn’t releasing her hold. There was a serious and assured, yet honeyed way about her. Her eyes and smile spoke volumes to what I assumed was a kind persona, but her attire, a white collared shirt, black slacks, belt, and tie, vouched for her professionalism.

It made me uneasy to get so much from her based on her appearance alone. So that was when I whirled on my heel, all but jogging back to where Murphy was.

I loped back to the room with a concerning pace, closing the door quickly behind me. Murphy’s head snapped up, and he looked at me with a concerned expression.

“Hey, hey, hey, Murphy,” I said in a hoarse voice, a little out of breath from getting here so quickly. I took a second to relax, then asked, “Who’s that girl?”

Murphy’s eyebrows raised up, and he looked at me like I’d just asked him to marry me. “What girl?” he asked as his face scrunched up in cluelessness.

I let out a huff and opened the door again to see where the woman had gone. Then, I came back in the room and waved to the window. “That girl there. All the way down the hallway,” I clarified.

Murphy got up and looked through the window that showed the hallway outside of it. His eyes landed on the woman’s, and a look of realization crossed over his face. “Oh. Oh, yeah. That’s the new girl. I think her name is Y/N,” said Murphy.

I looked at Murphy with a furrowed brow when he said that. “You knew?”

Murphy shrugged and nodded, walking back to his chair and sitting down. “I heard some folks whispering about her. She was pretty popular in her old job, I think, skilled in her field. That’s why everyone’s talking about her,” he shrugged, like the fact was common knowledge.

“And no one was gonna tell me?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Uh, no, I guess not. Why would it matter, anyways? She won’t be working with us that much,” he responded.

“She won’t? Why not?” I asked curiously. Why was she up here, then?

“No, she’ll be working with the coaches, training the dogs for drug sniffing. She’ll be around, but—” Murphy explained, but then he suddenly cut himself off. He cocked an eyebrow. “Wait a second, why does this even matter to you, Peña?”

That got me to shut up real quick.

For one of the first times in my life, I was at a loss for words. I licked my lips as I tried to pick my brains for a response that would make sense.

But my mind was abandoned, way too preoccupied to give him a reason. Sooner or later, I just shook my head, giving myself a way out of this conversation.

“It doesn’t,” I shrugged, walking over to my desk. I ruffled through the drawers for a second, before grabbing the final cigarette from the box that I always had with me.

I took a deep breath as I made a note to myself to get more, before saying, “I just wanna know who I’m working with.”

Murphy nodded, though he didn’t really look convinced.

But the good thing was, if there was one thing Murphy knew about me, it was to never push my words. He picked up the case file that he’d been working on when I walked in the room and simply mumbled, “Yeah, okay.”

I sighed in relief, glad that he had just dropped the issue; I seriously didn’t want to talk about this right then and there. Talk about a woman.

I left the room without so much as another word, perching the cigarette in my mouth before I had even made it out of it. I usually smoked in the office, not giving much of a shit to our boss’ wish for me not to. 

But today, I obliged, making my way down the lift to go outside.

When I walked through the lobby and through the doors to exit the building, I mulled over the morning that I’d just had. Escobar’s doings may not be in plain view now, but a new sense of chaos was clearly ready to take the podium.

I lit the cigarette as I leaned on a pillar in front of the building, rubbing my forehead as a migraine began to form there. I exhaled puffs of smoke from my nose and lips, praying that it’d ease all the tension in my figure.

Fuck, what was even going on with me? Who was this girl, and why the hell was one glance her way driving me crazy?

She was just a woman. That’s all she was. And I’ve had countless experiences with women, an art that I knew like the back of my hand. I knew my way around them, and I wasn’t looking to get wrapped up in one at any point, at any time.

I’d just have to pray that this wouldn’t cause any problems in the workplace for me.

I’d have to have hope, and a hell of a goddamn lot of it.

I was walking back up to the breakroom after I’d got back to the building half an hour later. After all, I hadn’t even gotten that cup of coffee I’d been craving before leaving to have a smoke.

But when I walked in the room, I didn’t envision the first person I’d see inside of it.

The new girl.

There she was in front of me again, the same vibe that had emitted from her earlier in my presence once more: Only, it was closer to me now. She was conversing with a male coworker of mine, and they seemed to be engaged in some happy go lucky discussion, because the woman was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, I figured, why not? My dog is my best friend, and I don’t want to leave her home all of the time while I’m working, you know?” she giggled as coffee poured from the coffee machine she was next to.

The man, whose name I didn’t even know, chuckled in response. “That’s crazy. So they just let you bring her, huh? And you’re gonna train her up with the other dogs?” the man asked her.

She nodded, flashing him a smile that seemed to glare off the walls. “Yeah! Pretty cool, isn’t it? I’m glad they let me. I wasn’t really sure they would,” the woman laughed, picking up her cup and taking a long sip out of it.

The man was about to answer, when his eyes finally met mine, acknowledging my presence for the first time since I’d walked in the damn room. This caused the woman to look at me too, only smiling at me.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure your dog will do well. Shepherds are pretty big, and the ones we already have do a good job,” he murmured, looking down at the ground. “Anyway, I should get back to work. You have yourself a good day, Y/N. And good luck.”

So that was her name. Guess Murphy didn’t lie.

“Peña,” he said with a professional nod and awkward smile. Then, he left the room.

When it was just her and I in there, we looked at each other for several long seconds. My eyes glazed over her, fully analyzing her appearance now that she was so much closer to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows. 

I don’t know what it was about this girl that was seriously getting to me.

She was just different. 

And I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” she smiled widely at me, putting her coffee cup down to offer her hand to me before giving me her last name. “I’m new to the DEA, if you couldn’t tell. It’s my first day. What’s your name?” she asked.

Her kindly demeanor unsettled me, being both refreshing and alarming. Most of the men and women on this job worked with somber faces. No feelings, small talk, laughs or smiles. Just work, work, work. It was bizarre to see someone in the DEA building beaming, like we worked in some candy shop.

Didn’t she have any idea what this job encompassed?

“Coffee,” I said simply. Her smile softened a little, and she raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” she asks.

“You're blocking the coffee machine,” I clarified for her. Sure enough, she looked to her side to see that I wasn’t lying about that. She murmured a quick, “Sorry,” then moved out of the way.

“Yeah,” I groaned in response. I grabbed one of the paper coffee cups near the machine, then got to fixing myself a cup.

To my surprise, she didn’t leave the room. She crossed her arms behind me, and I could see her looking over me out of the corner of my eye. I could tell she had the urge to speak, but didn’t know how to do so.

Black coffee poured from the maker when she finally opened her mouth. “I haven’t gotten your name yet,” she murmured.

I let out a sigh, wondering why she even needed to know it. “What does it matter?” I replied without a care in the world, looking for creamer in the drawers below the machine.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t, I suppose. I just want to know,” she answered. Then, she perked up, looking at me with a new sense of hope in her eyes. I craned my head towards her for only a second, just to see that same pearly white smile she’d been wearing across her face earlier. “Do you work on this floor, too?”

I closed the paper cup with a lid as she spoke, not even realizing that I’d forgotten to add creamer to it. “Name’s Peña. Javier Peña. And I don’t do small talk,” I replied composedly, turning my body to face her. Clearly, I had yet to get used to her appearance. I’m pretty sure my heart dropped down to my ass when I laid my eyes on her again.

However much I didn’t want to talk to her, there was a fact that remained true, regardless of how it was I was feeling.

She was fucking gorgeous.

Even with my semi rude remark, she smiled at me nevertheless, giving me a little shrug. “Fair enough. It’s not everyone’s thing, especially early in the morning. I get it, Peña—”

“Agent Peña. And no, it’s not,” I said back to her. I was just about ready to leave the room, when she grabbed me by the arm, causing me to pause in my tracks.

“Wait,” she said, clearly doing her best to cling to this conversation for as long as she could.

“What?” I snapped. Though, I didn’t move her hand away.

“Do you know an Agent Murphy? I’ve been looking for him,” she asked very quickly, tilting her head. I raised an eyebrow: She had my attention with that one.

“Murphy? Yeah, he’s my partner. Why, what do you want with him?” I asked curiously, facing my body back towards hers.

“He was supposed to give me some case files on drugs, mainly cocaine. I’m going to be working with the dogs, training them on sniffing out drugs and things like that, so I kind of need them.”

I sighed, trying not to roll my eyes at her. “He’s in the office down the hall. I’ll take you there,” I annoyedly offered. That’s where I was going, anyways, so I didn’t have much of a choice.

“Great! Thank you so much. Lead the way,” she grinned in a brilliant smile, signaling to the door. I grumbled and nodded, before making my way down the hall to Murphy and I’s shared office.

What was it I was saying earlier about hope?

if you made it to the end of this, i really hope you liked it! please consider leaving a reblog, as they help my work immensely <3 kisses!

[avastrasposts]

Javi steals your lunch

@sin-djarin made a fun little poll about what Pedro boy would be most likely to steal your lunch. I reblogged it with a thought about Javi P stealing the lunch and it turned into a whole fic idea so here's 800 words about Javi stealing your lunch and paying for it.

“I can’t fucking believe it….” you muttered under your breath, scanning the shelves in the break room fridge. Your carefully prepared salad, grilled chicken, avocado, fresh tomatoes and quesito colombiano your sweet next door neighbor had given you, was gone. 

Vanished. 

The spot in the fridge where you’d placed the tupperware this morning as you came into the office was empty. As were the other shelves, only a few leftover beers from an office party and some milk for the coffee. 

“Anna, have you seen my salad? Or seen anyone eating a salad?” 

Your co-worker had come in behind you, holding her own sandwich, and you sighed again as she peered into the fridge. 

“No, did someone take it? I swear this fridge is never safe to leave food in, someone always steals it,” she said, shaking her head. 

“We work at the damn US Embassy, you’d think people would be honest enough to not steal a salad,” you grumbled, slamming the fridge door shut, “I’m going out to grab something for lunch, I’ll see you later.” 

One sad lunch hour later, you came back to your desk still in a foul mood. It wasn’t lifted by the fact that you had a mountain of work to go through as a result of a successful raid the day before. Always endless red tape and transcribing to do when the DEA team caught up with one of Pablo Escobar’s sicarios. You dreaded the day they actually caught Escobar, you’d be drowning in paperwork.

The afternoon dragged along and at five you stretched your back and headed for the coffee machine, you had just turned the corner when you saw it. 

Your tupperware. 

On Javier fucking Peña’s fucking desk… 

You felt your temper rise as you stalked over to it and snatched it off the desk. The man himself was nowhere in sight, but he’d clearly been enjoying your salad, a fork sat on top and a few sad lettuce leaves remained. 

“Fucking asshole!” you snarled to the nearly empty office, but no one paid any attention to your mutterings. With a firm grip on the tupperware, you went back to the break room and washed the box out, still fuming as you tossed the dish cloth on the counter. 

“Cariño, why the frown?”

You spun on your heel and glared at the man casually leaning against the door frame with a crooked smile, an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. 

“You!” you snapped, waving the empty, and now clean, tupperware at him, “You stole my lunch, asshole!” 

He did have the decency to look a little bit ashamed, those stupid baby cow eyes widening as the smile slipped from his lips. 

“Cariño…that was yours? I thought it was leftovers and I was so damn hungry…” 

“It was my leftovers, Peña! My leftovers!” 

You shoved passed him, attempting to push him aside as you squeezed through half the door frame, the other half blocked by him, but you were just met with a solid shoulder under his black leather jacket.  

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I got back from this thing and I was getting milk for the coffee and it just looked so good.” 

He was following you down the hallway now, reached out and took hold of your arm, gently forcing you to stop just outside the evidence room. 

“Hermosa….” he cooed, letting his hand slip down your arm so that he could take yours and put it against his chest in a pleading gesture,   “Don’t be mad at me, I’m really sorry, and the salad was delicious. I had no idea you were such a good cook.” 

He had you backed up against the wall, standing close enough so that you could smell the cigarettes and coffee on his breath, warm aftershave and the faint smell of sweat after a long day. It was impossible to not look up into his warm, brown eyes, eyebrows pulled together as he pleaded with you to forgive him. 

“It’s a salad, not exactly difficult,” you replied, fighting to keep the scowl on your face as the corner of his lips pulled up into a smile, his hand closing a little bit tighter around yours. He knew he'd won you over as he tilted his head to the side and let his gaze drop down to your lips. 

“Still, I should make it up to you somehow…” he said, and you’re not sure how he did it, but somehow he’d opened the door to the evidence room and pulled you inside, his arm slipping down to curl around your waist as he shut you both in with the other. 

“Peña…” you said, trying to collect your thoughts, but it came out breathless as your anger at him melted away with every slow caress of his large hand over your back. 

“Javi,” he mumbled, leaning down close to your neck and placing a feather light kiss just under your ear, “it’s Javi while I fuck you.” 

[shanklin]

For the very sad realitivity falls au

I was thinking it really needed some comfort.

Which got me thinking about Soos, if Soos became like a son figure to Stan, maybe the opposite in realitivity falls?

Maybe Soos becomes like a father figure to Stan (dear lord that poor boy needs it especially with the whole Filbrick situation)

Stan: *sighs* Look I better go, I don’t want to burden you anymore than I already have.

Soos: Nah it’s fine dawg, c’mon, sit down with me. This cool new show is about to come on!

Stan: But, aren’t I selfish for wanting to spend time with you? Wouldn’t you rather do it with Ford?

Soos: Dude, you are being too hard on yourself. I want to spend time with you dawg, because you’re an awesome dude! *ruffles Stan’s hair*

Stan: *trying to hold back tears* I uh-have dust in my eyes.

Soos: There, there dude, let it all out. *hugging Stan*

Stan: *sobbing* I just want to be loved, but I—

Soos: I’ll be here for you

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

Rejoice, dear Anon! You’re getting out of prison early on good behavior!

Soos becoming a father like figure for Stan broke me. Haven’t stopped thinking about this since. I love it dearly.

This ask also made me realise a couple of things

I have no idea what Soos’ role usually is in Relativity Falls AUs

I don’t care. Don’t tell me. Soos is Soos. Maybe a tiny bit older than in canon. 30ish?

I imagine Stan to be like 15 in this for extra angst. He still hasn’t gotten a proper growth spurt yet and definitely has no drivers licence.

…I forgot what number four was. I was too preoccupied in outlining a fic in my head that I’m totally never gonna write. Don't look at the word count

Okay so, comfort? Sure! Dad!Soos! Perfect! Tonal shift with slight crack components incoming? More likely than you’d think!

Where did we leave off?

Filbricks dead, yaay!

Mabel, Dipper and Ford are currently having multiple breakdowns over how much they failed Stan.

And Stan? Stan’s on the run. He’s a murderer now and certain the police are after him and actually let’s say he’s right about that one. It doesn’t help that Filbrick had friends in the police force or at the very least used to pay them off on the regular.

One moment Stan stands above his fathers unmoving body looking at his hands - he really needs to wash his hands.

The next he's a state over in the middle of nowhere in a stolen car that's running out of gas with no money, no food and only the clothes on his back.

He’d curse himself for not taking supplies with him but what the point? He deserves this. He’s a murderer. A selfish, rotten, evil person. He should turn back and surrender. Get himself locked up and pay for his crimes.

But that would mean he’d have to face Ford and the rest of his family. They would come and judge him. See how bad he really is. He can’t do that. He can’t face them. He’d rather die than face their disgust and disappointment.

And yet somehow. Something in him still wants to live. The selfish part of him that refuses to shut up and let him be. That makes him do awful things and hurt others.

Everyone was right about him. So there is no point anymore in trying to be better. He might as well embrace it. It’s easier than thinking about Pa staring at him with dea-no no no no. That doesn't matter. Nothing matters except his own survival.

His car runs out of gas near the woods. It’s dark and cold and the wind howls in the distance. Stan's fight or flight instinct goes into overdrive. He desperately looks for a weapon to defend himself with. After a couple of minutes of frantic searching he finds a small pocket knife in the glove compartment. This will have to do.

There are headlights in the distance coming ever so slowly closer and Stan grasps the knife tighter.

Go away go away go away, Stan silently begs but the car comes to a halt behind him and a large man steps out.

Stan gulps and tightens his resolve. He's a criminal. A- a- murderer. He’s already done the worst thing imaginable to survive. And he will continue to survive. 

Even if that means he has to hurt and kill others. Stan steels himself and decides to do the unforgivable once more. He will kill this man, take his car and money and only live for himself.

A knock on the window. Stan lowers it, ready to strike. One swift stab in the neck and it will alll be over.

“Sup little dood! Need some help there?”

Stan falls over, he drops the knife and stumbles back shaking.

The man chuckles and picks up the knife. This is it. This is how Stan will die. Killed in the middle of nowhere by a gopher like serial killer. No one will never know what happened to him

“Here you go dude. You lost your knife. You need to be careful with these things. Could’ve accidentally stabbed me or something.”

The man holds out the knife and Stan snatches it up and moves back further, holding it protectively over his chest.

“What- what do you want?”

Stan's voice is hoarse. He hasn't used it in days, he realises. And the last time he did, he was shouting before before-

“Saw your car parked here in the middle of these creepy woods and thought you might need some help.”

"Well, I don't. So f-fuck off.” 

Stan flinches. It never ends well when he gives adults attitude. Shit. Shit, why did he do that?

Luckily the man doesn’t react to his mistake. Maybe he didn’t hear him?

“Aw dude. I’d feel bad leaving you all alone. Is your dad here somewhere?”

The man looks around for Stan's…dad. Stan's throat feels like sandpaper.

“No. He’s gone.” Stan whispers and the man's eyes soften.

“I’m sorry du-”

“Gone to get some gas!” Stan exclaims all of a sudden, shoving all his terror, anxiety and guilt into a dark corner in his mind. He needs to put on an act if he wants to survive.

“He’ll be back soon so you can just. Go.”

“Ah no. That’s alright. I’ll wait with you until your dad comes back. It’ll be great. I’ve got some snacks in my car and we can play I spy. See, I’ll start. I spy something green!”

“A tree?” 

"Woah, Dude! You’re like super good at this.”

Is this guy for real? He’s clearly mocking Stan, only. Not. He seems way too sincere. Stan hates it.

“Well this was fun, but you should really go. Stranger Danger and all that”

The man's eyes widen in shock.

“Totally forgot! Sorry, Dude! I’m Soos.”

He holds out his hand. Stan eyes it suspiciously.

“You’re not going to leave are you?”

“Not until you’re safe. Can’t leave a kid like you out here all alone. Your dad, like, shouldn’t have done that. That’s not cool dude.”

Stan might be stupid, but he's not an idiot. The guy is most definitely gonna turn out to be a creep and/or serial killer. The moment Stan lets his guard down around him he’s done for. He should insist the guy leave or better jump out of the car and run away. As starved and tired as Stan is he’d be no match for a big dude like Soos, even if he uses his small pocket knife, but he could probably outrun him in the woods.

There is no way for Stan to come out of this alive.

Either he will piss the guy off by insisting he leave and get murdered or he runs into the woods, gets lost and dies of exposure far away from civilization. 

His only other option is to wait with the guy and play his stupid games until he realises no one will come for Stan and he’s free to do as much axe murdering as he pleases.

No matter what he does. He’ll end up dead, abused and broken with no one to grieve for him. He’s sick and tired of feeling like this. Helpless. No, he needs to stay strong. Strong and selfish.

Stan takes the outstretched hand and shakes it firmly. Just like Pa taught him to do. The firmer your handshake is, the easier it will be to make a deal in your favor.

“Steve Pinington and actually I don’t think my dad will come back anytime soon. He probably got lost and is waiting for me in the next town over. Would it be okay if I hitch a ride with you?”

It was surprisingly easy to convince the man of his lie. Apparently if you get lost you should always stay exactly where you are until you’re picked up. Stan is pretty sure it doesn’t work like that for adults but he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

New plan.

Make the creep think Stan is just a helpless, innocent and naive kid

Wait until he falls asleep and slit his throat

Take all his money and leave the country. Or something. Stans will figure it out later. Maybe he could  steal a boat…

The drive is nice. There’s food, water and warmth. It makes his hands tingle. He didn’t notice how cold he was before.

Stan gets forced into playing silly road games and when his answers become slower and he feels his eyes droop Soos turns down the music and puts a blanket around him.

Stan tells himself he's just keeping up the act and will only pretend to fall asleep but is out cold a moment later anyway.

***

He wakes up with a scream and swings fist at the nearest object which happened to be the face of his kind of kidnapper.

A crunch. Blood. A body lying at his feet. His hands. He needs to wash his hands.

“Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I’m sorry-” Stan can’t breathe. There’s blood on his hands. Where is he? He’s sorry.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine dude. I Shouldn’t have woken you like that. It’s just a nosebleed, see?” 

Soos smiles and holds his hands up as the blood drips down his face, over his teeth and onto his shirt. It’s not a pretty sight. Stan looks away.

“You know, one time I tried to see how many hot dogs I could eat at once but I choked and pieces got stuck in my nose. I bled out sausage chunks for like a week straight.”

A weak chuckle escapes Stan's throat. “Eww that’s disgusting.”

Soos clumsily wipes off the blood from his face and holds out some fresh tissues for Stan. He takes them gratefully. It’ll have to do until they find a proper bathroom to clean up.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright little dude.” Soos replies and ruffles his hair. Stan tenses up but lets it happen. He feels the phantom touch long after it’s gone and it takes all of Stan's self control not to trace it his head. He flashes in embarrassment. It felt…safe.

Oh, the guy really knows what he’s doing. Stan will do the world a favour by killing him.

***

To the surprise of no one Stan’s “lost dad” is nowhere to be found. They spend the whole day exploring every inch of the town and asking people if they’ve seen Stan's dad. Stan makes a game out of it, trying to see just how outrageous he can make the descriptions until people think he’s lying.

Soos never once questions his stories.

Eventually they have to give up their search and get ice cream instead. It's the best day Stan had in years. He feels sick.

***

Soos gets them a motel room and opts to sleep on the floor when it becomes clear that only single bed rooms were available. 

His kidnapper is really bad at this, Stan ponders as he watches the man snore. At this rate he’s going to develop Stockholm syndrome and fall in love with him or something. Stan grimaces in disgust. Yep. That’ll do it. He needs to kill him now and proof once and for all that he can survive on his own.

He sneaks out of bed and quietly leans over the man, knife in hand. There’s drool on Soos' face and his nose looks swollen. Stan did that. He hurt him. And Soos didn’t care. He laughed it off with a silly story and distracted Stan until he could breathe again. 

Soos grunts and Stan flinches. The knife falls out of his hands and onto the carpet, nearly missing Soos’ neck. For a moment Stan's heart stops and when it beats again it's racing. With shaking hands Stan pushes the knife into the farthest corner of the room and curls up next to Soos.

He failed.

***

The next morning he wakes up in bed all wrapped in a warm blanket.

Soos greets him but Stan isn’t listening. 

It's all over. He can’t do it. It makes no sense. Why can’t he do to a stranger what he did to his own father, intentionally or not. He can't remember. It doesn’t matter. It changes nothing.

Stan is stuck. He knows, logically, he could just make up an excuse and escape, but he doesn’t want to. Soos feels - it's not safe. No one is safe. But he feels harmless and he's a good distraction. As long as Stan focuses on Soos won’t have to think about anything else.

“Hey, Soos.”

"Yeah?"

“I don’t think we’ll find my father here. He probably left town already. So, eh, can I just come with you?” Stan fiddles with his hands. They always look wrong. Always a finger short. “It’s to look for my dad of course. I’ll be gone before you know it. I promise I won’t be a bother and I can help out with things! I’m good at following orders and I-”

“Dude! Dude! Say no more. I’ve so gotchu. We’re totally the same. I��m also looking for my dad.”

“What?”

At Stan's befuddled expression Soos picks up the briefcase he's been carrying around and sits now next to Stan.

“You see, my dad left as well when I was little. Littler than you even and I’ve always wanted to meet him, but he never came. All I got were some postcards.”

Soos opens the briefcase and pulls out a card. Stan ignores it in favour of staring at the rest of the content in the case. Holy shit. That's a lot of money. Soos continues undeterred.

“Well, it’s always been my dream to play catch with my dad and I almost gave up on it but then I got this!”

Soos hands Stan a plain looking card.

“Son, 

I’m in a bit of a pickle and I could really use some help. Meet me at this address and bring 50 grand with you. You’re the best, champ.

Love, Dad.”

Stan stares at the card. Then back to Soos. Then back at the card. 

“You know this is a scam, right?” Stan waves the card in front of Soos who, stands up, grabs it and puts it back in without meeting Stan’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” Soos mutters. “But I still gotta try. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I mean I had my Abulita and she was great, but it wasn’t the same. And now she’s in heaven and I’ve got no one else left besides him. Maybe he needs the money for a fresh start and will come back home with me!”

Soos sniffles and rubs his eyes. “So yeah. Maybe it’s not the smartest thing to do, but I have to try.”

Stan hugs his knees and is quiet for a long moment.

“In my experience, money is the only thing that will make a dad like you, so it might work out after all.”

Stan peeks at Soos but it looks like his attempt at comforting the man failed. He looks even more heartbroken than before. 

***

Despite Stan's failure Soos agrees to take Stan with him and even suggests their dads might be at the same place. Who knows. They could be part of a secret run away dad club and play a very long and drawn out game of hide and seek.

Stan manages to muster up a smile at the suggestion and helps Soos pack their things. Not that they have much to begin with. Most of Soos things are still in the car and Stan suddenly becomes acutely aware that he still only has the clothes on his back with him. He’ll need to find a way to steal some while Soos isn't looking.

They’re about to leave when Soos spots something in the corner of the room and moves to pick it up. It’s the knife.

“Here you go. We almost forgot it. Be careful not to lose it. You never know when it might come in handy!”

“Thanks…”

Stan almost tosses the knife out right then and there, but instead he puts it back into his pocket. Soos is right. He should stay vigilant.

***

The next couple of days pass by like a dream. Most of the time in the car is spent playing silly word games and arguing about music. Apparently Stan has the taste of an old man. Which is ridiculous. He just prefers the classics, which are classics for a reason! They won’t be forgotten in two weeks like Soos top 20 hits.

[When was the last time Stan listened to music just because he can? How come he’s feeling so strongly about it? Music should be just a way to attract customers and nothing else. Certainly not fun. STOP HUMMING BOY]

At some point the car breaks down and Soos has Stan help him with the repairs. He makes a show of opening the hood and explaining what he’s doing. 

It’s awkward and the nervous energy Soos gives off as he keeps checking if Stan is still listening puts him on edge.

He briefly wonders if Soos is trying to place a bomb inside, but then he holds the tools out to Stan and asks him to give it a go.

Confused about the whole thing Stan does as instructed and finds himself grinning as the engine roars back to life.

“Well done!” Soos cheers and holds his palm out into the air. “Up top!”

Stan blicks and lightly taps the hand in a high six, blushing at the praise.

Soos throws an arm around Stan and guides him back into the car.

Maybe this isn’t a dream. Maybe the last three years were just a bad nightmare and he’s actually been travelling with Soos and having the time of his life, while Ford is off studying weird stuff with Grunkle Dipper.

So Stan pretends he’s just on a fun extended road trip with his friend Soos. It’s great! They eat all the junk food they can get their hands on, sing loudly to bad songs, stay up and sleep as long as they want to and visit every bad tourist trap they come across.

Those are Stan's favourites! The attractions are clearly fake and nonsensical but also the best things Stans ever seen!

Some are just a normal object but big while others try a bit harder to keep your attention with fake curiosities and stories.

There even was one Tax Education Center and Fun Park where you learned everything about the history of taxes and how to file them correctly. Or how to avoid them, if you’re like Stan and know how to read between the lines. 

Eventually, Stan managed to piss off another kid hellbent on becoming the most esteemed IRS agent the nation has ever seen. 

The fist fight that ensued will be retold for generations to come! 

Or at least got them both a lifelong ban from the museum. Stan forgot how much fun fighting was when the opponent is not double your size and responsible for your basic needs.

He leaves the kid with a short “See ya!” and starts running as the kid shouts after him in rage.

“I won’t let you get away with this, Steve Pinington! Mark my words! THIS ISN’T OVER!”

Stan is full on belly laughing when he meets up with Soos.

“Made a new friend?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Stan grins through his split lip. That felt amazing.

***

“Here Soos look!” Stan exclaimes as he shows off his fake abominations that he made out of junk from a nearby trash can.

This tourist trap thing is easy!

He gives Soos the grand tour around the little stand he built on the car and makes up fantastical and true stories of wonder and mystery about the items and tops it all off with the little broken toaster he found. He gave the toaster some cardboard eyes and legs that move with the help of hidden strings and voilà!

The Footbot 9000!

It even talks! Stan’s bad attempt at ventriloquism earns him some snorts and a wonderous “Woah, mommy mommy it speaks!” from the little toddler at the front of the crowd.

Wait. When did that happen? Where did all the people come from?

Stan looks around in alarm and finds Soos farther in the back watching him with glistening eyes. Is Soos crying?

Stan needs to get out of here but there's no good opening and then clapping starts courtesy of Soos.

With no escape in sight Stan takes a bow and thanks his audience.

“How much for the Footbot?” The mother of the toddler asks.

“30 Bucks.”

“10”

“20”

“Deal.”

One firm handshake later and Stan is the proud new owner of a crumpled 20 dollar bill with more to come as more suckers have already shown interest in some of the other junk he put out.

In the back there are people whispering and pointing at Stan. He better hurry up and get out of here before he gets them kicked out of town for selling broken toasters and literal trash.

***

“You know I think I’ll open my own tourist trap in the future” Stan says and takes another bite of his burger. “That was fun.”

“You were amazing! I was totally entranced by your wondrous tales of mystery. You’re like a genius at this, dude!”

A genius? Him? Stan’s not a genius.

Then agaaain. Ford is supposed to be a genius and he wouldn’t be able to put on a show like this.

A giggle escapes him and he kicks his legs under the table.

He can’t wait to tell Sixer and see his dumbfounded expression. Stan the genius. HA! That'll show him for staying home and missing out on the road trip of a lifetime!

***

Stan hands over the money he’s earned as soon as they arrive at the motel. Stan did so well today. He’s still giddy about it.

He found himself a plan for the future, made money AND got praised. The day couldn’t have gone better.

It’s almost a shame he has to go to sleep. But alas. Them's the rules. With a quiet hum under his breath Stan starts to get ready but is stopped by Soos, who is still holding the money.

“What’s up?”

“You don’t need to give me this.” Soos looks pained. 

“I don’t understand. What else am I supposed to do with it? The room has already been paid…”

“No, little dude. You can keep it for yourself. Your company is payment enough.”

Stan shakes his head. This isn’t right. Soos is taking care of things so Soos gets to keep all the money Stan makes. It’s only fair.

“No! You keep it. I don’t want it” 

“It’s fine dude here” Soos takes Stan’s hand and pries it open trying to return the bills. They fumble around and Soos won’t let go forcing it back into Stan’s hands. Stan can’t have the money! It isn’t right. But Soos is stronger than him and refuses to let it go.

“It’s yours. I don’t want it!” Stan repeats, runs to the bathroom and turns on the shower to cancel the noise from the outside.”

Stan needs to pay Soos back for taking care of him. He already wasted so much money on Stan. On food and clothes and sightseeing. Oh. Oh no. Was the money not enough? That's why he didn’t want it, right? It was basically an insult. Here I give you two drops of water back so forgive me for tuning the ocean into a desert and wasting it all on me.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. Stan flinches with every bang. 

BANG

BANG

BANG

“Just come in!” Stan shouts to make the noise stop.

The shower turns off and in the absence of water pouring down on him he becomes acutely aware of the wet clothes sticking to his body, dragging him down.

Soos wraps him in a towel.

“I’m sorry dude for pushing. I’ll keep the money for now and we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Stan nods and hopes later never comes. 

Soos gets him a change of clothes, helps him dry up and guides him to bed. Stan lets it all happen. He’s too tired to think and following orders is easier. More familiar. 

Stan falls asleep to a comforting hand stroking his hair.

***

Life is great! Stan decides as he jumps out of bed the next morning with renewed vigor. Yesterday evening was just a bad dream and he’s ready for a bright new day.

Who knew food, sleep and good company was all you needed to be happy?

Soos throws him an odd look before leaving to get them some breakfast.

Stan shrugs it off and turns on the TV. Soos is a weird guy so weird looks aren’t out of the ordinary.

He flips through the channels not looking for something particular. It’s been a while since he last had time to sit down and watch something.

He’s about to give up and do something else when the picture on the news is stopping him dead in his tracks.

It's him. It's Stan. 

15 year old Stanley Pines wanted for questioning in relation to the murder case of Filbrick Pines. The authorities ask the public to be vigilant as he is suspected to be armed and dangerous.

There's even a reward out for tips leading to his whereabouts.

The world around him shatters.

His little game of make belief turns into shards cutting into him and leaving nothing but sharp and cold reality behind.

Just what the hell has Stan been doing?

A fun road trip? Making plans for the future? Is he actually insane?

He fucking killed his dad. Let him bleed to death on the kitchen floor as he just watched in silence.

Exactly like he planned to do to Soos.

There is no future for Stanley Pines. Or Steve Pinington. Or any other name he’s going to come up with in order to trick people into liking him for a short while.

The moment Soos finds out what Stan has done it will all be over. Soos will be just like the rest of his family and see Stan for what he really is. A rotten and selfish child. A murderer. Someone not deserving of the love and care Soos showed him.

Maybe he can trick him into believing it’s some other child on the news. Soos is pretty naive sometimes. He could make it work!

Stan shakes his head. 

No. Stan is done pretending.. Eventually someone.will recognize him and then Soos will be in trouble as well for harbouring a criminal.

Steps in the hallway. No time to think. Stan needs to escape. Now!

He puts on his shoes, grabs the jacket and Soos’ briefcase and sprints out of the door.

If the money goes to waste on a good for nothing criminal anyway it might as well go to Stan instead. Really he's doing Soos a favour.

Someone runs after him but Stan is faster.

“Dude, wait! It’s alright, don’t go. Stan, STANLEY WAIT!

Stan is already out of town before he realises that Soos called him by his real name.

To be continued

This was supposed to be just a quick summary or a couple of bullet points about how Stan and Soos could become family in this AU.

And it was also supposed to be a bit more unserious and ha ha, so what if Stan tried to constantly kill Soos and couldn’t get rid of him. But it turned out quite different and not as bullet pointy as I set out to do.

I’m still a little bit in denial about that. But Stan is in denial for most of this as well. So it fits.

I wanted to completely finish it before posting but that’s gonna take too long and I've got no time. So for now have a sad ending for the sad relativity falls AU.

Don’t worry though. It will have a very sweet happy end. With lots of comfort. Maybe.

But for now let's all imagine Stan once again all alone and on the run :D

[creedslove]

TASTING 🍑

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Javi teaches you something new

Warnings: smut, rimming (f!receiving), masturbation (f!receiving), dirty talking

A/N: soy tímida 😳🪭

1.2k words

“Mmm, I don't know Javi…” your voice wasn't much more than just a whisper spread in a dark room, muffled by the pillow underneath your face, eyes flickering every so often as the man all over you worked his magic in your body, claiming it as his.

Javier chuckled against your skin, always so smooth and inviting, always feeling like butter melting under his rough fingertips, the result of years working on a ranch before engaging in an equally rough police training until he made it to DEA agent and the rest was history. His hands caressed your sides, his head rested on your flesh, while you lay on your stomach, he admired your naked figure, your curves always an enticing flame to him, the way your gorgeous ass was at a display for him. It brought a powerful yearning and desire within. You felt the way Javi moved his hands over your skin, always coming back to your cheeks, stroking, caressing, slapping them and leaving a delicious burn behind.

The way you also felt his lips, dragging over your skin, light ghostly kisses on your cheeks, going all the way up the small of your back, how that devilish mustache of his scratched you all in the right places, revealed Javier's true intentions. You were so sure, you wanted to try it, but at the same time you felt embarrassed about it.

“It's okay cariño, we can stop if you don't like it… just trust me, alright mi mariposa? I just want to make you feel good” his voice wasn't much more than a purr, the same kind that would convince you to do anything he wanted; that was the problem with Javier Peña, he was a menace to you, and you loved every bit of him. Your heart pounded and your wetness flooded your cunt, feeling the familiar, tingling sensation as you reached for some friction, moving your hips towards nothing, as his hands held you in place. You wanted it, so why was the embarrassment making you so prude and stuck? It didn't make any sense, it was Javi, your Javi, and he always made you reach the sky however he could, you had nothing to fear or be ashamed of, the way a knot of longing and desire was forming down your core was driving you nuts, you could feel beads of sweat emerging from under your hair. It was time to make a decision, and to Javier, your answer would always be yes, no matter what.

“Mhmm, okay…” your voice was shaky and he chuckled, sensing how nervous you were. There was no reason for that, he'd promised to make you feel good and he was going to do it. You trusted each other, if something was a ‘no’, it would be a ‘no’. No questioning and no whining, just pure and simple respect.

“Relax, cariño… I'll take good care of you”

Javi's reassurance was more than enough, he'd always taken care of you and above all, he was an experienced man who had quite a few tricks up his sleeve, ready to show you. You closed your eyes as you felt his lips ghosting over your ass cheeks once more, his hands moved from your hips to the curve of your ass, the anticipation and anxiety building up more and more, as you couldn't wait.

Javi adjusted the pillow under you, so you could be in a comfortable position, your hips slightly lifted up as he parted your cheeks carefully. He squeezed them, they were so soft underneath his touch, his cock was already throbbing on its own only at that simple motion, but spotting your tight back home and your glistening pussy sent a whole new wave of arousal straight to his cock and he couldn't help but moan at the sight. Fuck, it was sexy, inviting, and now, it was all his. Your holes, both of them. Javier was about to show you how good having fun with the two of them could really be.

“Fuck, hermosa, you are so beautiful… such a tight little asshole” he praised you so explicitly it made your face heat up with embarrassment. Javi was so obscene and dirty and you loved it.

As he kept your cheeks spread apart, he got closer, his lips kissing them internally, as they made their way towards your core. Your pussy was already soaked, he could see how turned on you were and he just knew it was time to act. Javi ran his tongue over your pussy, loving to taste your sweet honey, exactly the way he enjoyed it, always welcoming your whimpers and purrs, but this time, he wasn't just going to pay attention to your addictive pussy, instead, he dragged his tongue over your rear hole, wetting it slowly, while he felt your muscles clenching at his soft tongue. You, on the other hand, didn't expect to feel it that way. It was good, more than good actually, it felt so intense. The way you simply spread your legs wider, wanting to give Javier more access, so you could experience it again. And at that slight movement, Javi understood your message perfectly, as he repeated his motion once more, this time faster and more intensely. Holding you spread apart, his tongue circled your asshole, licking it hungrily as all the tension in your body had dissolved. You were so at ease, grinding your hips against the pillow, feeling the slightest friction against your clit, each time you moved more, you could feel your wetness dripping down your inner thighs. Burying your fingers into the sheets, your mouth letting you the dirtiest words, moans and pleas. You called Javi's name as a prayer, because no man in the world could make you feel that way, no man would ever make you feel the way he did, it was unique, he was unique. You loved him, you wanted to tell him that, but you didn't have to, not with words when your body did all the talking, when you arched your back in pleasure and looked backwards at him, taking your free hand to his head, sinking your fingers into his messy hair and pressing his face even more so against your ass. He loved to see how good the experience was; he loved to see how hungry your holes were for him, they were all pulsating, clenching and gaping for you. He decided you deserved more than just his devilish tongue in your asshole, your needy juicy pussy also required his attention, so while he wouldn't take a break from eating your delicious ass, he took his fingers to your folds, his digits toying between them, feeling up the wetness and spreading it all over. Your clit throbbed, puffy and sensitive to his touch, as Javi rubbed it a few times until he finally inserted his fingers inside. Your cunt was so slippery, your walls squeezing his thick digits as you were already used to their presence inside of you. You'd always been so good to him. Javi didn't waste time and began moving his hand, fingering you at the same pace his tongue worked his magic in your ass. And all you could do was to give in to him, offer yourself on a silver platter for Javier. He owned you, even more so when he made you cum that hard. After showing you how good it felt to have both holes involved in your fun. It was just the beginning, you knew it. Javi would take you entirely as his, but you wanted more and more. He was capable of giving you the pleasure you never dreamed you could get one day and you loved him for that.

_____

[atlabeth]

shades of cool

pairing: javier peña x fem reader

summary: you come to javier in a last ditch effort to save your life after it all falls apart around you.

a/n: me when im addicted to angst... im sorry i cant stop hurting my r characters. anyways im watching narcos w my roomies and we all cannot stop thirsting over pedro so i had to write something. please do not ask for a sequel because i will not be able to control myself and i already have too much stuff on my plate!!! if i do write another part it will take forever so pls understand that i just wanted to write something short for javi and apparently i cant do that without adding backstory lmao

also! r is colombian but writing this whole fic in my shitty high school spanish would actually be a crime so just know they're speaking in spanish the whole time. thank you for your consideration

wc: 3.3k

warning(s): typical narcos stuff. angst, r's brother is dead and she's passively suicidal, javi is an asshole half the time and a sweetheart the other half so some hurt/comfort

Javier Peña was not having a good day. 

He slept like shit. His coffee tasted like shit. He’d run out of his favorite cigarettes. Some idiot bureaucrat broke his coffee mug in the office. And worst of all, it was like he and Steve had hit a wall in their chase. 

Every lead they went out into the field following turned out to be nothing but bullshit, and if they actually managed to get good intel, they showed up to nothing—one of Escobar’s thousand informants always tipped him off one way or another. 

Noonan was on their ass about their methods, and Carillo’s methods were giving Murphy morally cold feet, and Murphy’s wife wouldn’t stop pestering Javier about making sure he kept his partner alive.

Javier wasn’t heartless, and he wasn’t a fucking idiot. Steve might’ve annoyed him, but they were partners. He wasn’t going to leave him out in the dirt, no matter how much he might’ve wanted to. 

But it had been a very long, very disastrous thirteen hour work day, and all Javier wanted to do was sit down, tend to his budding alcoholism, and smoke a few cigs. But of course, in all the chaos of the day, he’d forgotten that he was out, so he had to stand up, put the glass down, and go to the corner store. At least it was a Friday night—he could always sweet talk the cashier that worked Friday nights into giving him a discount. 

He ended up getting more than a discount—she gave him three packs for the price of one, and all it took was a smile and some compliments. At least some parts of the world still worked in his favor. 

Javier was in a better mood on his way back. It wasn’t much considering how shit his day had been, but he tried to ignore it as he opened his new pack. He took out a cigarette and tucked the rest into his pocket. He was about to light it when a voice spoke up from behind him. 

“Are you Javier Peña?”

He had half a mind to pull his gun out on the spot. Usually people asking about him by name on the street wasn’t a good thing, especially in Spanish. 

But he didn’t. He stopped in his tracks and turned, immediately locking eyes with the source. He wasn’t expecting someone like you, standing stiff with crossed arms and hardened eyes. He wasn’t expecting a woman at all—especially one that didn’t look interested in him. He’d been propositioned enough on these streets to know you weren’t a working girl.  

Javier glanced away to light his cigarette and blew out the smoke before he finally looked back at you. 

“Who’s asking?”

You didn’t shift beneath his gaze. “Someone that needs your help.”

He looked you up and down. You weren’t dressed in any particular way, just a linen shirt and too-long cargo pants fringed with dirt. Definitely not a working girl, and you weren’t exactly rolling in it either. 

“I don’t run a charity,” he responded.

“I’m not asking for charity,” you said sharply. “But we can’t talk here.”

Javier raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re DEA,” you said. “You know better than anyone that the walls have ears.”

“You’ve got information?” 

“I’ve got a gold mine,” you said. 

Javier stared at you for a good, long moment, almost hoping he could read your mind if he looked at you for long enough. You didn’t waver, didn’t look away—just met his gaze with those sharp eyes of yours. 

He normally wasn’t this desperate. But right now, they needed any intel they could get—especially if it could get them through back doors. 

Eventually, he cursed under his breath and shook his head. “Fine. Follow me.” 

He turned and started walking, and he could see you following him in the reflection off a storefront’s windows. You caught up to him relatively quickly, and he passed another glance at you. 

“If you’re fucking with me—”

“You think I’m stupid enough to fuck with the DEA?” you interrupted. 

“I never know with girls like you,” he said. 

You scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Girls that track me down on the street and try to become informants,” Javier said. 

He saw your jaw clench in his peripherals. “Well, I’ve got a pretty good reason to hate Escobar.” 

Javier hummed and blew out another cloud of smoke. The nicotine had to ease some of the sharper edges in his mind. Was probably why he felt more agreeable to what many would consider a bad idea. 

The two of you continued the rest of the way in silence, though Javier noticed how you kept your head on a swivel. Eyes constantly darting around, focusing on shadowy areas like something was going to jump out at you, not going a minute without checking behind you. 

Not only did you not have a sense of humor, you were jumpy and paranoid. Just what he wanted in a potential informant. 

He suppressed a sigh. So much for a relaxing night. 

-

You grit your teeth as Peña patted down your body. The warmth of his hands against your bare arms was a shock, especially when you could feel it through your shirt—part of you expected him to be cold to match the rest of his demeanor. “Is this really necessary?” 

“Gotta make sure you’re not bugged,” Peña said. He moved to your sides, then your front and back. Your loose button-up didn’t give the opportunity to hide much, but he didn’t seem like the kind to take chances. 

“Why would I be bugged?” you asked wryly.  

“Because the head of a DEA agent goes for 500 grand,” he responded in equal fashion. His hands didn’t linger on your chest as he finished vetting your torso, at least, which seemed like a low bar to clear. “Besides— beautiful Paisa approaches me on the street, implies she has information on Pablo Escobar, I take her home? Sounds like the start of a bad joke that ends with me getting my head blown off.” 

“Nothing about this is a joke,” you said. 

“Well, I see people get their heads blown off every day,” he said as he crouched down, finishing up his inspection with your legs. “I try to keep the mood light when I can.” 

Peña stood up after he got to the bottom of your left leg, seemingly satisfied, and gestured at his couch with his head. “Sit.” 

“Are you finally done?” you asked mockingly. “Think I’m clean?”

“Don’t give me a reason to think you’re not.” He picked up a near empty glass from a side table and walked into the kitchen.  “Now do us both a favor and sit down and shut up.” 

You decided to meet him halfway as you took a seat on the sofa. “I never knew DEA agents were so mean.” 

“I’m being pretty nice right now, all things considered.” You heard the clinking of glasses and liquid pouring from the kitchen, but you didn’t look up. You just stared at your hands, trying to suppress the rising dread in your chest. 

A part of you didn’t really know what you were doing. Talking to a DEA agent was about the worst thing someone in your position could do. All it took was one bit of gossip in the wrong ear, one of your brother’s old friends to wonder what you were up to, and you were dead. 

But the worst case scenario had already happened. As far as you were concerned, you had nothing left to lose. 

You started at the sudden sound of Peña setting something down on the table. You glanced up to see a bottle of whiskey alongside two glasses—one filled with a finger of liquor, the other empty. 

“You a whiskey girl?” he asked. 

“No,” you said. “But I could use some right now.” 

He chuckled and filled the other glass, then pushed it over to you and set the bottle down. Javier picked up his own glass and took a sip, then leaned back in his chair. He looked every bit the ruminating agent as he stared at you. 

“So,” he said, “what the fuck has you asking me for help?”

“My brother worked for the Medellín Cartel,” you said. 

Peña's eyebrows rose. You guessed he probably didn’t expect you to say that. 

“He get fired?” 

You picked up the glass and downed a third of it, grimacing at the taste. You really weren’t a whiskey girl, but you preferred to focus on the burn of the liquor rather than the memory. You scraped your nail against the glass once it faded. 

“Killed.” 

“About the same thing for Escobar,” he said. He leaned forward. “You work with him too?” 

You shook your head. “I stayed as far away from all of it as I could. But all Marcelo saw was the money.” 

You could practically see him file the name away in his brain for future use. It probably wouldn’t get him far.  

“So your brother works for Escobar, takes a wrong turn, gets killed,” Peña said. “And you come to me because you think they’ll come after you?” 

You shrugged. “Marcelo had his cartel friends over all the time. They know me, know my face—know that my brother told me shit they don’t want repeated.” 

Peña tilted his head. “So you choose to rat them out rather than take his place.” 

You scoffed. “They beat him black and blue before his best friend shot him in the head. They left him in the living room for me to find. I’m lucky I’m here talking to you, agent.” 

“Well, what got dear Marcelo killed?” he asked. 

You gave him a mirthless smile. “He made one mistake and it ended up being the biggest one of his life. They gave him a target to take out. He failed, loudly and obviously in El Poblado. Escobar snipped the loose end.” 

Peña’s eyes widened. “Your brother was behind that botched assassination on Luciana Rodriguez?” 

You nodded. “The only thing worse than killing a journalist is failing to kill a journalist—especially one that’s refused dirty money. The mess was all over the papers the next day, and she was giving interviews the whole week.” A chill fell over your skin as your hand tightened around the glass, and you had to glance away. “Marcelo was dead before he could even try to plead his case.” 

“You truly have my sympathy,” Peña said. His eyes had softened, no longer looking like they were skeptical of every word you said. “Burying a sibling…” He shook his head. “It’s awful.” 

You shrugged. “It’s how it always ends, isn’t it?” 

“For those at the bottom of the ladder,” he said. “Why do you think Escobar gets everyone else to do his dirty work?” 

You tipped your head in recognition as you took another sip of whiskey. Much better than the shitty liquor you were used to—despite the money Marcelo started raking in from his cartel jobs, the two of you never really grew out of the bottom shelf. 

“I never actually got to bury him, though,” you said. “Soon as I found his body, I took what I could and ran. I wasn’t going to wait around for a bullet in my head too.”

“I’m surprised they weren’t there waiting for you,” Peña said. 

You chuckled wryly. “Me too. But I’ve learned to count my blessings when I can get them—they don’t come around too often for people like me.” 

A shaky sigh fell from your lips as you leaned back, taking a moment to compose yourself. You hardly knew Peña, yet you were telling him about some of the worst days of your life. 

“I stayed at some shitty motel for the past few days trying to figure out what to do,” you said. “I remembered hearing your name around some of the circles—a DEA agent who seemed to have endless amounts of informants. I… I mostly got lucky finding you.” 

“It’s very brave of you,” he said. “But why now? Why not in the middle of all this, when you had the most access to information?”

“I’m a selfish woman, Agent Peña.” Your gaze fell down to the amber liquid—it was easier than looking him in the eye. “I didn’t want my brother to get hurt, so I kept my distance and I kept my mouth shut.” You paused, shaking your head with a slight laugh. “No, actually. I told him a thousand times it was better to be poor and honest than rich with dirty money. But all we’ve ever known is poverty—Marcelo wanted more, and Escobar offered him a way out.” 

Peña offered a thin smile. “How do you think he gathered so much popularity so quickly?”

“Believe me, I know.” You huffed as you sunk into the cushions. “I still remember that day he came home after Escobar announced he was running for Congress—400,000 pesos, just handed to him. How could he not fall further in?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure you haven’t?” 

“Some of the money I took from the house is probably dirty but…” you shook your head. “But Marcelo gave them everything he had, and they killed him for it. Nothing could make me work for those motherfuckers.” 

“I do like a woman with principles,” Peña mused.

You huffed another mirthless laugh as you leaned forward, setting your glass on the edge of the table. “Can you help me or not?” 

“You want me to ensure your safety in exchange for the information you have,” he said. 

You nodded. 

“Well, my protection is pretty valuable,” he said. “How valuable is your information?” 

“Marcelo was a floater,” you said. “He did work for whoever under Pablo needed it. I’ve got names from Gacha, the Ochoas, even some of Escobar’s main men. And I know the names of some rats in the police department, even one in your precious DEA.” 

Peña frowned. “Who?”

“Maya Alberts. Gringa secretary from Utah.” 

By the look on his face, you gathered that you were right. “How do you know that?” 

“Just because I didn’t get involved in all that shit doesn’t mean I didn’t listen,” you said. “His friends saw me as lesser than them—idiots talked around me all the time.” 

“You have this in writing or anything?” 

You tapped your temple. “It’s all up here. You give me a pen and paper, I can get them all down.” 

He blew out a loose breath and shook his head. “You’re valuable.”

“I told you.” 

“Well, I didn’t know you were this valuable,” he said. “I have to run all this by Murphy and the rest, but if your names match up, you actually are a gold mine.” 

“And you better do everything you can to take them down,” you said. 

“We have to be careful about all this,” Peña said. “If Gaviria or Gacha or— or god forbid Escobar figures out that you’re running your mouth, you’re going to be their top priority.” 

“I don’t care,” you said honestly. “If my death is the price I have to pay to pave even one brick on the path to nailing Escobar, then I’m okay with that.”

Peña pursed his lips. “My informants aren’t usually so…”

“Suicidal?”

“Uncaring,” he decided. “The best informants are the ones that stay alive long enough to be informants.”

“I’ve lost everything, Agent Peña,” you said. “I want justice against the men that killed my brother. I don’t care what I have to do to get it.” 

Again, he stared at you. You don’t know what he thought it would do for him—if he believed he could tell whether you were lying or not by looking in your eyes, if he was trying to memorize how you looked in case he had to turn you over, if he just liked looking at people. But eventually, he sighed. 

“You’ve bared your soul and we’ve just met,” he said. “I think you can call me Javier.” 

You nodded. “You’d better take these men down then, Javier.” 

He smiled as he stood up. He actually had a pretty nice one. 

“Like I said, I have to go over all of this with my partner—maybe get Carillo involved too.” He looked at you. “It might take some time while we verify it all, but don’t worry. I keep my informants safe.” 

Your mind went back to the mangled body of your brother, sent as a message to Escobar’s people of what would happen if they crossed him. You could only think about how much he suffered in his final moments. 

Bile creeped up your throat, but the memory still burned more. All he wanted was a better life for the two of you. 

“All I care about is taking these bastards down.”

He shook his head. “You might not care about yourself, but I do. You’re staying the night here.” 

You frowned. “I have—” 

“You don’t have somewhere to stay,” Javier interrupted, taking the words out of your mouth. “You’ve got a shitty motel that’s probably already on the cartel’s radar. You go back there, you get a load of lead in your brain.” 

“Still.” You glanced around. “There’s got to be a better place than here.” 

Javier raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like my place?” 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you bit back. “It— it’s just your place. I don’t want to intrude.” 

He actually laughed at that, a genuine sound you weren’t expecting. “You’ve got the Medellín Cartel on your ass and you’re worried about imposing?” 

“Well—” your frown deepened— “when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.” 

“Because it is.” He left you with that as you started to walk towards the hallway. 

You figured you would be crashing on the couch—it was pretty comfortable. Most things in Javier’s apartment were cheap, but this seemed to be one thing he splurged on—him, or the DEA when they outfitted the place. The plush cushions had just enough give to support you, stark contrast to the stiff state your body seemed to always be in these days. 

He came back holding a bundle of sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. He set it down on the chair he’d been sitting in and looked at you. 

“Are you going to get up?” 

“Those are for me, aren’t they?” 

“‘Course not,” he said. “You’re sleeping in my room. I’m taking the couch.” 

You scoffed. “You want to talk about imposing—” 

“It’s for your own good,” Javier interrupted again. He seemed to like interrupting. “If someone tailed you here, or somehow figured out you’ve come to me, then they’re gonna break in through the front door or the window. I’d prefer to be the first line of defense in that case.” 

“You can’t be serious,” you deadpanned. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Javier said bombastically. “You came to the DEA agent for protection, and now the DEA agent is protecting you? How in the world will you survive?” 

You scowled at him, but you stood up anyways. You took the chance to polish off the rest of your glass—you didn’t grimace as hard this time, at least. 

“Bathroom is on the left, kitchen’s right there.” Javier pointed his finger as he talked, which he then aimed at you. “Don’t move anything around. I’ll know.” 

Deciding to bite your tongue, you nodded. Javier Peña was, after all, doing you a ginormous favor. You stopped right before you could reach the hallway and turned back to look at him, already at work stuffing sheets in the cracks of his couch. 

“Thank you,” you murmured. “I— I appreciate all this. More than you know.” 

Javier paused at your words, and when he turned around he had an uncharacteristically soft look on his face. 

“...Course.” He nodded his acknowledgment. “Sleep tight.” 

Your lips twitched in the slightest smile. “You too.” 

As you walked down the hallway, you felt his gaze burning into you. You resisted the urge to look back.