#colombian cock

[damianeandres-blog]

Lindo lunes 😘

[howsublime]

Received this wonderful 1974 Colombian stamp featuring Andean cock-of-the-rock (Rupicola peruviana). The stamp celebrates 100 years of the Universal Postal Union in Bern, Switzerland. Note the Droste effect in the design.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Temporary Fix! || skirt chaser!Johnny

Rating: E Words: 4.1K~ CW: smut smut smut, a bit of BAD dirty talking, oral sex (m!receiving), protected piv sex, breath play (if you squint), praise kink (lots of 'that's it' + 1 'good girl'). Tags: afab!reader, fat/chubby!reader, you/your pronouns, one-night stand but more like one-week stand. Summary: Johnny's a dog who can't keep it in his pants. a/n: this is for my chubby gals and also for my @crashtestbunny because I wanted her to be able to read this and not have the previous cheating plot in place.

The thing about soldiers… Is that they tend to have lovers. As in, for as long as they stay deployed in a country, they’re bound to get themselves a toy they can have a shag with. Sometimes it’s prostitutes. Sometimes it’s regular women.

This is a lot more common for enlisted soldiers in the Army. The types that get deployed for 9 to 18 months at a time when they're very young, fighting in a war that keeps them far away from home for so long that they “can’t help” but seek affection from local women.

But that’s not to mean Special Forces soldiers, especially those kept on ‘stand by’, always ready for a quick deployment that, at most, lasts a month or two, don’t do it. They do.

John Alistair MacTavish is a grown man, not one of those young lads of 18, recently out basic, who need a whole to bury their cock in or else they'll die. But you wouldn’t think that, seeing as he's constantly seeking out action on the side.

He goes on and on about how childish those stupid recruits are, about some of his old mates who'd shag anything that walks... Only to then leave base with his team to end up at some bar or club in civvy clothes, find a nice bird or bloke (he’s not picky) and go home with them.

A hypocrite, any normal person would call him, a womanizer, a skirt chaser, a player... He’s not above calling himself that. But sometimes he just needs to decompress! That's his excuse anyway. Decompressing. Letting out pent-up aggression. Orgasms are great stress-relievers...

And as useful as his fist is, he’s not a sixteen-year-old anymore, rubbing one out in his bathroom during a quick shower. That just doesn’t cut it anymore. If he has the option to shag someone, why wouldn’t he?

Now that he’s in the 141, the philandering just gets much worse. Whenever they have downtime on a foreign location somewhere, a night free before they return to England, or a night before they get the go-ahead to go on a mission, what have you… He’s out getting himself a shag.

And, worse of all, he brings Gaz along. 

Gaz doesn’t have the same issue, unlike Johnny, he can actually contain himself. Maybe that makes Gaz a bit bad too, because he knows that Soap has a tendency to chase like they owe him money... And he still enables him. He still goes out with his mate and they both get wasted and laid without a care. 

Maybe Gaz doesn’t think it’s his place to intervene, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to.

Camaraderie and all.

That’s how they ended up in a club downtown, flashing lights all around them, loud reggaeton playing through the speakers, men and women around them with more skin on display than they had covered rubbing their bodies, sipping drinks, spilling them over each other… Oh, the wonders of a Colombian night club.

They saw you before you saw them. Kyle tapping at Johnny’s shoulder as their eyes perused the space individually, then, he drew the Scot’s eyes to you, standing with your friends, laughing, drinking, softly swaying to the music. 

Soft curves in a copper-colored dress that left little to the imagination, clinging tight to a round ass and a thick belly, the hem constantly pulled down by your hands, as it insisted on rolling up, up, up, exposing more of your smooth thighs than you wanted it to. 

It didn’t stop you from still rolling your hips to the music, however, turning the fixing of your dress a near impossible task, repetitive, useless, and maddening, Sisyphus-and-his-stone.

Turning to each other, the two sergeants hands shot to the middle of their bodies, a quick rock-paper-scissors ensuing… which Johnny won.

And that’s how you ended up turning around to the sight of a foreigner with the broadest shoulders, thickest arms and pecs, and bluest eyes you’ve ever seen… As well as a mohawk, something you didn’t often see on… anyone, really.

He was a soldier, you could tell, even out of uniform. Not your first time seeing one, this being a city with a military base attached, and certainly not your last time being approached by one.

Oh, how soldiers seem to love fat women. You’ve experienced your fair few, many of them assuming your weight would equal desperation for love and affection, which would result in you accepting a rushed wedding for the sole purpose of getting him out of the barracks. 

But you’re not desperate. Other than for a good lay, maybe.

“Erm… Hola.” The soldier in front of you says, blue eyes locked on your face for a surprisingly respectful amount of time considering the sinful cleavage that this dress and your bra give you. 

His Spanish has the thickest accent you’ve ever heard, meaning he’s not American… But his pronunciation is off, so he’s clearly an English speaker. Though he’s not English either, you can tell.

“I speak English. Hi.” You told him, watching as he let out a little sigh of relief. Then, the corner of his mouth popped up in a dirty little smirk. 

“Well, tha’ makes it easier. Hi.” He replied. “I saw ye from over there… Was wonderin’ if I can buy ye a drink?” He offered. Only then did he allow his blue eyes to slither down, down, down, trailing every inch of your exposed skin down to the black ankle booties you’re wearing, thick, square heels to prevent your hamstrings from feeling the pain of stilettos the next morning.

“Why?” You decided to ask him with a cocked brow, forcing his eyes to shoot upward to meet your face again, locking onto yours with a surprised expression.

“Why, what, pretty thing?” He replied, his own brows, thick, straight, rising up to meet his hairline. He’s confused, his eyes blinking a bit. His intentions had been clear as day. Obvious enough for you to pick up on, but you’re playing dumb, or maybe hard to get. 

“Why do you wanna buy me a drink?” You asked him as you dipped your head to the side, your eyes slowly trailing over every inch of his handsome face. Those blue eyes of his are locked on you, pupils slightly dilated, hands hanging off his hips, fingers looped onto the belt loops of his jeans.

“Because you’re proper beautiful.” He replied. Your cocked brow and unimpressed glances up and down, cause him to continue. “And I’d love to take you home, find out what you’ve got on under that dress, and make sure your neighbors hate you from today onward.”

His words are crude, his voice loud and crass, disregarding the public space you’re in, the fact that there are others around, not just your friends, but complete strangers too. Maybe he’s hoping they won’t understand English. But they do. Hell, your girlfriends look at you and exchange coy looks with you, before them, and you, break into a fit of giggles.

He looks at them, noticing they caught what he said, even through the loud music, but then looks at you again. “So? What do you say?” His brogue is getting easier and easier to listen to with every word he says.

Rolling your head to the side, your squint your eyes at him and then shrug. “Do you have to buy me a drink for that?” You challenge him, your eyes snapping back and forth between his own, almost taunting him with your inquiry.

“Not if you don’t want to.” He tells you, eyes lit ablaze and a smirk on his lips.

So, you simply grab him by the arm, bid farewell to your friends, with a wave, and grab your clutch from the table, before dragging him out of the club.

Johnny was expecting a flat, a home, maybe even a university dorm room considering your age. What a surprise it came to him to find you taking him up to a hotel. Not that he’d complain when he noticed the large king-sized bed and the large view, providing a beautiful view of the illuminated city of Cartagena.

His hands were on your broad hips before you even got to closing the door, his mouth clashing onto yours as he pushed you against the wall by the door, calloused hands already sliding over the slinky fabric of your silky dress, tugging it up, so they could slip underneath.

His tongue pushed into your mouth, wet and drooling, saliva traded between your mouths as his strong fingers caught hold of a greedy handful of your ass, digging into the supple flesh and groaning in delight at just the feeling of you at his fingertips.

Your own hands already slid up and around his torso, feeling him up through the fabric of his t-shirt, before sliding down to pull the navy blue fabric out of its tuck into his jeans, rolling it up to expose a strong, bulky body covered in a generous amount of body hair.

Your lips broke apart for a moment, only long enough for you to take off his shirt, tossing it onto an armchair in the corner, and for him to unzip the side-zipper of your dress, taking it off you too.

Then, he grabbed you around the thighs, causing you to shriek, as he bounded for the bed, dropping you so hard onto it you almost swore you’d bounce off. Still wearing his jeans, he slotted himself between your parted thighs, his body bending over yours.

His stubble scratched your neck as he kissed you all over, licking stripes of your skin as his hands pulled off your boots, unfastened your bra… They were surprisingly nimble for such a hulking man. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Johnny cooed as he let his eyes run down your body.

He dragged his mouth down from your neck, across you clavicle, over one of your breasts, and caught your nipple between his teeth, beginning to suck on it, noticing how you hissed a bit, leaning back on your elbows as he did so.

One of his hands caught your other breast, grabbing and carefully kneading it between his fingers, as his eyes shot up to your face, blue irises beneath a pair of dark eyelashes, fluttering slowly as his pupils blew out from how horny he was. His other hand found your black panties and pulled them aside, (more so ripped them with how aggressive he pulled on them), the rough and calloused pads of his fingers catching your lips immediately and beginning to slide up and down, running over your slit.

The moment his cracked fingertips grazed your clit, you whined, your legs spreading apart even more, your body jumping a bit. “Fuck…” You grumbled under your breath, your eyes locked on his face and the way he eagerly played with your nipple. 

“Relax.” Johnny told you once he let go of your nipple. Then, he rolled his tongue around in his mouth, collecting some saliva, before letting it drip onto your slit, his fingers catching it and spreading it quickly as he resumed playing with your clit, hand craning in order to push a finger inside.

“Oh fuck…” You moaned softly, hips bucking up against his hand, following his ministrations as he pushed a second finger inside of you and hooked them up to graze your g-spot, pumping them in and out, the rugged feel of his cracked fingertips drawing a surprisingly pleasant sensation of pleasure from the depths of your soul.

His other hand moved away from your breasts in order to undo his belt, leaving it to hang around his waist as he also undid his jeans, sliding them and his boxer briefs down one-handed, in order to allow his cock to spring free.

Your eyes lock onto it as he continues fingering you, a bit sloppy and rough, his palm pressed to your clit and his fingers constantly drawing a ‘come hither’ motion inside your wet walls.

His cock is stubby, shorter than some of the men you’ve been with, but so thick you can’t help but wonder just how he’ll make it fit inside of you, and how straining the stretch of it will be. It’s heavy too, uncut, hanging down even while already full-mast, too heavy to spring back against his belly button. His balls are heavy too, full, round and strained as he continues to play with you, watching your reactions to his touch.

“You like what you see, huh?” He asks you, noticing the way your eyes don’t slip far from his cock before returning to it, watching it lay against one of your smooth thighs, the ruddy color and constant twitching only bringing more attention it as it rubs against your skin, dripping pre-cum over your stretch marks.

“Mhm…” You reply softly as your hand reaches down to tug at it, carefully wrapping around it and drawing it up and down over his length, only letting go to cup his taut balls and fondle them a few times.

“Tha’s it…” He murmurs and hisses under his breath as he looks you right in the eyes. “Wanna be good f’r me?” He coos at you, and you nod in reply as you bite your lip. “How about you get on your knees and let me see how you suck me off, hm?”

Nodding, you untangle yourself from around him, his fingers slipping out of you, as you took your spot on the floor, the soldier having been caring enough to toss a pillow from the bed onto the floor to cushion your knees.

He sits on the edge of the bed, strong, muscular thighs spread open, as you sunk your mouth onto him, without so much as a second’s worth of hesitation. The stretch as you tried to swallow as much of him as you can tugged at the corners of your mouth, making them feel a bit sore, your jaw already protesting at the size of him. But that doesn’t stop you.

You start lapping at the underside of his cock eagerly, wetting him as much as possible to make sure you could continue taking him down your throat. The sounds he was making were sinful, low groans and grunts, hissing through his teeth, one hand carefully fisting the bed covers.

He carefully gathered your hair away from your face, gripping it one handed. “Tha’s it… Greedy thign you are, wanna take all of my fat cock in your mouth, hm?” He goaded a bit as he looked down at you between his legs.

Any other time, any other place, any other man, you’d already be pulling off him, getting dressed, telling him to fuck off… But something in this soldier’s voice, in his accent, the growl behind his voice, the spark in his eyes… 

Maybe you are just desperate for a good lay with the thickest cock you’ve ever seen… But you don’t complain. You simply nod at him and bobbed your head even more enthusiastically, lips struggling to glide up and down his length, spread open sinfully to accommodate his size.

“Tha’s a good girl…” He praises, his free hand coming to grip you at the back of your neck, tugging you slowly, forward, to make you swallow more of him down into your throat, making you gag and sputter on his length, sloppily drooling around the size of him, saliva drooling down your chin and onto the carpeted floor of your hotel room.

“Pretty fucking thing… Gonna make that make-up run, hm?” He offers as he pulled you off and back onto his cock, moving your head for you. “Show some attention to that pretty pussy of yours, go on.” He demands, causing you to nod.

One of your hands found your wet slit between your legs, sliding two fingers inside, which felt like not nearly enough after having had his own, and considering the fat cock that would soon replace them, but you’d make do. 

“Both hands, don’t be coy now.” He added. Your eyes widen, already anticipating the loss of balance that’d come from the lack of support from your free hand holding you up on the bed. But you do as you’re told, trying your best to keep a perch on your knees as your other hand starts slowly padding at your clit, rolling circles with it.

When you inevitably lose balance, as you knew you would, the soldier simply pulls you forward against him, making you bury your nose against his pelvis, swallowing his cock in its entiry, causing you to choke and gag, trying to catch a breath through your nose. He, in turn, lets out a loud groan of delight, eyes rolling back, as he feels the warm wetness of your throat.

“Keep your hands where they are.” He demands of you, preventing you from trying to pull away and find balance again with your hands on the bed or the floor or his thighs. You can barely do much more than nod against his hip.

He hooks a leg over your shoulder, pinning you close to him, while his hips begin to rock into your mouth, blindly and sloppily, making you gag more and more, more saliva slipping down from your parted lips, making a mess of him and yourself. “Tha’s it… yeah… just what I fuckin’ needed… Such a good girl f’r me…” He grunts as his hand swipes your hair out of your face as it slips from his grip.

“You like this?” He asks you as he abuses your mouth and your throat, while you sputter and try to fruitlessly breathe between each thrust of his into your throat. Nodding pathetically, mouth to full to speak, you whimper against him, making him shiver and shudder. “Of course you do… greedy fuckin’ mouth…”

He only pulls you off him after another couple of minutes, which felt like an eternity, allowing you to catch your breath only for long enough for him to pull you onto the bed, bending you over at the hips, presenting your round ass to him.

“Mmmmm, look at you…” He grunts out as he ruts his cock between your ass cheeks while tugging your head back at the scalp, causing your back to arch ever so slightly, your tits still pressed against the bed covers. “Round fuckin’ arse… Gonna love see it jiggle f’r me…”

He lets go of you again for a moment only to paw at your ass cheeks with one hand, while the other blindly looks for his wallet in his jeans. “Find me a condom, will ye?” He asks as he tosses the leather wallet next to your head, while he steps out of his jeans, underwear and boots, finally.

While looking for the little clip pocket containing them, you spot his military identification very briefly. It makes you realize you didn’t even ask him his name… Nor did he ask for yours. A green and white striped card titled ‘British Army’, with the name ‘John MacTavish’ and some extra info you don’t really pay attention to. John. That’s his name…

Once you pass him one of the silver wrappers, Johnny rips it open and puts on the slick condom quickly, barely waiting a moment before slipping himself inside of you, down to the hilt in one swift motion. You find yourself squirming against the bed covers with a whine, while he groans loudly behind you.

Although the stretch was still wildly bigger than any other man you’ve been with before, it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you expected it too… probably because you were wetter and more eager than you expected.

He starts rutting inside of you immediately, huffing through clenched teeth as his big hands grip your ass cheeks and keep you spread open. His fingers dig deeply onto your extra fat, squeezing and kneading it, his blue eyes glued to the way your puffy lips part and stretch to swallow him whole. “Beautiful fuckin’ sight…”

“Fuck… Just like that… Don’t stop…” You beg him and whine loudly, fisting the white bed covers and digging your nails into them, your face resting on them sideways, sliding back and forth with each thrust of his.

You’re sure the hotel staff is going to have a field day washing the duvet, your make-up already staining the white fluffy fabric, sliding down with the sweat, and dragging across with each motion of your head.

You can barely speak or think, moaning in turn with him, each thrust of his causing you to croon and whimper in delight, his fat cock hitting you at every possible angle and rubbing every inch of your walls, the veins dragging against your g-spot, the condom barely there.

“Yeah… ye like tha’? Huh? Ye like it?” He coos at you, already slightly out of breath, hips barelling against your plump ass, making it jiggle as he bounces himself off them.

“Oh, fuck yes…!” You whine loudly. His hands slide up to find your hip, pushing you down against the mattress so he can shift more of his weight onto you, pumping at a downward angle, causing you to shriek desperately.

“Oh yeah…” Johnny grunts and starts huffing atop you, leaning all his weight atop of you as he pounds his hips against yours, his breath ragged against your shoulder and hair. “Fuck… Yer cunts feels so fuckin’ good…” He murmurs in your ear, his thick accent becoming.

“Oh, God…” You whimper, shuddering beneath him, feeling the familiar knot tightening in your stomach, each of his strong thrusts rattling every fiber of your being. “John…”

“Oh… tha’s it… Moan my name…” He orders as one of his hands suddenly shoots up and grips you by the back of the neck. “Moan my name…” He insists as he throws his hips down onto yours.

“John!” You call out, doing as you’re told, panting for air as he pushes your face harder into the mattress, slowing his thrusts down and bottoming out inside you each time at a slower pace.

Good thing he did too… Because the knot in your stomach only tightens more and more and more, and then snaps, making you cry out loudly with a choked moan that gets half-caught in your throat as your walls suddenly clamp down around him, tightening the grip on his fat shaft.

“Oh fuck…” Johnny grunts and picks up the pace again, grasp your hip as hard as his hands can, a bruising grip that’ll definitely leave a mark, as he pounds into your weeping cunt again and again and again…

He finally comes, losing his balance and landing on his elbows and forearms on either side of your body, his chest against your back, out of breath, as much as you, even though you feel like you barely did anything other than take him.

“Fuck… I needed that…” He grumbles under his breath as he speaks against your shoulder blade, before leaning up and biting at your earlobe. “That feel good f’r ye?” He whispers in your ear, an earnest question, receiving a little nod from you. “Good…”

Slowly, he pulled himself up, slipping his softening cock from you and rolling the condom off. “So… how long are ye and yer friends stayin’ here?” He asks you nonchalantly while tying off the condom.

“Are you trying to make small talk…?” You ask him, surprised that you can even find a voice or string together a coherent sentence in the aftermath of that. You try your best to drag yourself up and over onto the bed, and once you succeed, you look at him languidly.

“No. I have a reason to ask.” He assures you as he tosses the condom into the paper bin under the desk in the corner, before shuffling back over to you on the bed, lying lazily next to you, an arm behind his head, the other on his stomach.

“Four more days.” You tell him, and he nods at the reveal of information. You roll your head to the side to look at him, both of your bodies sweaty and sticky, your make-up undoubtedly a mess, not that he shows it in the way he looks at you… And even if he did, he’d likely only show pride at making you look like that.

“Well… I’m comin’ to pay ye a visit every night until then.” He tells you, before wrapping his free arm around you, pulling you close. “I plan on gettin’ that tight cunny wrapped around my cock fer as long as I can.”

yes, this is a repost of the original "Temporary Fix." but without the cheating :)

[pascals-doll]

like you mad at me

javìer peña x reader

🫧 lovely gif by @ilovejavierpena ! (took me a min to find the post again 💔)

🫧GO ON STRETCH THAT COOCHIE OUT LIKE U MAD ATTA BITCH 😩 sexyy red been stuck in my head!! based on all those sex scenes in narcos, I KNOW THATMAN FUCK LIKE HE MAD

🫧 pedro pascal speaking spanish ouuuu voy a llorar hasta que se me caigan los ojos

🫧 spanish keywords for my non-spanish speakers

-mirame: look at me

- lo adoro: i adore it

- bebesita/cielto: heaven/baby

- gatita tan linda: such a pretty kitty

-dentro de/ de que hablas: inside of / what are u talking about

🫧 description: literally just smut, slutty smut, angry sex, dom!javier, husband!javier, sub!reader, rough sex, backshots!, unprotected p in v sex, hair pulling, face grabbing, mentions of spanking kink, reader speaks spanish, mentions of putting a baby in reader at the end!, little bit of breathe play (if u squint frfr), javier is stressed and angry, no use of y/n, use of pet names (cielito, bebesita, good girl) javi just desverves good pussy

you knew being a DEA agent was not a very easy job, especially with the rise of colombian drug dealers.

he needed to come home to blow off some steam, it was just human.

in fact, you even encouraged your husband of an idea you’ve had in mind.

one night you knew your beloved husband, Javíer came home because the slamming of your front door rung through your shared home.

you knew it must’ve not been a good day, you get up from the couch.

you began to walk, turning the corner once you reached it turning towards where the front door is.

there he was, running a hand through his roughed up hair tucking away his gun in the drawer he always leaves it in.

he looked up at you with dead eyes, a tense broad frame, and furrowed eyebrows.

you came up to him, you open your arms to him causing him to lean in slightly as you immediately embrace him.

he cursed under his breath, you knew it was from his frustrations ”mi amor, how about we release some of that stress and anger” you whisper in his ear. you could tell by his face he was confused.

“de que hablas?” poor javì, he was just so tired. you gave him a soft smile.

you began to massage his broad shoulders, finding his muscular pressure points. you made sure to put slight pressure and squeeze.

“fuck me like you mad at me, baby”

ever since then, he does exactly that.

you were sure your neighbors hated you, they had too by now.

but the both of you could give less of a fuck.

you were too busy screaming into your pillow as javìer pounded into you.

his hand keeping your head down as he fucks you doggy-style ruthlessly.

your face was so far into the pillow, feeling his grip on the back of your neck. you had completely drooled all over yourself and the pillow as your moans and incoherent words were muffled.

you reach your arm back, giving him two taps on his hip signaling him that you couldnt breathe.

he pushed your face into the pillow once more before grabbing you by your now disheveled hair.

“how does my cock feel-” Javìer began, leaning down to connect his sticky back to yours.

“fuck!-dentro de ese gatita tan linda” his vile accent spits out as your hands reach up to claw at the headboard of your shared bed.

Javìer’s cock was fucking in and out of you at a devilish pace, his hips not halting; not even for a second.

“J-Javi! fuck!” you cry out, literal tears streaming down your face at the feeling of his cock hitting you as his hand burned into your hair was mind-boggling.

he had his other hand on your hip, using that one to scoop you up against him by your stomach; bodies completely pressed together.

you were completely encaged by him, one hand still in your hair and the other wrapped around your stomach as his cock continues to pound you.

the sound of skin slapping just got louder throughout the room.

“such a good girl. the most per-perfect-letting m’use this sweet pussy” he praises, almost moaning out himself as your wet warm cunt clenches around him.

“g-god! f-fuck! s’fast!” you babble out as you try your hardest to keep your head up, Javìer lets go of your hair, his other hand now going to your neck.

he let his hand rest there softly as his hips began to stutter, his hot breathy grunts ringing through your ear.

Javìer detaches his chest away from your back momentarily, his dick moving from inside you aswell.

“i adore you.” such a sweet sentence being spit out so harshly; slamming his cock back into you.

you cry out “oh my! Javí!” his lips peppered kisses throughout your sticky neck and shoulder; not caring.

“i adore your soul. i adore your body. everything you do-lo adoro” he grits out, the hand that was around your stomach now going down to slightly lift your leg; causing you to arch down more.

he was fucking you in such a mean way while being so loving.

the new angle he was pistoling his dick into you from had you seeing stars as he stretched you out more as if that was possible.

you could hear Javíer’s grunts and groans turn rougher and into deep short breaths.

your pussy took him perfectly, loving the way his hips slapped against your ass so meanly, his hands gripping your hips and ass, sometimes even spanking you till your ass turns cherry.

your hands claw at the bedsheets as you slightly spread the leg he was holding, engulfing him completely; to his balls even feeling his bush against your juiced up cunt.

the action caused his hips to stutter, signaling he was close.

the hand that was resting on your neck, now goes up to grab your face: slightly gripping your jaw.

Javíer’s hips continue to thrust into you as your voice goes hoarse, turning your yelps into just above-silent squeals and pleas causing you to shut your eyes.

“mírame.” his low tone sends your shaking body shivers. you open your eyes but the overstimulation being too much to keep them open.

“dije-mírame!” he grunts out loudly, you force your eyes open; never leaving his.

you admire his mouth slightly agape, his hair and forehead glistening, the way his mustache looked, and his deep eyes concentrated on your face; just as much as he was taking you in.

“ay! ay-mph! gonna cum!” you moan out, your mind barely hanging on to any conscious-sense.

“c’mon, cielito, c’mon” Javìer encourages, getting close to his release aswell.

you share the room as you and Javíer take it over with the sounds of both of your moans combining as the sound of skin-slapping dies down.

once he pumped you full of his warm white load. he fell onto the bed, bringing you with him.

“how do you feel, amor?” Javíer asks you, one hand massaging the hair he was once pulling while the other loving fondled your breasts as your legs interlocked.

your mind was still beyond processing and answering.

you gave him a weak nod which caused him to give you a soft smile.

“i’ll ask in the morning bebésita, lets hope i fucked a baby into you.”

[palioom]

day five - sweat

pairing: javier peña x f!reader word count: 614 warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; sweat, cowgirl, spanking (briefly), unprotected p in v, creampie

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

She hated the Colombian heat. Worse than the weather back home in Texas, sweltering and suffocating. Drenching everyone in sweat.

Maybe that was a part she enjoyed though, the sweat. Thinking about Javier, how sweaty and nice he looked coming home from work, especially after he had been hunting someone. The front of his shirt darkened by it, beads forming on his tan skin, his dark hair sticking to his forehead.

He looked more than hot like this, and he smelled amazing, too.

Tracing her tongue over his exposed neck, straddling his waist where he laid on the bed, tasting the saltiness of him, humming at it.

“You taste so fucking good, Javi baby.” She moaned, working the buttons of his pink shirt open, drenched in his sweat. “Can chase the bad guys more often.”

He chuckled, his thick fingers moving to unbuckle her belt, then popping open the button of her jeans.

“I’m happy you’re getting something out of this, bebesita.” His fingers dipped below the hem of her shirt, feeling her hot skin, the movement of her stomach as she breathed, excited to have him. “My back fucking hurts.”

Her eager tongue dipped lower, over his bare chest, teasing his nipples briefly with a small giggle. She couldn’t get enough of him like this.

“That’s why you’re on your back today, baby.” 

Dripping wet just from this, her clit throbbing in excitement as she undressed him, tugging his pants down his legs, his underwear following quickly.

Javier helped her out of her pants, throwing them to the side as his calloused hands roamed over her beautiful thighs, her pussy hovering over where he needed her most. Already aching for her, groaning when her tongue went back to lapping up his sweat, her body lowering down, rubbing over the length of his cock as if to tease him.

She looked fucking beautiful like this, just as sweaty as he was, skin flushed red.

“C’mon, bebesita, know you wanna ride it.” His voice was gravelly, trying to sound composed while he watched the head of his cock appear and disappear between her wet folds as she rocked back and forth. “Stop teasing me.”

She smirked, raising her hips and reaching between them to grab his thick cock, guiding him to her aching hole. Slowly she sank down onto him, letting him fill her until he was buried inside of her entirely.

Leaning forward to kiss him, tongue licking into his mouth as she began to move on top of him, her hands gliding over his sweaty chest. She couldn’t go long before her mouth attached to his neck again, though, the salty taste only helping in building that pressure inside her abdomen, getting her closer.

“Love you all sweaty.” She moaned, moving her hips faster, his hands helping her. “So fucking hot like this, Javi.”

He lost himself in her quickly, grunting and groaning as he bounced on him, feeling sweatier by the second.

“My dirty girl.” Javier rasped, raising his hands briefly just to give her ass a soft smack, feeling her tighten around him, her hips erratic as she came suddenly.

Teeth sinking into his skin with a high-pitched moan, feeling him spill inside of her shortly after, unable to resist her tight pussy any longer.

She collapsed against him, a breathy laugh leaving her, loving the feel of his skin against hers.

“I’d say we should shower but…” Looking up at him, she brushed some hair from his forehead, licking her fingers after while he watched. “...you’re too delicious like this.”

In a way, she really did like the Colombian heat. As long as it let her enjoy Javier like this.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

"Cmon in, there are still several bodies left for you to pick,"

I rubbed my hands in excitement. What a banger, Callum and Fahd indeed said about plotting a revenge over our destroyed council estate. But I didn't expect that the revenge plotted involve gathering bodies from all over the city for us to slid into. Callum is clearly no longer a 19 years old estate lad since he slid himself inside the field commander of a fucking Colombian drug empire that everyone feared in the city. And as we walked through the house, it's clear that it's not just bunch of criminal overlord or outlaws that he, Fahd and the others managed to gather, it really is a mix of everyone that might be beneficial for our plot to dish out the revenge to those bunch of stupid thugs that destroyed our houses and family-owned business. For example, laid in the sofa is the pharmaceutical magnate and political megadonor eldest son, Peter Zheng, clearly passed out and then turned into a husk after his yet another drunken night that already placed his recluse father into the spotlight one too many times

In the opposite couch, there's literally the sleeping form of the more notorious biker's gang leader, Wyatt Robinson

I even witnessed the city's police chief and two councillor I know overseeing the thugs area passionately exchanged spits in one of the more private corner of the house

But eventually, when I watched this stud being fucked mercilessly by one of the newer neighbor of mine in the estate, I know I wanted that piece of hunk sprawled in bed moaning uncontrollably.

He seems out of his mind and for such an eloquent prick, looking at him at such stage turned me on in ways I never imagined I would be. I poked Callum's biceps to indicate that I want the hunk, so Callum just coughed a bit to let the guy fucking my prized stud know that he's being watched. He just looked at me and Callum and sighed, as he slid his cock out of the tight hole of the guy I wanted and put his pants back on

"Enjoy the stud,"

And just like that, he left me and Callum with the writhing hunk in bed

"Okay, go put him on and meet me downstairs in.....30 minutes, that's supposedly enough to know him and let his memories accessible to you,"

So here I am, left alone in a corner second-floor bedroom since a couple minutes ago with an out-of-mind hunk sprawled in bed, ready to be used by me.

I of course kept my mouth shut and I'm pretty sure no one knew about our relationship, but he's my former boss when I worked at the nightclub, and also an abusive ex of mine. I cannot help but smiled gleefully seeing him clearly not in his senses, maybe this is what they call as karma, and I cannot wait for the kind of revenge we will unleash to those bastard that burned down our estate as we get ourselves inside these folks

[gamergirl929]

From The Sideline (Straight To My Heart) (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

If there was one thing you didn’t expect when you became a sideline analyst, it was for Emily Sonnett to playfully flirt and tease you every chance she got, what you also didn't expect was to fall head over heels for the defender, and what you didn't know was that she had fallen head over heels for you as well.

The smile that stretches across your face as Emily Sonnett makes her way towards you is bright, it was always bright when it was directed at Emily.  

In all honesty, you were absolutely smitten with the woman, but you weren’t about to let her know how your playful flirting made your heart race, how her touches made your breath hitch.  

“There’s my favorite analyst.” Emily says, nudging you with her hip and you giggle, missing the flush on her cheeks.  

“There's my favorite player.” You say as she slings an arm around your shoulders, your cheeks darkening.  

“I better be your favorite.”  

You hum.  

“Hmmm, maybe I’ll have to find a new favorite...” You say, stroking your chin, the blonde pouting.  

“You wouldn’t break my heart, would you?” She asks, sticking her bottom lip out as far as it can go.  

You roll your eyes playfully, your gaze softening as your Y/E/C orbs meet Emily’s hazels.  

“Never.” You whisper, Emily visibly swallowing as her eyes flick from your Y/E/C’s to your lips and back.  

You clear your throat.  

“I really enjoyed watching you break the ankles of every Colombian player out there.” You smile and Emily snorts.  

“Were you impressed?” She says with a cocky grin, and you shake your head.  

“You always impress me, Emily Sonnett.” You smile and Emily’s eyes widen, the tips of her ears burning. 

You begin to giggle, Emily’s brows knitting in confusion.  

“What?” She asks, her head cocked to the side, reminding you of a puppy.  

“You know impressed me the most?” You ask and Emily’s head tilts even further to the side, the blonde studying your face.  

“What?” She asks again and you snort.  

“When you tripped over literally nothing.” You say, your tongue trapped between your teeth as Emily pouts.  

“Seriously, I have NO idea how you did it, I’m sure it took a LOT of skill.” You giggle, earning a playful shove from the blonde, her cheeks and the tips of her ears even redder than before.  

“Shut up.” She mumbles, your giggles tapering off as you stare at the pouting blonde.  

Boldly, you take a step closer to her, her eyes widening, her brows arching.  

“I do know one thing...” You whisper, Emily’s tongue swiping at her lips before her hazel orbs glance between your eyes and lips before again meeting your Y/E/C’s.  

“And what’s that?” She asks, her voice much softer than she intended, her playful lilt vanishing.  

“It was cute.” You smile, your fingertips brushing the hem of her jersey, the woman’s breath catching in her throat.  

“Hey!”  

The two of you jump at the sound of Trinity Rodman’s voice, she and Ashley Sanchez sprinting towards the two of you.  

“Stop flirting and get over here.” Trinity says, smirking when not only your cheeks, but Emily’s flush bright red.  

Emily shakes her head, mumbling as she’s dragged back onto the field.  

“I wasn’t flirting.”  

She wrenches her arm free, turning back towards you, her charming smile on display as she gives you an enthusiastic wave.  

“Don’t miss me too much.” She sends you a wink and you snort, shaking your head.  

“I won’t.”  

Emily scoffs.  

“Bullsh-- 

“Stop flirting.” Ashley says giggling as she drags the woman towards her teammates.  

You turn away, just barely hearing Emily’s murmur.  

“I'm not flirting.”

************************************************************************“Did you miss me...?” 

You chuckle, turning on your heels to face nonother than Emily Sonnett, the blonde cheekily grinning.  

“Always.” You wink, the blonde snickering as she chomps on her gum.  

She slips an arm around your middle, the two of you turning towards the game, watching as Lindsey attempts to head the ball into goal, missing it by inches.  

“Damn it.” She mumbles, subconsciously squeezing your side, making you squeak.  

Her eyes widen as she turns towards you, a smirk stretching across her face as your eyes widen.  

“Don’t.” You growl as the woman squeezes your side again, watching as you again jump, unable to bite back a giggle.  

The whistle signaling the half is over sounds, but you don’t realize, your entire attention on Emily Sonnett who digs her fingers into your sides, tickling you in front of thousands of fans.  

The two of you stiffen when someone clears their throat, both of you turning towards the field where Lindsey Horan is standing, her hands on her hips, a smirk stretched across her face.  

“Did you hear the whistle?” She asks, her green orbs darting between the two of you.  

“Ummm, yes?” Emily grins bashfully, the USWNT captain snorting.  

“Sureeeeeeeeeee you did.” She teases, shooting you a wink.  

“Come on, Twilia’s waiting.” She says, grabbing Emily’s arm, the blonde pouting as she’s again dragged away from you.  

“I’ll get you back for that!” You yell, the blonde snickering, her tongue stuck out childishly as she backs towards the locker room.   

“I’ll be waiting.”

***********************************************************************  Emily didn’t have to wait long, the blonde yelping loudly when you sneak up behind her, your own fingers digging into her sides.  

“Hey! Not fair!” She yells between giggles, her teammates watching the two of you, unable to bite back their smiles.  

It was obvious to literally anyone with eyes that the two of you had feelings for one another, well, except for the two most important people, you and Emily.  

They watch as Emily attempts to bat your hands away, your eyes widening when you realize you’re basically hugging her from behind, your cheeks dusted pink.  

Emily turns in your hold, her eyes widening when she realizes just how close the two of you are.  

She springs backwards, her cheeks an even darker shade of red as she scratches the back of her neck.  

“S-S-Sorry.” She stammers, gauging your reaction, but before you can even speak she’s sprinting away, bypassing her teammates and heading right to the locker room despite the fans calling out for her.  

Lindsey slaps her palm against her forehead.  

“Real smooth Sonny, REAL smooth.”  

************************************************************************Needless to say, the fans started to take notice of the relationship between you and Emily Sonnett, a number of fan videos being made of the two of you, something you hadn’t expected.  

Something you also didn’t expect was what was about to happen in the final of the CONCACAF W Gold Cup, the USWNT going head-to-head with Brazil.  

It happened in the 75th minute, a corner being earned by Emily Fox.  

You watch intently, scowling when the Brazilian’s, yet again, get handsy, the ref remaining stoic, turning away from the blatant fouls being committed by Brazil.  

Rose Lavelle holds her hand up before firing the cross, and number of USWNT getting bumped to the ground, but there’s one foul you’re focused on.  

Just as Emily Sonnett is about to jump and catch the header, a Brazilian player pulls her arm back, and accidently catches the blonde in the face, her nose almost immediately beginning to bleed.  

Your eyes widen as you move towards the sideline, and you screech to a reluctant halt, quickly realizing you couldn’t rush onto the field.  

Your heart races as you watch the medical team assess the damage, the blonde hunched over, the white towel quickly soaking with blood.  

You shuffle from foot to foot, your hands wringing together nervously as you do everything you can to hold yourself back, stopping yourself from sprinting onto the field and checking on the defender.  

Eventually, the medical team gets her to her feet, the blood-soaked towel still pressed against her nose. 

You watch with a frown as Emily is guided to the back, her hazel orbs visibly watering as she moves down the tunnel and out of view.  

You knew you should stay on the sideline; you knew that was your job, but Emily was more important, and with that you sprinted towards the tunnel, following behind her and the trainers.

***********************************************************************  You pace outside of the trainer’s room, waiting for the medical personnel to finish their jobs before you went in to see the blonde.  

Your head snaps upwards when the door creaks open, the medical personnel turning towards you.  

“We got the bleeding to stop, but it’s broken, she’s asking for you.”  

You nod, slipping past the pair, frowning when you see Emily resting on the bed, her nose clearly broken, the flesh beneath her eyes already shifting to purple.  

“Hey.” You whisper, Emily’s eyes flutter open, the woman turning towards you with a small smile, her nose packed with gauze.  

“Am I still good looking?” She asks and you chuckle, making your way to her bedside, taking a seat on its edge.  

“Of course.” You smile, your hand resting on her forearm.  

“Good, how else would I get all the ladies?” She smiles and you roll your eyes.  

“You’re the only person I know who would break their nose and still act like a goof.” You giggle and she chuckles, wincing softly.  

Emily’s breath catches in her throat when you gently cup her cheeks, her hazel orbs wise as you caress her bruising skin, inspecting her injured face closely.  

“Does it hurt?” You ask, snorting.  

“Of course it hurts.” You mumble, subconsciously caressing her cheek, unaware that Emily was slowly sitting up.  

Her hands settle on your shoulders, her thumb running along your collarbone as she leans in, your heart stalling in your chest.  

You meet in the middle, your lips gently pressing against hers, your hands leaving her cheeks and sliding to the back of her neck as your lips move.  

Your noses bump against hers and she whimpers, your eyes widening as you abruptly pull back.  

“Are you okay?” You ask, worriedly scanning her face, the woman nodding. 

"I'm okay, just fragile.” She says as she slowly starts to lean in.  

“Not fragile enough to stop kissing you though.” She whispers, her lips again meeting your own, the defender smiling against your lips as you kiss her gently.  

Your lips move in tandem, your thumbs tracing her jawline as you reluctantly part, her forehead resting against yours.  

“If all I had to do was break my nose to get you to kiss me, I would’ve done it sooner.” She chuckles and you giggle, leaning back in, your lips meeting hers. 

The two of you spring apart when the door swings open, your eyes widening when you see Lindsey Horan standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips.  

Trinity and Ashley peek over her shoulders, the two grinning.  

“She looks alright to me.” Trinity shrugs, shooting her a wink before she makes her way back towards the locker room, Ashley beaming.  

“A little bruised, but alright.” She comments before following after Trinity.  

Lindsey shakes her head, unable to bite back a grin.  

“Looks like you’re in good hands.” She winks as she makes her way out of the room, the door shutting behind her.  

You turn back to the blonde, her tongue running along her lips.  

“Now that, that’s over, where were we?” She asks and you smile, leaning in, your lips mere inches from hers.  

“Right about here.”  

Much to your delight, you’d share many more kisses with Emily Sonnett, every kiss you shared with Emily felt like the first you shared in the trainer’s room, all thanks to a Brazilian's elbow, and a broken nose.  

[damianeandres-blog]

😉

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 4

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia (sometimes internalized and sometimes not), canon typical violence* Mentions of Helena's assault and recovery, snooping, assumptions, jumping to conclusions, nausea/sickness, fatphobia, misogyny, a touch of internalized fatphobia as well, fist fight, canon typical violence, likely inaccurate portrayal of outdated technology. Summary: A whirlwind accidental revelation for Javier comes at the price of more fighting, while you struggle to digest the truth of the situation and how your own jumping to conclusions affects how you have treated people. Notes: These two dramatic idiots have my heart in a very real way. Happy reading!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3

Helena had tucked herself into bed by the time he came home again, and you were just about finished up with cleaning the living room. Just a few leftovers to put away, and you’ve had some more to eat as well as plenty of water and some aspirin. At this rate you’re pretty much sober again and still have all of your thoughts sunk down the soulmate rabbit hole. Trying to figure out how the universe could possibly pair the two of you has you in enough of a distracted state that you don’t hear the door open as you’re milling around in the kitchen with the radio on.

Throughout driving the girls back to the brothel, they had talked about you. Almost excessively and while he had tried to ignore their comments, he had found himself thinking about that unguarded, affectionate smile that you had given them. Not directed at him, but his stomach twists as he imagines what it would look like if you did. Wondering if he could maybe ease the tension that has been hovering around the apartment and if you are just tipsy enough to find him charming, rather than the gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

He hears the music from the hallway, tilting his head when he closes the door and it doesn't turn down. Depositing his keys on the hook and shucking his jacket before he walks into the kitchen to find you shaking your hips very provocatively. Enticing him to move closer, his cock interested in the rhythm you are moving to the music.

Colombian radio hits are vastly superior to American ones in your opinion. Much more danceable and much catchier. Dancing is the spoonful of sugar that helps the medicine of cleanup go down, so you step around the kitchen the way Inez had taught you back in your early days as a resident of Bogotá.

He could speak, he could press against you and dance with you. Or he can watch until you notice him. You are tense around him, you don't like him and to be honest – he doesn't know what the fuck he thinks about you. He would be interested in fucking you, if you didn't hiss and spit at him. Thinking again about how soft you were when he had pressed you against the wall and searched you before you pushed him away. He had been pissed, but not pissed enough that he didn't remember how you felt.

Dancing around and singing along, it isn’t until you turn completely to go make sure you got everything out of the living room that you see him. “Oh!” You stop dead, nearly falling over in surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

"Don't stop because of me, beautiful." He shoots you a charming grin and steps closer to you. "You have some good moves."

Shuffling slightly on the spot, you find yourself torn between utter annoyance that the girls obviously spilled the beans on the car ride home and gratitude that you don’t have to keep this secret from him. “Well…” You shrug and reach to turn down the radio. “Now you know.”

His brows furrow for a split second before he just thinks that you are talking about your moves. "I do." He smirks slightly and licks his lips. "I'm going to thinking about them tonight."

If you roll your eyes any more heavily they might fall out of your head, and you practically groan as you try to side step him to go back out to the living room again. "Sure, Javier. Enjoy that," you drawl.

He huffs slightly, jaw tense. "Frigid." He murmurs under his breath, shuffling slightly and wondering why the fuck he cares about your rejection so fucking much. He's been rejected before. Almost as much as he's been lucky, but for some reason, he doesn't like you walking away from him.

Stopping short just steps away from him, you whirl around soundly and narrow your eyes at him. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

Javi shrugs slightly, his own eyes cutting as he glances back over at you. "If the shoe fits, sweetheart, wear it." He snorts. "No wonder the CIA fuck was appealing."

"So the fact that I'm not falling down at your feet now means I must not have any passion whatsoever?" You hiss, aware that Helena is sleeping and putting in the effort not to wake her up like she's a child listening to her parents fight. "Is that it?"

"No." He frowns at that question and rolls his eyes. "I don't give a shit where you fall down. Jesus, I was just trying to fucking be nice and flirt a little." He walks over to the counter and snatches up a glass. "Won't fucking do that again."

"You didn't feel compelled to flirt with me before, so you certainly don't have to now that you know." There is a deep and unhappy tension to the way you shake your head, snatching up the scattered napkins and one glass left behind and turning back to the kitchen. Knowing that you're soulmates doesn't change the fact that he's presumptuous and knowingly sent Helena into danger.

"Know fucking what?" He opens the whiskey bottle and pours out a healthy measure. "That you fucked all of them? I figured. Listen, I don't give a shit if you like to eat pussy. And I actually don't get off on watching lesbian sex."

"You'd be a hell of a hypocrite if you cared that we've fucked the same women." The reminder grates in your voice. That you've done nothing different than he has and the only reason he might pretend to care or judge you is because you're a woman.

"Jesus Christ, what is your fucking problem?" Javi slams the glass back down on the table with a loud thunk, whiskey sloshing over his hand.

It's a damn good thing the glass in your hand hits the sink before he makes you jump, otherwise it probably would have smashed on the counter. "I just don't see why it fucking matters!" You sling back at him, rounding on your toes to seethe in his direction. "What does it matter who we've fucked or what fucking God or the universe or fate decided? You didn't like me before any of this and you don't have to pretend to like me now."

He is complete and utterly confused, but he doesn't like the fucking venom you throw at him. Unable to resist huffing. "You're the one who fucking acted like a cunt the first time I met you."

"The first time I met you was at the embassy, asshole. And I nearly tripped over my own jaw thinking how good you looked compared to every other douchebag in the place." Far too blinded by annoyance and hurt to censor yourself anymore, you throw the crumpled napkins in your hand across the counters and all but kick the cabinets. "If I had known what a selfish bastard my soulmate would turn out to be, sending a vulnerable woman into the lion's den for information? I might have thought twice!"

It's like the fucking world crashes down around him. Punching the air out of him and making him nearly choke. Soulmate. His mind spins and blanks before it spins again. Javier has never cared about his soulmate, not after discovering that someone could and would lie about that precious status to trick him into a relationship, a marriage that was not wanted. He had narrowly escaped that fate and had never looked back. Only to be kicked in the fucking balls by learning that this judgmental bitch is claiming to be his. "What?"

The look on his face tells you everything you need to know, and you instantly deflate with one key realization. "They didn't tell you."

"Tell me fucking what?" He growls, nearly shaking with denial and shock.

"Javier..." Fuck, fuck, fuck. You are definitely the bitch in this scenario. You can't deny that now. "They've...we've both...they saw our marks months ago. All three of them. We got giggly and stupid drinking whiskey all afternoon and they let it slip to me. I – very wrongfully, apparently – assumed they'd told you in the car when you were driving them home."

He had come home early to pack. He was leaving for Medellín again. Needing to meet up with Carillo and make sure that the information that had been learned that night was put to good use. Only to run into tipsy, happy women and make the mistake of trying to soften up one's rough edges with him. You blame him for what happened to Helena. You made that obvious. You claim to be his soulmate and you hate him. His jaw clenches and he turns around to walk out of the kitchen, needing to get away from you, from here.

"Frigid." You toss at his retreating back, wishing you had something else in your hands to throw out of sheer anger.

Some fucking soulmates you two are.

******

Javier slips out of the apartment less than an hour later. His bag is packed, his room straightened, but he makes sure that there are no sounds coming from the living room. He frowns as he concentrates on the road, knowing Murphy will be pissed that he beats him to Medellín instead of leaving with him in the morning like he had planned, but Javi won't sleep. Not tonight.

"What has your panties in a bunch?" Steve asks around the butt of a cigarette the next morning, when Javi is sitting in the middle of the hotel room with files and notes already spread out on the table around him when Murphy walks into the room. "Couldn't wait for me and share the drive?"

His eyes burn, feeling gritty and heavy. Still, he cuts them narrowly, flicking cigarette ash into the tray and reaching for his sixth coffee cup. Almost jittery as he lifts it to his lips. "Had fucking work to do."

"Easy there, Cujo." Putting up both hands in a gesture of peace, Steve flops his suitcase down on the far bed to complete the motion. "Don't bite me for teasing."

“Fuck yourself.” Javi hisses, still in the foulest mood from realizing that you completely blame him for Helena. It’s one thing to blame himself, but he had begged her not to go, only to have her insist that she could. Then he had warned her not to ask questions, to play the part of the brainless beauty, there only to satisfy their sexual urges. But you blame him as if he were the one that had abused her. It makes him want to throw up.

"What the hell happened to you, man?" Steve Sits down beside him and frowns. "This is about four times pissier than I've seen you before." And he can't let Peña go out there and do any kind of work with his temper like this. It'll blow everything up. So he has to diffuse the tension now if he can.

“Don’t fucking worry about it.” Javi drains the rest of the coffee and sighs, putting the cup down and rubbing his eyes.

"I know I'm just a hick," he raises his eyebrows and glances at his partner over his aviators, daring Peña to argue. "But it doesn't take an Ivy League degree to tell you've got shit on your mind."

Javi snorts, mildly impressed when the man’s tenacity. When Murphy doesn’t look away, he sighs and closes his eyes, reaching up and rubbing the sore spot on the back of his neck. “It’s—” he pauses and remembers the way you had looked at him like he was no better than a fucking sicario. “Found out who my soulmate is.”

"Yeesh." The sound Murphy makes is something like a wince and a low whistle mixed together. "Not exactly an ideal discovery, I take it?"

“Every man doesn’t want a ball busting bitch who hates his guts?” Javi snorts, shaking his head.

The other man huffs a laugh, shaking his head at the irony of Javier Peña's soulmate being one of the only women in the world who didn't swoon when he looked at them. "That bad, huh?"

“Don’t want to talk about it.” He clenches his jaw and shakes his head as he crushes out another cigarette. He’s going to be here for at least three days, so the best thing for him is that you will be out of his apartment when he gets back. He can forget that you had ever met him and pretend like he’s not a little crushed that his soulmate isn’t the balm on his soul like he had secretly wished for.

"Yes, you do." Steve asserts with confidence.

“No, I don’t.” He argues, picking up another cigarette and flicking his lighter open.

"If you didn't want to talk about it, you wouldn't even have given me a morsel," Murphy argues, though he keeps his tone light and inconsequential. "Who is she?"

“No one you know.” He sighs and closes his eyes after he blows out the smoke. “She blames me for what happened last week.”

"Shit." Murphy lets out a breath and shakes his head, knowing that that must be cutting Javi deep. "She knows the whole story and still...?"

“Guess fucking so.” He sighs. “So just— yeah. I want to work and fucking forget about her and her stuck up opinion.”

"I'd wager she doesn't know everything, otherwise she wouldn't." When Javier glares at him, Steve puts up his hands in surrender again. "I'm shutting up about it now. That's just my two cents, alright?"

“Can we work now?” Javi asks testily, motioning to the files.

"Fine. Yes. We can work now." Murphy acquiesces. Though he has nothing but endless that he may never have the answers to. Especially if Peña's soulmate really is as prickly as the man says.

“Good.” He had come to Colombia to catch Pablo Escobar, not to fucking worry about a soulmate.

******

The morning is excruciating, but not because of a hangover. Not because you don't sleep enough, or because you slept weird and gave yourself a mystery pain. It's because you had stress dreams the entire night of terrible things happening to Javier with nothing but anger and hateful words in the air between you. In one of them he had even refused to let you see him in the hospital as he lay dying because he hated you so much.

And the worst part about every single dream was that you deserved it.

So waking up in the morning is excruciating, but you decide to do something about it. A shower, clean clothes, even a decent outfit from the clothes that you had packed to bring over to his place. The effort you put in to make yourself not just look presentable but actually to look nice might be misplaced and based in guilt, but when you go down the hall to knock on Javier's bedroom door, you at least know for sure that you're doing your best to be respectful of another human. Just because you don't get along doesn't mean he deserved to have your soulmate status spat at him in anger when he heard it for the first time.

The knock goes unanswered. A silent refusal to even acknowledge your existence and he doesn’t even move around inside.

The silence stretches far too long, and you try again, knocking a little louder. Again, nothing. Utter nothingness is your only answer. "Javier?" You try, wondering if something in your tone might help. You're not angry today. Or, at least, you're trying very hard to suppress that reflex.

Still there’s no sound coming from the bedroom. A door down the hall opens and closes, but the sound is barely audible from this portion of the apartment.

"Javier?" Louder this time, and you knock again. More certain. More assertive. But consciously keeping any thread of anger out of it at all. Wondering if maybe that sound was him leaving the apartment, but it didn't sound like the front door to you. It sounded like the hall closet, and you take a peek down the hall and find that yes – Helena's door is open. She must have been getting a clean towel to shower with.

"Javier?" You try once more, and with no response you decide to try the doorknob. When it gives unexpectedly, you push the door open a crack and call his name one more time. Still getting no response, you bite the bullet and step into his room.

His room is large, the bed would have dwarfed a smaller space, but it fits the large room. Massive, it’s covered in a neat dark blue duvet and has the pillows neatly propped against the wooden rattan center of the headboard. Nothing is out of place in the room, like it is neat out of habit or compulsion which is ironic because his desk is always a mess.

"Oh...kay...?" Looking around provides you with absolutely no clues whatsoever as to what may have happened, until you take another step inside and catch a glimpse of a piece of paper on his nightstand.

While he had packed, Javi had decided that you were nosey enough to come into his room and had decided to write you a note. Leaving it somewhere you would find it if you did decide to snoop.

"The hell...?" You murmur aloud, seeing your name written neatly on the top line

“Went to Medellín. It was the reason I came home early and ruined your fun. Won’t be back for a few days so I’m sure you’ll be gone by then. Lock the door when you leave and have a nice life.” Javi had added on to the bottom of the note. “There’s money for Helena in the kitchen drawer. Give it to her for me.”

Apologizing this morning isn't going to happen. It's too little too late, and in the form of a gesture he clearly has no interest in. Sighing out, you pick up the note without touching anything else in his room and close the door behind you, then go retrieve the mentioned cash from his kitchen drawer. You know which one he means, you'd seen him add and subtract from the amount in the drawer a few times over the course of your stay here.

There’s two thousand dollars in the drawer. He had thought about giving it to her in person, but she always had a hard time accepting money from him. She wouldn’t have taken this money because she would have seen it as a goodbye. He knows that things have changed, their intimacy shifted into a different skin and he doesn’t want her to think that it’s because of what happened. That she’s lacking in some way. There’s a little note under the rubber band of the cash. “You deserve more than I could ever give you. Your visa is approved sweetheart. I’m sorry the cost was so high. I wish things were different. Javier”

"Shit..." You must read that note three times over, feeling the concern and the care in it, and how different it is from the one he left you. How cold – frigid – his regard for you is. And wondering if you missed something somewhere along the line.

Helena calls your name, stepping out of the bathroom again. “Are you okay?”

"I—um—" Stumbling over the answer, you have a feeling you look as lost as you feel when you cross the room to offer Helena the wad of cash and her note. "Javier had to go back to Medellín," you tell her, nearly choking on the words. "He left you a note."

Her look of confusion is cleared up when she sees the cash. Making her sigh as she reaches for it with an almost sad expression. She knows what it is and almost wants to refuse it. He knows now, although you don't look remotely happy. She reads the note, eyes wide and she starts to cry. "It— it was approved!" She chokes out. "I am leaving!"

“It looks that way.” Your head bobs slightly in a nod and you do your best to keep all of the emotions of the morning out of your voice and smile. “Do you know where you want to live when you get there?”

"I have family in Chicago." She murmurs softly, looking down at the note. "It—" She closes her eyes and swallows. "I can't believe that it happened. I told him that going to the party would show my willingness to get them information." It had been at a high price, but it was worth it since she could take her son and leave this place.

You freeze on the spot, eyes widening slightly and you try to remember how to swallow. How to breathe. “You…volunteered?”

She looks back up at you in confusion, tilting her head as she watches your expression. "Of course." She shakes her head. "Javier did not want us to go to Medellín to the party, but none of us could pass it up." She pauses. "You think he – that it is his fault?" She shakes her head again, understanding now why you might not like him. That would be a heavy sin to forgive. "No, I was – I fucked up. It is my fault that Gacha got suspicious. He is insane." She shivers slightly and closes her eyes, trying to block out the memories. "I thought I was going to die, to – then there was yelling and gunshots. The man who was – he was dead and Javi was there. Carrying me out of that room after he covered me up and telling me that it would alright." You had never pushed her to tell you what happened, but she would not let you think that Javier was anything but a hero in her eyes for saving her that night.

"But—" Your mind is spinning and you're trying your best to keep up with the thoughts swirling and trying to be heard over each other. Shouting over each other. Screaming at you to be heard and screaming about how utterly wrong you were. "But he told you what to do—?" You insist, still trying to wrap your head around it.

She wonders how you could know that. If Javier had confided in you about what had happened. You know that he had been more upset than he would show you, maybe he had been rambling and you had misheard him. "After I told him I would not stay home, he told me that he would do his best to protect us." She sighs softly, a part of her wishing she had listened to him. "Even before I got on the plane, he had asked me to reconsider. To think of my son." She smiles sadly. "I was thinking of him. That is the problem."

"So I've..." You swallow, hard, and feel your eyes widen all over again as water starts to push at the back of them. It's shame, this deep, sickening feeling in your gut. Shame and guilt. And you fucking deserve every second of it. "I've had it completely wrong?"

"Javi blames himself too." She admits. "He feels bad that he could not protect me." She hadn't been completely out of it some of the times that he had sat with her, confessed his guilt while thinking she couldn't hear him. "Your soulmate is a lot more emotional than he pretends to be." She smiles. "He has had to harden himself in order to do what must be done. How else can you survive a battle against monsters?"

"Shit..." Your stomach roils, flipping angrily and making you so sick you almost hunch over. "You're...you're right, honey. Of course you are. I just...excuse me." Putting all of the puzzle pieces together in your mind – or at least starting to – has you sprinting for the bathroom to empty your stomach.

She frowns after you, hearing you retch and following you into the bathroom. She can't do anything more than rub your back, but she owes you that after the care and comfort she has been given. "It's okay." She soothes you softly, wondering if there have been harsh words between you. If that was why there seemed to be such a heavy feeling to the apartment.

"I'm fine." A bold-faced lie, but the idea of being pitied or even taken care of after you accused your own fucking soulmate of hurting her just makes you even sicker. "Just hungover," you double down, as if you could make the lie into truth by sheer force of will.

"We drank a lot of whiskey." She hums, pursing her lips. "I will make you some coffee." Sensing you need a moment alone; she quickly disappears to start the coffee pot that is in Javi's kitchen.

It doesn't matter that you both know full well that the alcohol didn't do this to you. It doesn't matter that you did this to yourself in absolutely every way. As you lean over the toilet with your knees planted on the bathroom tile, all you can think about is the crestfallen, half-broken expression on Javier's face last night when you revealed that you were his soulmate in the middle of a spitting-mad argument.

Your soulmate is a lot more emotional than he pretends to be. Helena's voice rings in your ears. He has had to harden himself in order to do what must be done.

There is a folded piece of paper on the counter and Helena opens it, reading the note and sighing softly. Apparently things were not the best between the two of you, based on the terse tone. She wonders if she should call Javi, tell him that you are his soulmate. It might help.

The phone is nearby, and she knows he wouldn't mind a long-distance call, but she isn't sure where in Medellín he is. Her best guess would be the hotel where everyone was staying last weekend, but it would only be a guess.

Dialing the hotel, she asks for his room, pleasantly surprised when she is connected. Waiting to hear him pick up, the phone just rings and rings and rings. Making her sigh as she hangs the phone back on the hook and turns to see you walk into the kitchen.

"Sorry about that," you murmur, walking straight to the cupboard to get a glass for water. All the life has drained from your face and your eyes are downcast, making you look very sick all of a sudden.

"The coffee is brewing." She reaches out and strokes your arm. "We will have you feeling better in no time."

"I'm fine." Even repeating it sounds hollow, but you get a glass of water from the tap and lean back against the counter to slowly sip it with your eyes closed. What the fuck were you thinking? Chewing him a new asshole without all the facts? All but flat out accusing him of throwing her life and safety away? You're a fucking investigative journalist. You know better than to not get all the facts.

"You will be." She promises, opening the fridge and pulling out some of the food that had been left from yesterday. "We will make sure of it."

"You don't have to do that," you protest, the weakness in your voice obvious. "Take care of me, I mean."

The look that she shoots you is reproachful, as if you were a naughty child. "And you did not have to take care of me." She reminds you. "We are friends, friends take care of each other."

What you mean is that you don’t feel deserving of her care, but saying that out loud will only open a conversation as to why and you would rather avoid that if you can. “Tell me about your family,” you prompt instead. “The ones in Chicago.”

"Cousins." You obviously want to change the subject and she is willing to do that. "My mother's sister married an American and moved to Chicago when we were children."

“So you’ll have a whole extended family to be with. To raise your son with.” It is nothing less than everything she deserves, to have family and a home and secure happiness waiting for her on the other end of this hellish tunnel. “That’s wonderful.”

"Hopefully so." Getting out of Colombia will be good for her, although she hates that she will have to leave her friends, you and Javi, behind when she leaves.

“I’ll have to come out and see you sometime. Once I’m home again,” you murmur as if you’re reading her thoughts. “Chicago is just a few hours on a plane from where I live.”

"That would be good." She smiles softly, although she doesn't really expect it. No one really would want to socialize with a former prostitute that you used to sleep with. "That would be nice."

“Chicago is cold.” You wonder if she has any idea. If she has talked to her aunt or her cousins much. “But the food is great and there is a lot to do. You’ll be busy before you know it.”

"My cousin said she could help me get a job." She doesn't want to keep sleeping with people for money, doesn't know if she could anymore. She wants a better life for her son and is determined to give it to him. "It is good that I have been able to work on my English with you and Javi."

“We can switch to English whenever you want.” She won’t be here much longer. You understand that, but you want to do whatever you can to help. “Is there a family business or something like that? That you’ll be able to work in?”

"They have a restaurant." She smiles. "Our food is pretty popular in Chicago apparently."

“That’s wonderful.” No one deserves for things to finally take an upturn more than Helena does. She’s very literally been through hell and all you can hope now is that she gets to leave it all behind her. “It will be a fresh start. You deserve it, honey.”

The coffee maker beeps and she turns towards the pot. "There we go." She smiles. "I will miss fresh coffee beans though." She jokes. "But not that much."

“I promise you can get good coffee in Chicago,” you assure her, appreciating that she can have a sense of humor about absolutely anything at all.

"Yeah." She hums and gives you a reassuring look. "It's more important that my son is proud of me." She admits. "More important than coffee that he has me."

“It’s going to be a good change.” For so many reasons. For almost every reason, you hope. And the thought that comes to you next almost chokes you with its irony. “Maybe your soulmate is waiting for you up there? Who knows.”

"Only if he's as good as yours is." She turns back to the cabinet to grab two coffee mugs, not seeing how your face falls.

“I fucked it up.” You murmur, letting the words out into the morning air. Releasing the feeling of failure from your stomach before it can make you sick again.

"Javier is under a lot of stress." She dismisses your claim and turns back to hand you a cup of the coffee. "He probably felt ambushed when he was told." She can admit that they didn't handle this the right way, but there was no going back now. She's sure that whatever little spat you had was completely Javi not taking the news well. "I am going to get dressed." She leans in and kisses your cheek. "Don't be jealous of the girls in Medellín too much. He will be back and fucking you soon enough."

Even though you highly doubted his return would bring anything more than icy stares and cutting words at most, you don’t say so as Helena sashays out of the room with a bounce in her step that you haven’t seen in weeks. Her good news has finally arrived. She’s going to to get out — of this lifestyle and this place — and she deserves to be happy about it.

But you? You have fucked it up. And you’re not sure what to do about it now.

******

Three days later, Javi opens the door to his apartment. Listening for a moment and he's oddly deflated when he doesn't hear anything. There is a stillness that can only be attributed to abandonment hanging in the air. Everything is neat as a pin, even the ashtray on the coffee table has been cleaned out, the old afghan throw on the back of the sofa straight. You had obviously made sure to leave his apartment better than you had found it and he's a little annoyed at himself, wondering if you had felt anything but relief when you realized he was gone. Sighing to himself, he drops his bag and kicks the door shut. The trip had been successful, but his stomach still churns when he recalls the look on your face, the loathing in your eyes when you spit at him. Fuck. You're gone like he had thought you would be, but for some reason, he's unhappy about that too.

You had left like he asked you to. Gone back to your apartment. Broken up with Alex in person without asking him about any ulterior motives because honestly you didn’t want to know. And then you’d sat with Inez in your living room and cried your eyes out as you explained everything that had happened. Every angry word and hateful look. Every slammed door. By the end of it you’d given yourself a migraine with the tears and been grateful to simply go to bed, and for the very first time you were sorry to be in your own bed rather than in Javier’s apartment.

Staring at the phone, Javi's pissed at himself. He memorized that fucking number. Your pager number. He's picked up the phone six different times to page you but each time he had slammed the phone down and picked up a cigarette to take a drag from it. Reminding himself that you had nothing to say to him, you would probably prefer that he not even exist, but he had taken a closer look at your marks every fucking time he was undressed and hates how he wonders how they look on your body.

You had decided to avoid the embassy like the plague, and kept that resolve for an entire week before you finally had to go in to collect some quotes and verify information for your latest article. The small spotlight on Helena that she had consented to used only her alias to avoid anyone identifying her from the interview once she arrived in the States, and your editor had even promised to pay her more than originally agreed upon in a good will gesture that certainly wouldn't hurt as she got on her feet in Chicago very soon. Your own fears of running into Alex or Javier had to be put aside so you could do your job, especially when doing your job meant helping your friend.

"Fuck." Javi picks up his coffee cup for the third time, forgetting again that it was empty and glaring at the bottom of the mug.

"It won't refill itself." Steve teases, making him cut his eyes over at the other man.

Murphy had been vastly amused by the fact that Javi's mood hadn't improved, even suggesting that he go see one of the girls, but he couldn't even do that. There is this fucking nagging sense of guilt that curdles in his stomach when he even thinks about Vanessa or Freckles. He had stopped by to see Helena and to give her the paperwork he had gotten from Colleen, but nothing else had happened and he had practically fled when she brought up your name. He couldn't even fuck away his stress now that he knows who his soulmate is and that pisses him off even more. Flipping Murphy a middle finger, he shoves back from his desk to walk to the break room coffee pot.

The hallways of the embassy are typically busy, and the breakroom on this floor is far enough away that he has time to stew on his way there. Stewing so much that he apparently stops looking where he's going, leading him to walk smack into a woman's shoulder as she began to round the corner, sending hot coffee and paperwork scattering in multiple directions with the sound of a surprised yelp.

"Fuck, I'm—" His eyes meet yours and the apology dies on his lips. Shocked to literally run into you in the halls of the embassy. Frowning slightly as he glances down to make sure that he didn't spill the drink on you. "Shit." He hisses, bending down to start gathering up your now stained paperwork."

"I'm sorry." The words spring instantly from your lips on seeing him, regardless of the fact that you're certain he doesn't want to hear a word you have to say. Even if he only accepts an apology for this moment of clumsiness, you would still consider it a small win amongst all of the chaos surrounding knowing each other.

"My fault." He grunts, not looking up although he could easily look up your skirt. He swallows harshly and jumbles the papers together even though they are all out of order now and stands as he tries to straighten them even more.

"No." You shake your head, taking the papers from his hands after you tug your blouse back into place, and try not to think too hard about the small touch of your hands when you do. "I'm entirely at fault out of the two of us."

Javi shifts to pick up his cup and glances down at it's now empty vessel. "Yeah, well, we'll agree to disagree again." He rocks his jaw to the side and quickly glances up at you before he's looking down the hall. "Better go get more coffee. Sorry again." Needing to get away from you before he can do something stupid.

Knowing you deserve to be brushed off doesn't necessarily make it hurt less, and the wobble of your chin as he hurries away without so much as a spared glance in your direction makes you wish you had never set foot in this godforsaken embassy today.

"Shit, shit, shit." Javi bypasses the break room, the idea of coffee nearly nauseating. Instead he pushes into the men's bathroom, his stomach twisting from the brief run in with you and he feels like he's drowning.

"Careful there, Peña." A tall man in a poorly cut suit shifts to the side to narrowly avoid being knocked over as he dries his hands at the sink. "Might get the grease from your hair on me and I don't think the DEA pays well enough for dry cleaning bills based on what you and Murphy wear on a daily basis."

Fuck, as if his day couldn't get any worse. The ringing in his ears fades from the pure annoyance but he would be damned if he would thank this CIA fuck for that. "What the fuck are you doing haunting the halls of the embassy?" He snorts. "Other than fucking annoying people."

"Some of us actually do our work." Alex replies haughtily. He turns away from Peña with a scoff to straighten his tie in the mirror. "And in an office bigger than a broom closet, to boot."

"Really?" Javi smirks, resisting the urge to slam that pretty face into the mirror and break his nose. It has nothing to do with the fact that you were fucking this prick. Not at all. "Didn't realize the CIA was headquartered in La Dispensaria."

Alex's eyebrow barely twitches at the mention of the club, but he turns to lean back against the sink bay and crosses his arms over his chest condescendingly. "What would you know about it?" He asks, tone pitched down into disapproval that runs very near to an accusation.

"Plenty." He's hit a nerve and he knows it. Javier glances towards the door as if he expected you to be standing there. "Pretty clever, climbing into bed with the journalist." He compliments, although there's nothing clever about it in his mind. He used you. "Making sure you could get in and out of the place without anyone looking too closely."

"Not the most pleasant assignment, but someone had to bite the bullet." He shakes his head at that and tosses the wadded up paper towel in his hands toward the trash bin. "No one picks a fat chick, but at least she wasn't a prude." He smirks at Peña, dusting himself off performatively once more before he pushes off from the sinks to head to the door. "Maybe I'll make another visit. Even whales suck cock."

On a normal day, Javier has restraint. He can trade insults and not jump. It's not a normal day and the conversation is about someone that is a lot closer to him than this fucking prick could ever imagine. Even if you don't like him, even if you hate him, you are his soulmate and he would never let that kind of insult ride. The fucker is halfway out the door when Javi hits him with his lowered shoulder, both of them careening into the hallway and crashing to the floor. "Fucker!" Javi hiss, rolling him over and punching him in that fucking smart ass, insulting mouth. He's furious and right now, he's going to take out all his frustration on this slimy dickhead.

They crash into the open hallway with such a suddenness and literally violent force that it sends a few typists scattering. A few nearby Milgroup jarheads take an interest, of course, as do some of the FBI suits, and the crowd that gathers in the hall outside the men’s bathroom soon looks far more like a high school brawl than anything else.

Sets of eyes are easily attracted to a group this big, though, and it takes only a matter of a minute before you become aware of it too. Doing your best to peek over shoulders and around heads, you curse under your breath when you finally get a look at who is fighting. “Let me through,” you insist, nudging your way between a pair of men in fatigues on one side and two chattering women in heels and suits on the other.

“Let me through!” You rumble the second time, and find that you make it to the front of the group that much easier with anger in your voice.

Your ex-boyfriend and your soulmate. On the floor. In a fistfight. “What the absolute fuck is going on?” You huff at them before you can stop yourself.

Javi hisses when Alex's fist crashes into his jaw, hitting him harder than he had expected the pussy to hit, but he's shaking it off and retaliating. Lunging at him again and jabbing him in the kidneys several times before he pulls back and punches him in the head again. "Piece of shit!" He hears people talking, thinks he even hears your voice, but he doesn't stop. Too busy venting all his frustration out into this fight.

“Stop!” Whatever has caused this fight, you are acutely aware of the fact that you’re probably more in the middle of it than anyone else present, and shove past the crowd fully to try to drag Javier off of Alex. Smaller and faster despite being broad in his own right, Javier is clearly on the literal top of this fight regardless of who started it. The fact that you want to punch Alex for your own reasons is something you fully put aside for now as you put yourself bodily between the two men. “Javi, stop!”

The men that are watching the fight on the edges of the crowd are enjoying themselves, some of them rooting for Javi, some of the rooting for Alex. They are also exercising caution. It's never safe to grab a man who is the middle of a fight. Too easy to end up taking a hit themselves. Javi feels someone grabbing at his shoulders and he whips around the hit the bastard. Only stopping himself in horror when he sees your eyes widen and you flinch away to protect yourself from the blow. Freezing when he realizing that he had almost hit you. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out before the loud and furious voice of the Ambassador rings out from behind the crowd. "What the fuck is going on here?"

The assembled crowd scatters, all of them wanting to keep their jobs fully in tact and not be implicated in whatever they were just witnessing. The only people who don’t flee are Alex — laid out on the floor and groaning pitifully about his face — and you and Javier, who stand side by side with equal confusion and concern in your eyes.

"Peña." Even though she is a solid five-foot one inch tall, Noonan doesn't suffer fools lightly. Her face filled with fury, she takes in the scene and almost immediately determines you are the cause of the issue. "Why is that every fucking problem I have in this place, you are at the center of it?" She snarls before she looks over at you. "Do you work here?" She demands.

“No ma’am,” you answer honestly. Though your work does take you in and out of the embassy often, you don’t actually work there. Right now you’re just standing there with fear in your eyes and a lump in your throat, wishing you could reach for Javier and knowing you would be deservedly rejected if you tried.

She looks back at Javier. “Are you both fucking her?” She demands, wanting to know why you didn’t scurry off like the rest of them.

“Neither of them is and what the hell does that matter?” You spit back at the ambassador, finally seeing for the first time what your friends meant when they told you over and over how alike you and Javier could be.

"If you aren't involved, then get the hell out of my Embassy." Noonan hisses, narrowing her eyes at the two men on the floor. "Agent Peña, Agent Harris, get your asses off the floor and into my office, now." She turns on her heel and marches back towards her office, giving them no chance to argue.

“I’ll wait outside,” you murmur to Javier, wondering if he even cares. But something in the hollow of your chest screams at you to wait. To talk to him.

"Go home." He doesn't look at you, afraid that he will punch Alex again if he looks at your pretty face. You don't deserve the comments that fucker made. "I'm going to get my ass chewed for a while."

Before you can even ask him if he’s sure, Javier stalks off after the ambassador and Alex pulls himself up onto his feet with nothing but a snarl aimed in your direction.

Wait for an hour, you bargain with yourself, worried that Javier might be about to lose his badge over something that vaguely concerns you. If he does, you know for certain he’ll never so much as speak to you again. And you wouldn’t blame him. Just an hour and then go home. There’s nothing you can do here that will help.

His jaw aches but his fist hurts like bitch as he listens to Noonan rake his ass over the coals. His eyes cut over to where the CIA agent is slumped in his chair, craddling his cheek and it gives him an enormous sense of satisfaction to see that his left eye is already swollen shut. "You're fucking suspended for the next three days." That makes him whip his head back towards the ambassador and he leans forward. "Ma'am, we are in the middle of an important sting." He stresses, not wanting to be taken off the case for even an hour. "We will get word any second now."

“And you can read Murphy’s report when it’s over.” She informs him tersely. “Go home, Peña. If I even get a whiff of you around here before Friday, it’ll be your ass.”

He clenches his jaw, knowing there is no point in arguing with her. He's already listened to her rail at him for nearly an hour and half. Neither man would tell her why they were fighting. He stands and shoots Alex a hot glare before he walks out of the ambassador's office. He needs a fucking drink.

******

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice echoes in the empty stairwell, just you and Chi-Chi sitting on the top step together with her head in your lap as you stroke her fur and tell her what happened at the embassy today. Inez is out with your landlady, driving her to the beauty parlor for her weekly appointment, so you can’t even go have a drink with your friend and try to figure out what step comes next. All you can do is pet Chi-Chi and hope against hope that something might get resolved soon. Though you doubt it.

******

"You look like shit." Javi rolls his eyes, leaning back against the half wall that the table is pressed against and blows out the cigarette smoke as Horatio pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down. "You should see the other guy." Javi huffs, smirking slightly before he frowns again in pain and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“Got what he deserved?” Carillo asks, but he already knows the answer. Javier Peña doesn’t get into fist fights. Not usually. Which means this one had a reason.

"Yeah." He had to take a couple of aspirin, and he could probably use to some ice on his hand, but he's using the whiskey to dull the pain. "What are you doing here?"

“Waiting for a call.” Carillo tilts his head, studying the agent in front of him. “You didn’t forget. Did Murphy not tell you?”

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Javier shakes his head slightly, but it hurts. "Just got suspended for the next three days."

“Shit.” Both men shake their heads now, and Carillo leans back in his seat in dismay. “We timed the raid for tonight. Murphy’s just waiting to call it in when the time is right.”

Javi leans back and nods. There's no location set obviously. He closes his eyes and lifts his glass to his lips again. He's going to miss out on the fruits of his labor and there's not a goddamn thing he can do about it.

“It’s a shame.” Carillo comments, shaking his head. “You’ve worked too hard in this. Just hope whatever ass-kicking you gave out was worth it.”

He shrugs slightly, not willing to talk about it with the man who has been with his soulmate since he was a child. "Don't regret it." Is all he's willing to say.

Horatio nods, merely making a sound of assent before the two men sink into silence and sip their drinks in relative peace. No one ever accused Horatio Carillo of being chatty, and his time spent with Agent Peña is always proof of that.

He knows that you have to at least think that the fight was over you. Still, he feels guilty about how fucking close he came to hitting you. Even if it would have been an accident, he knows you would never forgive him for that, even if you already hate him. Javi sighs.

He has no way of knowing that you’re currently venting your worries and frustrations to an overlarge guard dog. No way of knowing that you stayed at the embassy a full half hour later than you promised yourself you would and he only missed seeing you sitting outside on the steps by a bare five minutes.

The phone on the table between them rings and Javi eyes it jealously. Irritated that he won't be able to go along on the operation. He listens in when Carillo answers, although he can't quite hear what is being said but it's obvious that it's Steve on the other end. He can tell that it's hillbilly English rather than Spanish.

When Carillo hangs up, he’s already standing and slipping back into his jacket. “Time to go,” he tells Peña needlessly. “Don’t get your badge taken tonight,” he warns, leaning over the table. “Stay away from La Dispensaria, okay?”

"Yeah." He sighs and drowns the rest of his drink with a huff and cutting his eyes when he realizes that he got left with the bill for the other man's drink. The name doesn't register with him until he is motioning for another drink. "Fuck!"

There’s a line for the phone at the bar — three separate people who all apparently need to make the most important calls of their lives from this very place and refuse to move, making Javier furious when no one will let him in just to make a fast and vital phone call.

"Goddamnit." Javi hisses, he had already run out of the bar to see if he could catch Carillo but the fucker was already gone. "Hurry up." He growls, moving back to the bar and demanding to use their phone.

The girl behind the bar saunters up with the house phone in hand, smokey eyes and full lips on display. “Need to make a call, handsome?”

"Yes." He doesn't flirt but he reaches for the phone. "It's important."

“Fine.” He doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood to play, which makes her frown, but she still sets the phone down on the bar. “Tip your bartender,” she singsongs, walking away.

The number that he has memorized is punched in hastily, listening to the message and he remembers that he doesn't know the fucking number to the bar. "Hey!" He shouts down the bar. "What’s the number here?"

The bartender slings the ten-digit number back at him carelessly, annoyed that her attempt at flirting didn't get anywhere. When the message asks for a call back number, Javi punches it in and adds #911 to the end of the message that will flash across the beeper’s face.

He sits and frets for a whole three minutes before the bar's phone rings, staring at it like it's offended him until the telephone starts to clatter to life. The first ring barely finishes before he is snatching it up and hissing your name down the line. Needing to make sure that it's you before he says anything else.

"Javier?"

You sound bewildered but he doesn't let you say anything else. "Get out of your apartment. Get out now!" He growls, his heart pounding when you start to protest.

"What is goi—"

"There is a raid team coming right now, get out!" He shouts.

"Shit!" You slam down the receiver, shove your beeper back in your pocket, and sprint to your front door. Purse, leather jacket, keys, and you're locking the door behind you only to come face to face with Chi-Chi on the stair landing. Your landlady went to see her son and grandkids tonight so she isn't home, and thank fuck you encouraged Inez to go on her date tonight after dropping off your sweet landlady, instead of staying home with your sorry ass. "Come on, sweet girl," you say to Chi-Chi, unwrapping her leash from the top of the stair rail and attaching it to her collar. "I'm gonna take you to meet a new friend."

The only place you can think to go is to Javier's apartment. He'll be at the raid, but at least it's far enough away from your building to be safe.

Javi presses his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. Needing to go to that fucking club but he knows he can't. He'll just have to call Steve. Picking up the phone again, he dials his partner's cell phone number and prays that he picks up the goddamn thing.

"Murphy." Steve has picked up his SAT phone blindly as he works to get himself ready for the impending raid. He's given the time and the location and now it's go time.

Javi sighs in relief and he says your name. "That reporter." He reminds him. "She lives in that fucking building. Don't let her get killed by a trigger happy fucker." He can't tell him right now that you are his soulmate. It'll distract the man. "I told her to get out. But keep an eye out for her."

"Copy that." Steve barks down the phone. He's not in the mood to ask questions or alter his plans, but he knows the person to look out for. "Stay away, Peña," he warns, a little less perfunctorily. "We've got this covered and I need you to not lose your badge."

The call ends abruptly and he stares at the phone for a second. "Goddamnit." He sighs, putting the receiver in the cradle and standing up, fishing in his pocket for some money. "Thanks." He tosses money down on the bar, enough for the tab and generous tip for letting him use the phone before he walks out. The only thing he can do now is go home and wait for a fucking phone call.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06

[freelancearsonist]

Some Fools Fool Themselves

➔ Javier Peña x fem!Reader - 2.7k

➔ You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨ [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

The bright, glaring yellow waves of sunlight reflect off the surface of lapping pool water and cast it in a nearly green light. Javi’s dark eyes are transfixed on it through his polarized sunglasses as he marinates in the beating hot Colombian summer sun.

Javier has never questioned his dutiful determination before. He’s never wondered if the ends actually do justify the means. He’s been in the palm of Uncle Sam’s hand for so long that the lines have become blurry—that the consideration of moral superiority doesn’t cross his mind anymore. Not that it ever really has; that’s why he’s so well-suited for the job he’s in. He follows his orders, no matter the cost.

And that’s why you pose such an issue to him. You make him question everything. Every move he’s made, every goal he’s been so set on accomplishing for so many years. If he sends this shiny-sinister iceberg of a drug hierarchy tumbling down the way he’s always believed it should, you’ll be buried in the debris. And maybe, at first, that knowledge didn’t bother him. Maybe he even believed that you deserved that—to be crushed by the weight of your own empire.

If he did, he certainly doesn’t anymore—and it’s killing him.

He’s never been so shaken and unsure. Maybe that’s why the water has caught his eyes—it’s a visual representation of how he feels. Rippling and indecisive, desperate to cling to you yet eager to let you go just like the droplets that part from your form as you lift yourself onto the concrete lip of the pool.

You stride toward him with slow movements, and the dilemma vanishes completely from his mind.

”You look stressed,” you murmur as you kneel beside the lounger he’s sprawled himself out on and take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

”Just tired,” he hums in response. He runs the rough pad of his thumb over the back of your hand in an unconscious effort to sooth your worry over him. “Long night at work.”

You don’t know what he actually does—as far as you’re concerned, he’s just a lowly janitor at the embassy. You can imagine that such menial labor is thoroughly exhausting, though, and you’re determined to help ease his sore muscles.

”Flip over,” you instruct—and like a good agent, he follows orders.

For fingers that he’s noted time and time again are so much daintier than his own, they work wonders on his sore muscles. They work with skill and intuition, magnetically drawn to the worst knots in his back. The pressure is perfect, and it has him practically drooling.

When those skilled fingers of yours hook into the waistband of his swim trunks and start tugging them down, he doesn’t even think of resisting.

You’ve learned to do something that no one and nothing else has managed to accomplish in all his lifetime—you quiet his swirling mind. There’s nothing beyond the bubble of you and him. Nothing to worry about, nothing to accomplish. No ulterior motives to his presence here, shirtless and lounging like he owns the place. Like this isn’t your husband’s house that he’s supposed to be searching for intel. 

You coax him to roll over again onto his back. He can’t miss the heat of your gaze—the way your eyes shamelessly skirt down the broad expanse of his torso to take in the softly swelling length of his cock. He knows you relish in these moments—when all you have to do is look at him to get him going. You’re proud of yourself for it, for the effect you have on him.

It’s easy to forget, when you have him completely at your mercy like this, that you’re just as weak for him as he is for you.

”Missed you,” you mumble into his lips as you straddle his lap. 

He takes your hips in his steady grip—guides the pace as you rock against him. “It’s only been a couple days.”

”I know,” you whisper. You grind down harder than he means to allow you, drawing a deep groan from his diaphragm. “Still missed you.”

And then, because he finds it nearly impossible to lie to you: “I missed you too.”

He licks eagerly into your mouth before you can say anything, and you accept his tongue without complaint. Your fingers now move to his face, practically clawing in desperation to pull him closer and deepen the already heated kiss.

It’s been nearly a year of him hanging around here, playing his role in the act of your affair. He has you figured out to the most minute details—he knows all your wants, all your needs. He knows the exact sounds that he can draw from you when he sucks over the pulse point on your neck: a squeal as you begrudgingly push him away and mumble something about not leaving marks. He smirks and moves on to the next spot, knowing that you can’t resist for long. Knowing that you don’t even want to in the first place.

He knows that you’re eager for him in the same way he is for you—to please, to take care of. He sees it in action when you reach down and wrap your fingers around his length; when you let out a little breath at the way your fingers can’t quite fit all the way around his girth. You act surprised every time, no matter how many times he finds you in his lap like this. And he loves it—loves the way you practically soak through your little bikini bottoms at just the feel of him in your hand. 

“That’s it, bebita,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum your appreciation at his words, a silent thank you in the twist of your wrist and the tightening of your grip. It makes his hips jump, cock throbbing under your touch as he tries to fight your slow pace in favor of more intense stimulation. But you aren’t having it—you pin his thighs down with your weight so you can languish in torturing him.

He actually growls as your pace slows—a deep, rumbling, animalistic sound that goes straight to your panties. His restraint is slipping second by second the longer you tease him. He’s throbbing, aching in your grip; he would be embarrassed over how quickly you’ve reduced him to such a primal state if he had any blood left in his brain.

”Dámelo.” There’s nothing pleading or polite about his tone. This is a command, an instruction; an order you don’t dare disobey.

You pull away quickly, but you’re back before he can even process your absence. You’ve shifted to the end of the lounger, face deliciously close to where he’s aching to feel you.

”Relax, Javi,” you hum pleasantly. “Déjame cuidar de ti.”

”Then don’t be a fucking tease.” There’s an evident smirk in his tone, and it makes you smile as you slowly trail your tongue along his length, from the seam of his balls up to swirl around the thick, leaking tip of him.

He grunts as your lips seal around him, one thick-fingered hand coming down to gently urge you deeper. He’s not shy of being greedy with you; he knows how much you love the authoritarianism of his dominance. To let go of your mind and let him take the reigns. As much as you love to play at a power struggle, this is what you want in the end. To be controlled, to be guided. To take exactly what he gives you, exactly the way he gives it to you.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans with a buck of his hips that pushes him against the back of your throat. “Take it all.”

And always eager to please, you try your best to do exactly that. You open your throat as much as possible to accommodate his girth and do your best to tamp down the gag reflex that he’s bullying awake. Your nails dig into the meat of his hips as you let him guide you deeper, further—he’ll admire the little crescent moon marks later, alone in his government-issue apartment.

His unoccupied hand slips down the back of your neck and tugs at the string of your bikini top. He doesn’t get quite the view he wants with you choking on his cock, but reaching down to gently pinch and tug at your nipples is enough for him—especially with the little moans and vibrations you let out around his cock.

He tugs your hair a little harshly to pull you off of him when the pleasure compounds. You whine at the loss of his taste, and he groans at the shiny spit that links your swollen lips to his cock.

His breathless moan goes straight to your neglected cunt and makes you squirm with arousal. “Shit, sweetheart. Christ, you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You shake your head and muster every ounce of seduction your lust-addled brain can generate as you trail open-mouthed kisses over his clenched thighs. “I’m real, Javi. And I really want you.”

Normally, he would want to get his hands on you. He would want to press his fingers deep into your cunt and languish in the embarrassing squelch of your arousal as he works you open for him. He would want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until the pleasure is so blinding that you can do nothing but slump into his arms and take it. But you’re impatient today; it’s been more than a week since you last saw him, and that means it’s been more than a week since you felt anything remotely pleasurable. Your husband didn’t marry you for love, or even lust—he married you for convenience, for security. For cover to keep up appearances. 

Maybe Javi’s been taking advantage of that all this time—how deeply you crave the connection that you’re constantly deprived of. Maybe he should call this off now, before he takes anymore than he already has from you.

But he’s not selfless. He has his flaws, and his biggest one is that he’s irreversibly fallen in love with you. He craves that connection just as deeply as you do.

Your desperation bleeds into his veins and makes him dizzy with arousal. He nods as his throat bobs around a deep gulp. “Alright. Dealer’s choice.”

You only have to consider for a moment before you flip in his lap, bracing yourself forward on your arms in between his legs with your ass pressed snuggly against his cock. You grind lightly against him, and it’s almost enough to make him lose his head.

But just as quickly as his sensible thought leaves, it’s right back where it belongs. He grabs your hips harder than he should to drag you against his solid length and relishes in the deep moan you emit.

”Take what you need, baby,” is all the encouragement you need from him. You take him into your hand again and rise up onto your knees so you can tease his spit-soaked tip against your entrance. You look over your shoulder so you can see his reaction as you trace him around your slit; you relish in the hard set of his jaw, the clenched teeth that you can see through his parted lips as he fights the urge to slam you down hard onto him. He’d only be feeding into the bit—he knows your sole mission is to make him lose his composure. 

But it’s so hard not to when you’re looking at him like this—like he holds your very soul in the palm of his hand. The trust, the admiration, in your gaze is nearly enough to make him choke.

Thankfully, you choose this exact moment to sink down the length of him.

The sheer size of him is overwhelming on a normal day, and even more so today when you’ve not had your usual preparation. He bullies his way deep enough to fill your chest, stretching you to your very limit and maybe even past it.

But he’s prepared for it, for how staggering he can feel at first thrust. He grounds you to him with heavy hands on your hips and fits you snug against him. He whispers up at you, little encouragements and sweet nothings. His praise rings sweet and clear as he tells you how good you feel, how warm, how tight, how wet. He basks in the feeling of you soaking him all the way to the very base—in the feeling of your sweet juices dripping down him to soak the coarse patch of hair above his cock.

You pause when you feel his tip kissing your cervix, moaning in tandem with Javi at the way he twitches within your snug walls. It’s like the first time every single time you take him—you wonder if that’s what keeps him coming back for more. You’ve never heard him say he loves you, but you could believe it when you’re like this; when he starts rocking up into you with the sole intention of finding that one little spot that’ll have you shaking and sobbing in his arms.

”You’ve got this, baby,” he grunts in reassurance. “You’re takin’ it so well, honey. Tan perfecto.”

The praise runs up your spine from where you’re connected with him and lodges itself in your brain—it plays on repeat while you start bouncing your hips in an effort to match his pace. It draws a deep, heady grunt from him and pulls him into action. One hand grabs a harsh handful of your ass while you spear yourself on his length, and the other hand slides up the curve of your waist to find a nipple to roll between his expert fingers.

It baffles you, his ability to multitask. When you’re like this—filled to the very brim—all you can focus on is the delicious friction of his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you. But Javi has a precious ability to attend to as many erogenous zones as he can all at once—something you admire more than you can put into words. His ability to rip you apart is completely unrivaled.

There’s a desperate fury to his touch as his hand slides over your hip from your ass, wrapping around you to circle your clit. It’s harsh and fast—the exact pressure that makes you tremble and scream.

And you do; you come with a cry of his name, cunt clenching around him in a vice grip that almost makes it impossible to keep up the pace. But he tries anyway—anchors your hips in his large hands so he can thrust up into you through your high.

The lounger creaks dangerously beneath you, but the sound is lost to your ears when you’re so thoroughly blinded by your pleasure.

Within a few moments Javi follows you, growling deep in his diaphragm as he spills himself hot and thick into your soaked pussy. 

You don’t think it’s ever been this messy before. All you can focus on is the hot, sticky mess slipping down your thighs. Javi can tell that it’s uncomfortable for you, so he reaches down and grabs your discarded bikini top to wipe away as much as he can. You’ve got plenty of others—and even if you don’t, your husband will buy you a new one without question.

He discards it back on the burning concrete once he’s satisfied with his clean up job, then leans back on the lounger and grabs a cigarette from the open pack on the table next to him.

He tries not to smile too much when you stay in place and snuggle into his chest. He really wasn’t a cuddler before you—but now, all he wants is to feel your warmth and weight against him.

It’s not nearly long enough before you look up at him with your pretty eyes and say, ”He’ll be home soon.”

”I’d better beat it then.” He flicks the ash off of his cigarette and pushes himself slowly to his feet—finds his swim trunks discarded on the ground at the foot of the lounger.

”Hey?” He pauses, brow furrowing at how small and timid your voice sounds in just that one word. He’s never heard that quality to your tone before, and it worries him.

”Yeah?”

”Just… please come back sooner,” you mutter. “I missed you.”

Javier Peña is a weak, weak man within these walls. He smiles the softest smile he can muster and pulls you into his arms to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. For a moment, he forgets that you’re not really his. “Okay. I will, baby.”

And he means it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

THE END

➔ Translations: bebita - baby dámelo - give it to me déjame cuidar de ti - let me take care of you tan perfecto - so perfect

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 title is from “love hurts” by nazareth

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :)

[rs-hawk]

ok. Here’s a screwball idea. I don’t care if you don’t do it or even ask, but it’s here.

This thing is a Venus figurine. Many people tie them to being symbols of fertility due to their exaggerated, chubby proportions, and a lack of a face (kinda looks like they’re wearing vases). Because these things were made like in the Upper Palaeolithic era, and since society was a lot different back then (clearly), many people speculate that they could represent healthy or fertile women, goddesses, or simply self-portraits by their own makers.

from the way I see it, a Venus figurine represents a healthy woman very much capable of loving and having kids regardless of her appearance (lack of facial features), so the idea is simplified to this:

Fucking a life-sized Venus figurine who only wants to love, and be loved.

and now it’s done. This was most likely a fat waste of my time.

Friendly reminder that I'm an Anthropology major. When I tell you I fucking love Venus- Lord. I'm basically vibrating rn. I can't wait to drop nerd shit in this post. More asks like this I'm BEGGING. Prehistoric is my second area of interest! Pre-Colombian Americas is my main. I will go feral every time I get an ask like this. I’m not a fan of the almost self deprecating way you asked it, but I like it so-

Come to Life Venus of Willendorf x College Student Cis Male! Reader

"You know, some say that instead of a fertility Goddess, this is just a self portrait of some random woman. Like, look at her hips. That's how they'd look if she was looking down at herself while carving, you know?" you gushed, marveling at the small statue as you and your friend crowded around it. The velvet ropes stopped you from getting too close, but the statue was almost magnetic.

“Imagine being this chick and knowing dudes for centuries have used you to jerk off,” your friend snickered, side eyeing you.

"Come on dude. Do you really have to talk about her like that?" you scoffed, hating the idea of anyone else using her to get off. There was an aching in your cock that you couldn’t explain. Admittedly, you felt a little embarrassed about it. It was just a statue, but there was something about it.

“ ‘Her’?” he repeated, grinning teasingly at you. “So sorry I insulted her. Is she going to be upset with me?”

Rolling your eyes, you drew them away from the statue. “Whatever. Let’s go check the rest of the museum. I’m sure there’s plenty of other things from the Paleo that we missed.”

“You’re not going to write your essay about your wife?” your friend gasped, putting his hand to his chest with mock shock. “She’s going to be so hurt!”

Rolling your eyes again, you waved him on, though you did spare another glance at the statue. After the museum trip, you found yourself coming back to the museum again. And again. And again. And again. You were there nearly every day. When no one was around, you started praying to the small statue, whispering wants to her. How you wished you could have held her. How often you thought of her. Sure, it still made you feel a bit silly with how often your cock ached when you thought of her, but who would a statue tell?

The next morning, you woke up early. Much earlier than usual. Despite that, you couldn’t fall back asleep, so you began your morning routine. When you made your way to the living room to head to the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks. Sitting on your couch was… Venus?

“What?” you frowned, thinking maybe you were still asleep. This had to be a dream.

Her head turned, Her braids moving just enough for you to see a glimpse of facial features, but they seemed scattered. Not quite right. Then they were gone completely. You stood frozen. Rooted to where you stood.

“I came to pay a visit to my most dedicated worshipper,” She said in a voice that sounded the way a first kiss felt.

The way She spoke, you were certain she was smiling, if She could. She gestured for you to come sit beside her, which you did. Your head was spinning. Was this even real? You couldn’t help it when your gaze roamed Her bare body. Everything about Her was so perfect that you felt like touching Her would be like defiling a holy place.

As a thousand thoughts ran through your mind, She cut them all off by placing one hand on your thigh, the other tilting your chin so you had to look down at Her chest. You swallowed hard, your cock already aching. How would She feel wrapped around you?

The two of you didn’t speak for several moments. You wanted so badly to touch Her, but you still struggled with the idea. She, however, seemed to have no such reservations. She pulled down your pajama pants, running Her firm palm over the bulge in your boxers. A low groan escaped your lips. That was the end of your hesitation.

You stood up, kicking the pants off from around your ankles, quickly taking off your boxers as well. She chuckled slightly, though She seemed intrigued when you got on your knees in front of Her, lightly pushing Her plush thighs apart. You worshipped Her cunt just as well as She knew you would.

Your tongue lapped at Her, Her thick thighs and the overlap of her tummy nearly suffocating you. The coolness of Her core made you almost desperate to make Her cum and taste it on your tongue. She tasted like saltwater and copper, and all but Her majestic cunt and thighs seemed to still be primarily stone. All you wanted was to make Her happy. All you wanted was to continue to worship Her.

She moaned as you slid a finger into Her dripping pussy, moving your mouth to dutifully suck on Her clit. The metal decorations on Her braids clinked together when She threw Her head back, letting you see the curve of Her throat. A Goddess’ blessing. Or maybe the sounds were of the metal decorations hitting against the stone like braids themselves. Your other hand snaked between your legs, pumping your aching cock in time with how you were fingering Her. It only took a few minutes for Her to cum on your tongue, much to your satisfaction.

“What a skillful worshipper I have,” She nearly purred, pulling you up by placing Her hand under your chin.

She laid on Her back, spreading Her legs for you. In seconds, you sank into Her. Your thrusts were not rhythmic, but She didn’t seem to care, moaning and arching Her hips up to meet you. Your mouth found one of Her large nipples, taking it into your mouth as you softly groped Her other breast, your stomach and chest pressed against Hers. The softness and squish of Her stomach making it easier for you to adjust as you slammed into Her. It surprised you as Her limbs and head seemed to be solid stone. Maybe She could control it at will, but you didn’t have much time to ponder it. Not with how She was pulsing around you.

When you finally came, you didn’t even try to pull out. Why would a Goddess of fertility want you to? The two of you were panting together as your seed spilt deep inside of Her.

“I think I’m going to stay with you,” She whispered in your ear, the coolness of the metal loops sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please do,” was all you could get out, your mind back to reeling.

Like this story? Support me on Kofi ☕️ ❤️

[thetriumphantpanda]

Are you ready for my dirty request?! I couldn’t stop thinking about that mirror fic you wrote I wanna request a part ii for it.

Imagine this, reader and Javi P have been going at it all night, they’re hot and sweaty.

Javi P has reader sitting between his legs and they are seated on the edge of the bed, mirror across them while he fingers her. He loves seeing how fucked out she is and how his fingers disappear in her. He wants her hands placed on his thighs but she keeps reaching for his hands to stop him because she’s overstimulated so he tells her “You keep your hands where they are or i’ll tie them up”. Maybe he makes her ride him after since he couldn’t get enough of her moans and loves it when he gives her tons of orgasms. Neck kisses and whispering dirty things to her

Please I need your writing magic, Charlie!

I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE ANON BUT GOD BLESS YOU FOR THIS. I saw this whilst I was working yesterday and let me tell you I have thought of NOTHING ELSE SINCE. So here you go, I hope I worked my magic for you!

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 1.2K

Warnings | Pure smut below the cut. Fingering, squirting, overstimulation, unprotected PiV sex, dirty talking, THE RETURN OF THE MIRROR.

This is written as a companion piece to this one-shot but you don't have to read it to understand what this is. Because let's be honest this is porn without plot.

Main Masterlist

You would say that you’re not sure how you got to the position you’re currently in, sat between Javier’s thighs with his cock pressed against your back as his fingers disappear inside of you, but that would be entirely untrue. You knew exactly how you’d got here. 

It had been a week since Javier had insisted on dragging you with shaking legs in front of his mirror and thoroughly fucking you and since then he’d become obsessed with it. Obsessed with how you thrived on watching yourself when he was eating your pussy, thrived on the throaty giggles you let you when he took you from behind and wrapped a hand around your throat for good measure. Tonight, he was obsessed with the intensity of your eyes on his in the mirror as his fingers disappeared into your soaking pussy, his other hand splayed across your tummy to keep you in place. 

There’s sweat dripping off you, the Colombian heat is stifling, even with the window open to let in a breeze. You mentally apologise to anyone walking the street below or anyone in the adjoining apartments for the noise they’ve clearly heard Javi pulling from you for hours. Your back is pressed so tightly against him that you can’t move, no matter how much you want to squirm away because it’s too much. You’ve lost count of how many orgasms he’s pulled out of you tonight and it hurts. But there’s something about the way white spots burst behind your closed eyes in the moment before you come undone that’s addictive, you don’t want him to stop, not really. 

The edge of Javi’s bed is digging into the back of your thighs, and if it wasn’t for his hand on your abdomen, you’d crumple off the edge into a heap. His breath is hot on your ear as he presses wet kisses behind it, and you can feel small beads of his pre-cum mixing with the sweat pooling at your lower back. His hand drops slowly, and he starts to circle your clit. 

“Fuck, Javi,” You mewl, “I can’t, I can’t anymore, it’s… fuck… it’s too much.” 

Your hand moves to his on your clit to try and push it away, his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, harder than usual, enough that a hiss of pain drops from your lips, “You want me to stop, hermosa?” He asks in a growl, “Because I think you can, I think you can give me another.” 

Your hands are still scrabbling to try and pull his from your pussy, “Go on, let me try,” His whispers, pricking goosebumps on your skin, “Hands on my thighs, promise I’ll make you feel good.” 

You decide to let him try, placing each of your hands on his thighs, digging your nails into the skin as you watch his fingers disappear into your pussy in the mirror and his middle finger rubs light circles around your clit. You wait as long as you can bare it, but it really is too much, your hands are moving again to try and get away from him. 

“You keep your hands where they are, or I’ll tie them up.” 

You know it’s not an empty threat. Your mind wanders to the time, a few months back, where he’d handcuffed you to the headboard and spent an hour between your legs, pulling four orgasms from you with his mouth. Whilst it had been thrilling, there’s no way you could do that tonight. You do as you’re told and put your hands back on his thighs. You tip your head onto his shoulder and close your eyes, but he’s pushes you forward with his shoulder. 

“Eyes on the mirror, querida, look at me whilst I fuck your pussy with my fingers.” 

Your eyes meet his own in the glass and you swear it brings you closer to the edge. His brow is furrowed but there’s an almost sadistic smirk across his lips and a darkness to his eyes that you’re used to now, it’s the look he gives you when he knows he’s pushing you, pushing his luck, but he just can’t ever get enough of what you sound like screaming his name and arching into him, or away from him depending on the position, when he makes you cum. 

“You like it, don’t you, mi pequeño diablo,” His fingers curl inside you and the finger on your clit presses harder, rubs faster, “You like it when it hurts, when I push you?” 

“Yes… ohmygod,” You moan and push yourself further down onto his fingers, “You know I love it.” 

He chuckles behind you, “I just like hearing you say it,” He lets out a moan of his own when you grind in a particular way against him that has you brushing up against his cock, “I can feel you getting tight, you’re going to cum aren’t you?” 

You nod your head and close your eyes; this time he lets you keep them firmly closed as he continues what he’s doing. You can feel it in your lower belly, and you clench down, his name is falling from your lips a mile a minute, javijavijavi, and then it’s crashing into you. His fingers are working you through the aftershocks and he’s laughing, he’s actually laughing at you. 

“I can’t Javi, it’s too much,” He speaks into your ear, mocking your words from earlier, “Look down and see what you did, chica preciosa.” 

You open your eyes and look down, and low and behold, his hand is soaked, and you can see the carpet between your feet darkening, did you? Did you just squirt?! 

“You’ve gotta have a little faith in yourself.” He whispers into your ear. 

He’s gathering his arms around your waist and pulling you back onto the bed. He’s led himself down and turned you around, although you’re not quite sure how, your brain understandably focusing on nothing else but the truly fucked out feeling he’s caused. 

“Sink down onto my cock, hermosa.” 

He’s filthy and you fucking love it. Your legs are jelly and you’re not quite sure you have the power to last long like this, but you do as you’re told, throwing your head back as he sinks into you for the third time that night, filling you up perfectly. 

His hands are on your hips, gripping hard enough that you’re sure there will be bruises in the shape of his thumbs there tomorrow. He’s guiding your hips to grind on his cock and although you’re sore, the friction is delicious. He’s groaning your name, thrusting up into your every now and again. You know he’s not going to last much longer, and neither are you. There’s a burning in your thighs that’s threatening to cramp, and your chest is tight from lack of air. 

“Fucking hell, querida, keep going, you’re gonna make me cum.” 

You smirk down at him, picking up the pace with the grinding of your hips, your hands coming up to your tits to massage them. You pull at your nipples, mewling at the sensation and with moment it’s all over. Javi is sat upright, arms wrapped around your back with his head buried in your chest as you feel him spill inside of you, cum painting every inch of your walls. He’s breathing your name and kissing any inch of skin he can reach with his mouth until he’s falling back with you, wrapping you up in his arms. 

“I think we need to get rid of the mirror.” You mumble, exhaustion settling into your bones.

“You don’t mean that, querida, I know you love it just as much as I do.” 

[fredwkong]

I'm about to get married to my sexy Latino fiance, but I've recently learned that he's been seeing his ex behind my back. I'm the whitest, nerdiest, skinniest, most vanilla guy he's ever dated, so I think that's why he's getting cold feet. Do you think sending me on one of your mysterious vacations might help me dispel any doubts with him? Maybe a drop of machismo is all I need...

Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations. Are you ready for the macho vacation of your life?

You wake up because your nose fills with a totally rancid, musky stench. For just an instant, you’re totally disgusted, and then you remember that’s just the smell of your armpits and balls after you sleep. You sweat so much that after just eight hours you’re overwhelmingly smelly.

You shift, and there’s a moan somewhere around your crotch level. You open your eyes and look down to see a bubble-butted Latino twink between your legs. Who is… that?

“Mi vida?” The door opens, and your fiancé enters, carrying a huge tray of bandeja paisa, the perfect breakfast for a manly Colombian stud like you. He looks so cute in his slutty little bikini, you think, stroking your beard.

That’s right, the twink between your legs is your bitch boy, your fiancé’s ex. How could you forget? He saw how manly you were and basically begged you to enslave him. You nudge him with one of your huge, smelly feet, and he jerks awake, fondling your big bull balls. Just like you trained him, he starts tongue-washing your balls while your fiancé lowers himself onto your leaking Latino cock. It’s the perfect way to enjoy your breakfast.

Enjoy your vacation!

Want to go on vacation? Book via my ask box!

[palioom]

day nineteen - uniform

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 635

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; dirty talk, unprotected sex, office sex, creampie

• kinktober 2023 masterlist •

There was nothing she didn’t love about Javier. From his good looks to his attitude, his smell, the way he walked, his clothes - everything about him was just hot.

The way the Colombian heat forced him to open up the top buttons on his shirt always had her squirming to get home as fast as they could. The sweat which made dark stains appear and somehow made him look even hotter.

But nothing, absolutely nothing was better than seeing Javier in his DEA uniform. Any uniform he wore for work, really.

His jacket with the letters stitched onto his chest and back only made him look so much hotter. Or seeing him wear his tact vest, together with his sunglasses on.

It often made it difficult to let him go to work when he already wore it in the morning, her hands running over his chest as she bit her lip. More often than not, it ended with her bent over the leather sofa while he roughly pounded into her. Definitely making him late for work, but letting him leave with the sound of her desperate moans in his head.

Sometimes she would also visit him at work under the false pretense of bringing him lunch. She did actually bring lunch with her, but Javier knew exactly that she wasn’t here for that.

Pulling her into an abandoned room and locking the door behind him, he bent her over a table, making quick work of pulling her jeans down over her ass.

“You’re so fucking horny for this jacket, huh?” He asked, grinding his clothed dick against her bare ass and making her moan. His broad hand was splayed in between her shoulder blades, keeping her flat on the table. “Been on your mind all morning, nena?”

She whined, nodding as she heard him pull down his zipper.

“You look so sexy in it, Javi.” Her answer was breathy, giggling quietly when he kicked her legs apart and pressed the head of his cock against her already aching hole. “Like you run this fucking place.”

Wishing she could see him properly, she stole glances over her shoulder when he pressed inside and then started a rapid rhythm.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Javier grunted, his teeth bared. “Me running this thing?”

She nodded, trying to hold onto something, anything, her hips hurting from being pressed against the edge of the table.

He knew how much she loved his uniform, and he had taken to wearing it much more often lately. Loving the way her eyes lit up, how her lips stretched into a smile. How often she was more than just eager to send him to work with a little something, her fingers tracing over the stitched letters on the back as she held onto him.

Not quite understanding why, but also not quite caring.

“You’re so fucking hot when you're in charge.” She moaned, her words breaking as he increased the speed, feeling himself close already. His free hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet, as much as he loved to hear her.

“Can’t even wait til I get home?” He rasped, his hips stuttering. “Gonna come back to you humping it if I ever forget it?”

The mental image of that was enough to make her pulse around him, her loud whine muffled behind his hand, pulling him closely behind as he spilled himself inside of her with a deep groan.

Smirking as he slowed down, having felt that he had hit a nerve with that comment.

She absolutely would, grinning like a maniac when he sent her home again, his cum dripping into her panties. One of these days he would definitely forget his jacket at home. And he couldn’t wait to see what she would do with it.

[bueckerrss]

dangerous women

matt x fem! latina! reader

warnings: drug deals, guns, car races

the reader will speak a lot of spanish in this series because my inspiration for this series is griselda a colombian drug lord.

————————————————————————

New york

“MARCOS!” she yelled for her assistant to go to her office.

“yes, ms. blanco?” the timid man said afraid to look her in the eyes “i need you to make a flyer for a new transporter, i recently got rid of the other one. he asked too many questions and we simply can’t have that here.”

“got rid of him in what way?” he mumbled making her look at him with a straight face “do you want me to get rid of you too?” she said not breaking eye contact with him.

“no maam” he mumbled walking away “oh and get the jet ready we’re going back to LA tonight.” she said before he left the room.

-

back in LA

matt was looking at his monitors frantically switching between computers and other devices in front of him.

“matt, you need to catch a break you’ve been staring at those screens for hours nothing is going to change!” chris said as he saw his brother look from one screen to the next.

“that’s the thing chris something will eventually change or she’ll be seen somewhere!” he exclaimed turning his chair to face his brother.

beep.

both of the brothers turned around to noise to see a picture of y/n getting into her jet in brown dress pants with a black shirt, black stilettos and a brown coat over her shoulders.

“told you something would change!” matt exclaimed frantically typing out some information on another screen.

“so? she’s getting on a jet big deal! come downstairs and eat lunch” chris exclaimed as he was walking out of the room.

shaking his head and turning around to face the computer screen in front of him, matt let out a sigh.

-

sitting in her office dim lights as men came in and out for interviews none of them satisfied her for this special job, until a man 5’8 with brown hair blue eyes in all black walked in.

scanning the man in front of her y/n sat up straight in her chair and looked at him.

“hello.” she said monotoned “this is for the transporter job right?” said the man in a confident voice which the women admired.

“it certainly is. now what’s your name pretty boy?” she asked eyeing him.

“Matthew Sturniolo”

“well take a seat mr.sturniolo” she said pointing to a chair in front of her, the man took a seat making eye contact with the woman in front of him.

“first question, do you have any idea who i am?” she said firmly. “you’re y/n blanco one of the most wanted and powerful women cartel in both new york and los angeles.” he replied with confidence.

“you’ve done your research?” she said raising her eyebrows surprised that he knew her but then again she was the most wanted drug lord almost her whole life was on display.

“maybe” he responded “next question, how old are you?” she questioned “why youre trying to ask me out on a date?” he cocked his eyebrow suppressing a smile, she just glared at him. “sorry, i’m 25 years old” he responded “do you have a driver’s license?” she asked “yes” he affirmed.

before she could get more of her questions out the phone on her desk began to ring making both of them look at it. “bueno?” she spoke into the phone “como que juan no hizo la entrega? manda luis a mi oficina ahora mismo!” she hung up the phone, before matt could ask any question there was a knock at the door making him turn around.

“adelante” a 6’4 tattooed muscular man walked in looking at y/n “me hablo señora?” he asked his eyes moving to matt who sat on the chair “si, necesito que le hagas una visita a juan, ya sabes que hacer y hazlo rápido, asegúrate que nadie te mire entrar o salir de ahí!” he nodded taking in his orders leaving the room closing the door behind him.

“sorry about that, where were we?” she cleared her throat looking at the blue eyed man in front of her “you were asking me questions” he smiled at her “right the interview!” she mumbled looking down at the questions in front of her.

————————————————————————

“chapter” 1 of dangerous women complete! i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed making it i have a lot of ideas for this series so im super excited! sorry if my spanish is wrong or bad im used to just speaking it and not writing it 😭 (pls don’t tell my mom she’ll be mad if she knew i was forgetting how to write in spanish 😕) but thank you so much for reading this!

————————————————————————-

[octuscle]

Dear Chronivac Support

Is chronivac active or shut down? I'm a wealthy guy looking for some fun and adventure. There is a hot Latin poolboy in our neighborhood inspiring me to enjoy holidays as a latino. I searched the internet and found eric gustavo Oliveira as hot guy. A spring break as a latino like him would be great. I hope I can swap back later?

I recommend Chronivac Travel for this. I have a very cool offer for Cartagena. If you allow, I will put everything together for you. You don't even have to pack. You get your luggage with your boarding pass at the American counter in JFK.

The flight departs at 06:50. So, according to your habit, you will be at the airport at 05:50. But sorry, you fly low cost in economy. Fortunately for you, we have already checked you in and checked your luggage. Here are your boarding pass and your backpack. You can give me your Louis Vuitton laptop bag, you won't need it for the next two weeks.

The queue at the security check is annoying. You are used to the fast lane. But I want you to have the ultimate Latino experience. Of course, your backpack will be patted down. Grinning, the officer flips through the Spanish gay magazines. He asks you something in Spanish. You begin to regret the whole action.

Before boarding, you have just enough time to get a beer and a sandwich for the first leg to Miami. You look for your wallet. Actually, it should be in the inside pocket of your jacket. But you realize you're not wearing a jacket anymore. Shit, did you forget it at the security checkpoint? But why do you have the hip bag hanging in front of your chest? You look, there is a cheap nylon purse. With a cannabis leaf in front of the Colombian flag on it. And inside, next to your Colombian ID and driver's license, a few old dollar bills. And a credit card. Apparently your name is now Diego Gonzales. When you ask the flight attendant at boarding if you could get an upgrade, you can hardly remember the English words. The flight attendant does not understand your request, but smiles friendly and tells you in broken Spanish your row and your seat.

Fuck, the lad next to you is a real beauty. You find it hard not to look at him all the time. At some point he asks you in English, smiling, when you are already on approach, if Miami is your destination. You shake your head, show your chest and answer "I Cartagena home". He answers you "You follow me". You understood that. And you do that in Miami in the airport. With a little distance. But the splendid ass always in view. The man disappears in a toilet. You follow. The door to a stall is a little bit open. You open the door and behind it the stallion is already waiting with his pants down. You understand the command. You kneel on the dirty floor and blow the fellow. He moans a little too loud for this place. Someone rants something about gay perverts. Your seat neighbor blows his load in your face. But even that is not new for you. You lick the hard-on skillfully clean, suck off the last drop and stow the cock in his pants. Without giving you a glance, the fellow throws you a few dollar bills. And quickly leaves the toilet. Almost 50 dollars. Not bad. You would have done the blow job for free. But now you should hurry to get to your connecting flight.

On the flight to Cartagena, you'll finally get your upgrade. Crossing business class on the way to your seat, you make eye contact with a gentleman in row 2 for a little too long. And no sooner have you stowed your carry-on luggage than a flight attendant stands next to you and tells you with a wink that your uncle in row 2 invites you to spend the flight next to him. As soon as you reach cruising altitude, your newfound uncle invites you to become a member of the Mile High Club. He raises the privacy screen, activates the "do not disturb" sign. And unbuttons his pants. An upgrade to business class. And $600 in freshly printed bills. Your stock is soaring.

Home at last! Three weeks of vacation in your homeland, until you have to go back to the gringos. Where vacation means you'll be working at the Bomba Beach Club. In the service. And maybe there will be some extra income. Usually the three weeks are enough to pay your rent for half a year in New Jersey. Whereby it certainly won't be long before your mother will ask again if you wouldn't like to find yourself a nice young Colombian and be happy here.

You are already smiling at the thought. Your parents have picked you up from the airport, you have freshened up and are already wearing your work clothes. Your vacation begins with the evening shift. That is good. Then the tips are more generous. It's going to be a great three weeks! Thank you for traveling with Chronivac.