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chaotic-iguana · 1 year ago

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Sleep

Summary: Reader suffers from lack of sleep, caused by a recent event. As she continues to overwork herself, she reaches her breaking point with near disastrous results. Starring concerned!steve murphy, chaotic idiot!steve murphy and clueless!reader. javi has my fucking heart though.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no use of y/n though)

Rating: M

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, sort of a panic attack, mild MILD allusions to someone being creepy (not javi though), mild flirting, humour, lots of swearing sorry

this is my first fic - let me know your thoughts! check me out on ao3

masterlist.

“I swear to fucking god Murphy, if you don’t stop bouncing your leg against the table, I’m slamming your head right into it” is the gospel that flows out of your mouth at 7 am on a Monday morning. Feels like it’s gonna be a great week.

“The hell did I do? You’d think Connie’s cookies would be enough to get you animals off my back, but no, first sign of any damn fire an’ the first person you’d throw in?” Steve huffs. “Murphy”, he repeats mockingly. You scoff and roll your eyes at him, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to talk yourself down from strangling the idiot situated two feet to your left before turning back to the paperwork in front of you. The one-foot-tall, monster stack of paperwork. Right. In. Front. Of. You. And would the golden boys ever do it themselves? If they ever got a moment’s relief from jacking each other off during missions (or however the hell they manage to fumble practically every single little op), maybe. But most of the time, you were stuck with it. Because god forbid the two princesses you were partnered with ever had to so much as lift a pen themselves. Hell would freeze over.

And it isn’t like you mind. At all, really. Half your job is the paperwork, and you’re happy to get it in order - if only to avoid Noonan’s wrath. Besides, what good is an agent if they can’t do their fucking job? In its entirety; not the half-assed shit most of the men did around the embassy. But a single glimpse of yourself in the mirror while rushing to leave the house revealed that these past few weeks of skipping lunch breaks, going home late, and taking files home to work on have been catching up with you - sunken, bloodshot eyes, cracked lips, and bruises smudged under your eyes now, perpetually, since the nightmares had started. Anything to keep you busy, right?

Another aggravating side effect of the amount of work you had taken on apart from the usual? The constant irritation. Marlene’s new nails, Katie’s suspicious last lay, the stupid fucking demon alarm clock that never quite managed to wake you up, the busted tire, the broken coffee machine, Dave from accounting’s downright idiotic whistling, your pen running out of ink, and finally - Murphy’s bouncing knee banging the table every fucking millisecond, practically in tune with the pounding ache beginning to form between your brows. If you were a better person, you’d let these things go. Such is life, right? But since the lack of sleep, the increased workload and general mishappenings had already created this beautiful trifecta of shit just to screw you over, better people could go fuck themselves. As could Murphy. “Don’t use your wife’s cooking as an excuse. I’m telling you, make another sound and die.” you spit out, whirling in your chair because the incessant fucking banging still hasn’t stopped - just in time to catch Peña sauntering in, already smirking.

“Already nailing Murphy’s balls, cariño? Careful, I’ll fall in love, baby.” You can hear the laughter in his crooning voice as he throws it over his shoulder - but you don’t care - can’t care, beyond the spots that seem to be forming at the edges of your vision. Were your fingers always a bit tingly? Or is that a new development, like your tongue suddenly feeling thick and heavy in your mouth, like you’re choking on it? But even though your thoughts feel slow and weighed down by molasses, rage sparks brighter in your mind as Peña’s flirty nicknames and bullshit teasing registers. You push away from your desk, and shoot up from the chair, striding towards the door to get some air - or you try to - because before you know it, your vision is blinded by white and you’re breathing quick, shallow breaths as you lay on the ground trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Distantly, you can hear someone calling your name but it sounds so far away you barely even register it. Hands wrap around your wrist, your head, attempting to stabilize you, to ground you, as you flail wildly in a panic. A low hum begins to fill your senses, forming words that sound to fuzzy to understand or care about right now, but you lean into it, something in your being telling you it’s safe.

When your sight clears, you’re curled up on the on the floor trembling. Shaking, like a scared fucking child, while Peña kneels to hold you to his chest, repeating the same few phrases over and over: “You’re okay, it’s okay hermosa. You’re safe. Safe. No ones gonna hurt you, it’s over now, okay?” as Murphy stands next to him, watching with panic and a hint of sympathy in his gaze. You scramble away from them both, panting, nearly slipping in your effort to get to your feet. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, pretty. You’re okay” Peña repeats his assurances with his hands held out, palms facing you, as you stand on wobbling knees, wiping at your face.

“‘M fine” is all you whisper to them hoarsely before ducking your head and rushing out of the pathetically cramped room you three work in. You can hear footsteps behind you, but can’t find it in you to turn around - not even at the panicked sounds of your name being called by a familiar voice. You’re making a scene, you know it, but you don’t care. It’s all too much, and you’re too far gone. Reaching the parking lot, you struggle to unlock your car as your trembling fingers drop the keys twice. Swearing, you resolve and pick them up again, pressing them and reaching for the door. But just before your fingers find the handle another hand - much, much larger than yours - splays out on the window to stop you, just as Peña’s signature bedhead comes into view. He looks at you with wide, concerned eyes, his mouth tucked low at the corners, like he’s disappointed. You want to melt, you do, because the melting pot of emotions you have for him make you preen at his worry - but your usual defense mechanisms humble you. And so you sharpen your claws, flash your fangs, and the hackles raise again, leaving a “What, Peña?” to come tumbling out in a tone so sharp it makes you flinch. HIs frown just deepens as his gaze rakes over your form frantically, as if checking for injury. He says nothing, pursing his lips further before snatching your wrist and tugging you behind him as he stalks to his car, opening the side door. You raise a brow at him, and he counters by jerking his head towards the car, scowling slightly. You get in, slightly confused, and wait for him to walk around and get into the drivers seat. “What the fuck, Peña? I just fainted, I’m not senile. And I don’t give a shit how mad you are, you can’t just-just drag me to your car and f-force me to get in. The fuck are you playing at?” you begin to ramble, fury somehow still rising at a dizzying speed. Peña doesn’t respond, just starts driving while looking straight ahead while you continue fumbling over a panicked rant so pathetic it sounds nonsensical to your own ears. “…And what? You just enjoy calling me s-stupid nicknames? You think it’s cute to flirt with me while I’m- while I pass out?” This one makes his nostrils flare, eyes darkening a bit while his jaw tightens just for a second before letting go. You pause for a second, getting your breath while your hands still shake in your lap. “I’m fine, it’s fine. Can I just go home please? I’ve already done the month’s paperwork for all the ops we have planned, and you can just give me the rest post-op. I’m just a bit under the weather, I just need to lie down for a bit.” you start trying to reason, but the stubborn ass just keeps driving, and alarm starts bubbling in your chest again. You look down to your lap while you fiddle with your thumbs, willing to control the irrational fear yelling at you that something’s wrong every second Peña chooses to stay silent.

“Think I was flirting with you while you passed out? Y’think I don’t see it, you working yourself to the fucking bone? Think I can’t see how you’ve stopped eating, honey? Stopped laughing like you used to? Think I don’t know how late you’ve starting going home? As ‘f I’ll ever stop waitin’ for ya to clock out first so I know you’re home okay, baby. You gotta tell me what’s wrong - this is eatin’ you up.“

Peña’s tone softens, but his harsh whisper makes you turn your head to look at him. He sounds so…tortured, as if he’s the one suffering. He glances your way, locking eyes with you for a second before turning his head back to the road. You sit there and practically gape at him, your jaw slack as your head whirls. Peña knows? No, wait, he waits? For you to go home so you’re safe? He cares? What the fuck? Confused, all that comes out of your mouth is a mighty elegant open-mouthed “huh?” before you blink at him, waiting for him to continue.

“You gotta know by now, sweetheart. Gotta see how I’ve been lookin’ at you. You’re the smartest fuckin’ agent I’ve seen, with the balls to take down men I’d sweat to be ‘n the same room with. You swear like a sailor, an’ make me laugh till I’m chokin’ on my own damn cigarette. Tell me what’s hurtin’ you, honey. I can’t promise I’ll fix it, but I can swear to you I’ll damn well try my best.” He responds, turning to hold your gaze as his own eyes widen, and his brows turn down. Puppy eyes, you think.

Your brain has gone from hazy to too fucking clear in a matter of five minutes, and now it feels like your thoughts are gonna come ripping out of your head. So you just blink at him, again, before reaching an unsteady hand out to cup his cheek. “I’m okay, I swear. Just-you remember that deal I had to cut last month? With the sicario? For intel on that lab?” Peña nods, and you continue. “Fucker led me to a dead end. Ambushed me. O-only got out ‘cause his gun jammed, and his child-soldier ran away. I just-this is so fucking dumb I’ve been in worse but- I can’t get it out of my head. The shit he said to me, the way he looked at me, t-touched me. I should be dead or worse, Peña. And I nearly was.“ you look down again, ashamed of the truth that’s spilling out of your mouth. It’s so small, so weak, you just want to fold into yourself and never come out. Your voice wobbles towards the end, tears filling your eyes as you turn your head away from the man you’ve wanted for so long to save whatever dignity you still have left. “‘N I can’t sleep anymore. Just see- or feel him every time. So thought I’d work for a bit. Clearly didn’t fucking work out, though.” small hiccups have started to punctuate your words, testament to the tears now flowing down your cheeks. Peña pulls up to an unfamiliar building and turns to you.

“‘S Javi, honey. Look at me, pretty baby.” He cradles your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to turn your head towards him. “None of that was stupid, okay? Come lie down at my place. I’ll sit in a damn chair next to you and fight him away if he comes in your dreams, sweetheart, okay? Nothin’ to be ‘fraid of. Never letting any fuckers near you again.” Javi leans in to brush a kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the car and hooking his index and middle finger to beckon you too. You step out of the truck and towards him, smiling while swiping at your face. “Didn’t know this was what the girls meant every time they bragged about sleeping with you” you snark softly, with a teasing grin on your face as you reach him. Javi rolls his eyes playfully before unlocking the door.

“Ain’t gotta do no sleepin’ you don’t want to, honey. You’re here to get some rest. Be a good girl and sleep f’me, and I’ll keep you up for as long as you like after,” he throws over his shoulder with a matching grin and a wink.

#javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fluff #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña #steve murphy #narcos fanfiction #javi #soft javi #fluff #hurt/comfort #ive never done this before let’s see how this goes heehee #javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena imagines #javier pena narcos #narcos #cool-iguana

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thetriumphantpanda · 2 years ago

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Let Me Love You | Javier Peña (One Shot)

Javier Peña has been the bane of your existence since you arrived to work for the ambassador. When you find yourself at a loose end following an altercation in the street on your way home, Javier is the only person you could turn to which turns your evening into something you'd never dreamed of.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings | Smut, oral sex (F receiving), Protected PIV sex, descriptions of physical assault/robber, alcohol consumption but nothing else I can think of.

Word Count | 5.2K

Authors Note | Been holed up in bed this weekend rewatching Narcos and this is the result. I hope you like it! Like, Reblogs and feedback are my lifeblood so please let me know if you enjoy this! Just a warning that I am very high on painkillers and this hasn't been proofread so apologies for any spelling mistakes.

Javier Peña wasn’t used to rejection. Whether he liked it or not he was the epitome of a ladies’ man and had no issue in getting whichever woman he wanted that night into his bed. That was until you came bounding into his life with your apathy and disdain towards him. What he should have done was leave well alone but if there was anything Javier enjoyed it was a challenge and you had become a very personal one to him.

You’d been an assistant to Ambassador Noonan for a few months now – everyone back at home in El Paso had been so proud when you’d beaten everyone else for the role in Colombia, it’s the only time you’d ever seen your father cry. His little girl, all grown up and off to play with the big guns at an overseas posting.

Colombia had been a culture shock, there was no getting around it. It was busy and loud and all sorts of colourful that you weren’t used to but in the best way possible. When you phoned home each Sunday to catch up with your parents you could feel the desire to go back to your old life fading a little.

The only aspect of your job you weren’t fond of was Javier Peña. Almost immediately one arrival he’d made it his personal endeavor to conquer you as another office romance. Almost all the office girls had filled you in on his reputation as the DEA’s resident womanizer and you’d done everything possible in your power to avoid becoming just another notch on his bedpost.

He hadn’t made it easy for you though. It didn’t help that he was just your type. Tall and handsome, with dark brown eyes that pierced right through your own whenever he spoke to you. You’d learnt from the girl who sat on the desk next to you that he was also from Texas and the rumor was that before coming to Colombia he’d jilted his soon-to-be wife on their wedding day.

“You know he’s got eyes for you, right?” She’d said one afternoon a few weeks ago when Javier had tried to get you to shift the ambassador’s entire schedule around so he could present new intelligence.

“I don’t care, miel,” Was what you’d replied, using your limited Spanish to call her honey, the pet name you’d fallen on for each other in the short months you’d worked together, “I worked too hard to get here to become just another of the girls Agent Peña has slept with.”

“Girl, take it from someone who knows, you would not be disappointed.”

You’d waved her off before gathering a pile of files for the ambassador, using the need to drop them off as an excuse to end the conversation. When you arrived back at your desk, Javier’s partner Steve was waiting at your desk.

“Agent Murphy, what a nice surprise.” You weren’t lying, you much preferred to deal with Steve when it came to the pair of agents, he was married and you appreciated that unlike his partner, he didn’t openly gawk at you when trying to hold a conversation.

“Javier sends his apologies, he had to head out to follow a lead…” You shrugged your shoulders at him, “Anyway, he asked me to bring this down for the ambassador and said if you could make sure it lands up on the desk before the end of the day, he would be most appreciative.”

“You know, if you’d come down and asked without mentioning him, I would have done that, but you can tell him the ambassador is very busy and it’ll wait until tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” Steve groaned, “If not for Javi then for me? He’s gonna chew my ass if I don’t get this sorted.”

“You can tell him if he’s got an issue he can take it up with me personally, surely that’ll get you off the chopping block?”

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself in for.” Was all Steve replied with before throwing the file down on your desk and walking away.

***

It was late. Later than you’d normally stay at work, but the ambassador had asked you for some financial reports which were proving trickier to put together than you had anticipated. Everyone else had left a while ago, the only sounds in the office were your pen scrawling across paper trying to make the numbers make sense and the far-off sounds of the cleaners in the hallway. That was until you could hear shoes on the flooring coming towards you.

“Querida, what are you doing here this late?”

“I could ask the same of you Agent Peña.” You replied, not looking up from the scrawls of numbers in front of you.

“I just came back after following up on something and Steve said you wouldn’t give the ambassador our intelligence today?”

“Ambassador Noonan is a busy woman, what do you want me to say?” You finally put your pen down to look at him, stood in front of your desk in his stupidly handsome leather jacket with his stupidly handsome hands on his stupidly handsome hips.

“Do you know how important that information is to catching Escobar?” He asked, his eyes boring holes into your own.

“And do you know how many people stand at my desk and insist their files are the most important thing she’s ever going to read in her life?” You countered.

You watched intently as he used one of his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose, you could tell he was thinking about what to say next.

“Listen, I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye,” He began, which earned a scoff from you as if to say no shit, “But this was really important.”

“Like I said to Steve, she’ll get it first thing in the morning.”

Without saying a word back to you, Javier turned on his heels and walked away to leave, before stopping to turn back and say two words you don’t think he’d ever said to you.

“Thank you.

***

Weeks had passed without incident. Javier and Steve hadn’t been around all that much – as far as you’d managed to find out they’d been in and out chasing up leads on Escobar out in the field. You hadn’t even bumped into Javier in the apartment building you all lived at. The only sign of life being the sounds of him and whatever woman he’d bought back that night. It was one of the only downsides to your living arrangement – living right next door to him and having to come up with inventive ways to get to sleep when all you could hear was another woman calling his name.

You’d worked late again. It was a Friday night and everyone else had left a while ago to the bar just around the corner from the embassy. Some of the girls had begged you to go with them but you wanted to get ahead of the ambassador’s schedule for next week, opting instead to spend your Friday pouring over briefing documents and getting everything in a row.

It probably hadn’t been wise considering there had been an increase in cartel violence on the streets – but you knew that the narcos were smarter than to try and attack the American embassy or anyone who they watched entering or leaving. As the clock struck nine you decided to call it a night. There was a long bath and a glass of wine with your name written all over it at home. Picking up your handbag and swapping your office heels for something more comfortable to walk home in you started making your way to your apartment.

You weren’t exactly sure when you became aware that someone was following behind you. You’d noticed the sound of feet on the pavement, but it was a Friday night so that wasn’t all that unusual. Something in your subconscious had told you to speed up a little and you’re sure it was when the footsteps behind you did the same that you began to panic a little. You were only a few blocks away from the apartment building. All you needed to do was make it there and you’d be safe.

The mysterious person behind you had other ideas. You were a street away from the building when you felt a tug on the strap of your handbag. It dragged you backwards and you came face to face with a man. He was much taller than you and had a heavy build. Your brain immediately deciding that fighting him off was impossible.

You tried in vain to drag your handbag from his hands, but his strength was obviously greater. You gave a good fight but suddenly felt a sharp sting across your face. Whoever this man was he’d just hit you. Hard. You could already feel the telltale slither of blood falling from your nose and the impact had caused a cut to your lip as well. The force was enough to make you let go of your handbag and you watched miserably as the man ran back off down the street with it.

You wished him luck – there was a tiny bit of money and the keys to your apartment door but not much else. You tried as hard as you could to stifle a laugh at the situation – a bloody nose, cut lip and judging by the ache behind your eye, a black eye, for a few pesos and a useless door key.

Thankful that you were just a few minutes’ walk away from your apartment you arrived, ready to down a glass of wine until your headache dulled before realise whoever that piece of shit was, he had your keys.

You groaned out loud, leaning yourself against your apartment door. Connie and Steve lived upstairs but it was late, and you had no intention of waking their new baby and invading their apartment. There was only one option. Javier.

You prayed to whichever God out there would listen as you knocked on his front door, hoping that had chosen the comfort of his own home and opposed to a brothel for the night. If he did, it was a lovely night on the floor for you.

It took a moment, but you could hear shuffling at the other side of the door before it swung open to reveal Javier, top buttons undone and without a belt on his jeans.

“Jesus Christ, Querida,” He exclaimed, taking in the sight of your face, bloody and already bruising, “What on earth happened?!”

“Some guy tried to take my bag as I was walking home, when I tried to fight it back from him he hit me,” You explained, “Stupid of me really considering he was at least twice my size.”

Javier ushered you inside, closing the door behind you before motioning for you to sit on his couch, “Was there anything important in there?”

“No, I don’t take papers home with me, just a few hundred pesos and my apartment keys.”

“Okay, that’s good, we can get you a new set keys in the morning,” He spoke over his shoulder as he rooted around in his freezer, “Does it hurt?”

“Are you seriously asking if my bloody nose, split lip and potential black eye hurts?” You shot back, deadpan as he wrapped some ice in a towel, “Yes, it fucking hurts Javier.”

“Alright, I’m sorry, just take this and rest it where it hurts.” He spoke, handing over the ice before heading back to the kitchen.

He returned with two glasses filled with amber liquid which you could only assume was whiskey and popped two pills next to the glass he set down for you, “You know you’re not supposed to take pills with alcohol right?” “Trust me, I’ve been doing it most of my life and I seem to be alright,” Was his response as he sat down in the chair away from you, “Both will help take the sting away, I promise.”

At this point you would do anything to get rid of the dull ache behind your eyeballs so, putting down the ice, you popped both pills on your tongue at the same time before draining the whole glass of whiskey in on go. When you opened your eyes, Javier’s were trained on you, staring.

“What?” You challenged, picking up the ice again, “Never seen a girl shoot a whiskey before?”

Without a word, he stood from the chair and took a few wide strides before he was on his knees on the floor in front of you.

“Let me see.” He all but demanded, moving your hand that was holding the ice to your swollen lip.

Once the ice had moved, he used his hand to lean your chin up so he could see your injuries better. Your breath and caught in your throat at him being so close to you. His eyes were pouring over your face as he turned you into the light to get a better look at each injury.

“Whilst he did a number on you, hermosa,” Javier spoke, “I don’t think you need stitches.”

“Thank the lord for small mercies.” You replied as Javier walked to the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of whiskey, stopping to pour a shot into your glass before doing the same to his own glass.

“Do you want to have a shower?” He asked, “You can get yourself clean and I’ll see if I’ve got some clothes you can wear for tonight.”

You gave a small smile, suddenly feeling quite helpless about the whole situation, “That would be nice Javi, thank you.”

***

The warm water of Javier’s shower did wonders for loosening the joints you hadn’t realized you’d tensed so much. Watching the blood from your nose wash down the drain was concerning, and you were sure the headache you had was getting worse, but you hoped the pills and the alcohol would do their job soon enough.

Once you were wrapped in a towel and stood in Javier’s bedroom, you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. He’d lain out a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, the only clothes you think he could find that would fit you. Once you were dry and had slipped on the clothes you took a moment to gather yourself.

You wondered how many other women had been in this room, wearing his clothes. Granted, you doubted that very few of them, if any, had received a slap round the face in exchange for their bag, but there was a telltale pang of jealously that this felt like something he would do for every girl fresh out of his shower.

“Hermosa…” Javi dragged out of his mouth when he caught site of you leaving his room, before couching a little to cover up the obvious slip of the tongue he hadn’t meant to let leave his thoughts.

“Thank you, I feel much better now.” You replied, taking up your old seat on his couch.

“You shouldn’t be walking back this late on your own by the way.” He offered.

“It’s never been an issue before,” You spoke softly, taking a sip of your drink, “I know things are getting more dangerous, but it really is only a few streets, and I don’t drive.”

“Whenever you need to work late you tell me,” He ordered, “I’m usually always around and I’ll drive you back.” “I don’t need you to be my chauffer, Javier.” You snorted.

“I’m not asking to be your chauffer, querida, I’m asking to be your friend.”

An involuntary snort left your mouth when Javier spoke, “You don’t want to be my friend Javier, you hate me.” Was your response.

A sigh left Javier’s lips, “I don’t hate you querida,” His voice was low, “Quite the opposite actually.”

“What the hell are you talking about Peña?”

Another ragged sigh left his mouth as he pinched the bridge of his nose as if to collect his thoughts, “I like you, okay?” He looked you dead in the eyes, “I Like you very much.”

“But you don’t know anything about me, Javier?!” You exclaimed, not understanding how the man in front of you, who had been the cause of most of your problems since coming to Colombia, was admitting he liked you. This had to be a joke.

“I know enough to make my judgement, hermosa,” He replied, “I know that you’re one of the only women at the embassy who won’t stand for my shit, I know that you’re fiercely intelligent and that you’d do anything in your power to help those you care about, I know you’re from Texas and that tequila is what you like to drink on a Friday when you want to forget about your week. I know you call your family every Sunday and it’s the part of your week you look forward to the most because that’s what you always talk to the girls in the office about when Steve and I come for Monday briefing.”

As he trails off you sit on his couch dumbfounded. Javier Peña liked you. Maybe every time he’d tried to coax you into leaving the bar with him hadn’t been for just another conquest. Maybe when the girls in the office had told you he was flirting with you, it was because he was and not because he wanted you to slip his files to the top of the ambassador’s pile.

“Listen querida,” Javier spoke again, moving so you were caught in his eyeline, “I might not know everything about you, like your favourite colour or how you like your eggs cooked in the morning, but I know that you are the only woman in this godforsaken place that makes me feel anything.”

“It’s orange.” You spoke without thinking, looking him dead in the eye.

“Hmm?” “My favourite colour, it’s orange.”

Javier chuckled, pushing himself up from his seat to sit next to you on the couch, placing a hand lightly on your thigh, “Mine is blue.” He offered, causing you both to laugh at each other.

“Jesus Christ Javi, just kiss me already.”

He didn’t need telling twice. Aware of the injuries to your face, he used his hands to cup either side of your face before pressing a soft kiss to your lips, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on the swelling. He needn’t have worried because almost immediately you snaked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in closer, allowing your mouth to open slightly to him.

Javi immediately accepted the invitation of your open mouth, tentatively using it to tangle his tongue with your own as he deepened the kiss. The faint taste of blood in your mouth had him pulling back. You could tell he was searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

“Javi it’s fine, it’s a split lip, just…” You trailed off, pulling him back closer to you, “Don’t stop.”

Instead of latching himself back onto your mouth, Javier used his bodyweight to push you back so you were led on his couch with his body covering yours above you. One of his hands was placed next to your head to keep him held up above you, the other was resting at your hip as he looked down at you.

“You look lovely like this querida,” He breathed, “Trapped underneath me all breathless and wanting.”

“It’s not nice to tease, Peña.” Came your response as you bucked your hips towards him slightly, letting him know you needed him.

He smirked down at you before taking the assault of his mouth to your neck. He pressed open mouth kisses down your throat and along your collarbone as his hand slowly worked the hem of your shirt free from where you’d tucked it into your skirt before tracing his fingers up inside the material to rest just under the band of your bra.

A moan ripped from your throat as Javier bit down on the skin behind your ear, sucking gently but enough that you knew there would be a mark there in the morning.

“You like that huh?” He whispered into your ear, “You like it when I mark you?”

“Mmm Hmm.” Was all you could manage to get out as Javier continued to trail his mouth over your exposed skin.

“Words, Hermosa,” He stopped, lifting his head to look you in the eye, “Use them.”

“Ye…yes, I like it whe… when you mark me, Javi.” Came your strangled reply.

“I bet you do,” He rasped into your ear, “I bet if I slipped my hand into your panties you’d be wet for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You called out without even thinking, “Oh my god Javi please take my clothes off and touch me.”

You almost expected Javier to tease you more at this point but instead, he pushed himself back so he was knelt between your thighs before making quick work on situating himself on the floor on his knees.

“Sit up for me hermosa.” He spoke, helping you to move yourself so your ass was only just hanging onto the edge of the couch with your back up against it.

Almost on instinct your spread your legs wide for him, watching as he bunched your skirt up against your waist, revealing the light grey cotton panties you’d thrown on this morning. If you’d known then that by the evening you’d be baring them to Javier’s face, you’d have picked something sexier.

You looked down at him between your thighs and saw his chest was heaving slightly with his heavy breathing, “What’s this?” He asked, before brushing his fingers over the material that was covering your core, “You’re soaking already, this little wet patch is giving you away.”

A light moan left your lips as his fingers moved from the wet patch at your entrance all the way up to where he could touch your clit. His touch was feather light but just like anything he’d done in the past few minutes it was lighting you on fire.

“I’m going to eat your pussy, darling girl,” He spoke, hooking his fingers around your panties to drag them off, “Is that okay?”

“Only if you’re good at it, Peña.” Came your response.

If he wanted to respond to your smart mouth he thought better of it. Pulling your panties all the way off and discarding them somewhere on the floor behind him before bringing his face as close to your pussy as he could get without touching you. He stayed like that for what felt like hours as he watched your wiggle your hips and move about to try and get his mouth to touch you.

When he finally did put his mouth to you it was like the universe exploded. He licked a single stripe from your entrance to your clit, using the tip of his tongue to tease the bundle of nerves before pulling away. A petulant whine left your mouth but Javier had waited a long time for this so it wasn’t long until his tongue was back to teasing your clit. He switched between light flicks of his tongue to enveloping your clit between his lips to suck on it. Within no time your hands were tangled in his hair and you were grinding your pussy into his mouth, begging him to make you cum.

“You want to cum, hermosa?” He asked, tearing himself away from your pussy, “You going to make a mess of my face?”

“Oh god,” You moaned, “Javi please, it’s too much.” You looked down and watched as he smirked at you before latching his mouth back around your clit. You’d never felt like this with anyone before, you could certainly understand why most of the girls in the office were obsessed with this man if this is what he could do to them in mere minutes. A flash of jealousy seeped into you which you tried to push to the back of your mind.

Suddenly you felt him push two fingers inside your aching pussy. Your felt him expertly curl them upwards, hitting a spot inside you that you weren’t aware could feel so good. Your hips began moving to meet the thrusts of his fingers inside you as his tongue continued teasing your clit. You could feel the telltale tightening in your abdomen and just silently prayed to god that he didn’t stop.

“I can feel you getting tighter around my fingers hermosa,” Javi groaned from your pussy, “I want you to cum for me.”

His words mixed with the assault of his fingers and mouth were all you needed at that point. Your thighs tightened around his face as you cried out his name whilst his mouth worked your through your orgasm.

Once Javi had worked you through most of the aftershocks of your orgasm he sat back on his heels to look at you.

“I don’t think anyone has made me cum like that,” You spoke breathlessly, “That was insane.” You took the time to look at Javi, from his place sat on the floor.

His mouth was glistening with your slick and the further you let your eye roam the better the view got, until your eyes settled on the prominent bulge at the front of his jeans.

“Looks like you’ve got a little problem there, agent.” You teased, pointing to him.

“Little?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “You’re going to regret that.”

He stood, making light work of removing the belt that held his jeans up, “Turn around and lift your skirt up.” He ordered.

You did as you were told, draping the upper half of your body over the back of the couch, widening your legs so Javier had a view of your ass and your exposed pussy. You looked over your shoulder to find him fishing a condom out of his wallet before shedding himself of his jeans and boxers. Little had been as far from correct as you could have been. His cock was hard and you watched intently as he rolled the condom on swiftly. Your mouth watered at the thought of having him heavy in your mouth.

“Enjoying the show?” He asked as he moved behind you, letting two of his fingers dip into your pussy, “So wet for me hermosa, you ready for my cock?”

“Yes Javi,” You breathed, moving yourself back in an attempt to get him closer to you, “I want you to fill me up.”

“Whatever you want, darling girl.” Was his answer.

You felt him scoot up behind you, taking your hip in one of his hands, using the other to guide the head of his cock to your wet slit. The friction caused when he started pushing inside of your was delightful. He was big, the biggest you think you’d ever taken but the feeling of fullness was overwhelming.

You could hear soft grunts from behind you as he pushed himself all the way into you, stilling once he had bottomed out, “You okay?” He asked softly into your ear as the hand at your hip squeezed lightly.

“Fuck Javi,” You moaned, “You’re so fucking big, it feels so good.” “Yeah?” He asked, a slight chuckle to his voice, “You like my cock inside of you?”

“Uh huh.” You managed to drag out from your mouth as he slowly pulled out and thrust back into you.

The pace was slow to begin with, giving you a chance to get used to his size within you and half because Javier knew if he started his usual bruising pace with you, he would be done in mere seconds. God you felt good around him.

“Javi please,” You begged, “I need you to move.”

“You want me to fuck you?” He asked, pulling his cock almost all the way out of your pussy before stilling, “Needy little thing, begging for my cock like that.”

He wasn’t one to deny a lady what she wanted though so he set about giving you exactly what you wanted. Soon enough he was pounding into your pussy from behind. The strangled cries that he pulled from your lips were enough to let him know you were enjoying yourself – pair those sounds with the way your pussy was clenching around him every time he pushed himself into you and he was ready to come undone.

“You’re such a good girl for me aren’t you?” He cooed into your ear as the hand that wasn’t keeping him upright tangled in your hair, “Put your hand on your pussy baby,” He ordered, “Make yourself cum on my cock.”

You did as you were told, snaking one of your hands underneath your body. You used one of your fingers to circle your clit, the wetness dripping from your entrance enough to slicken you.

“That it’s baby,” Javier spoke in encouragement, “I can feel that pussy clenching around me, you going to cum for me?”

The entire thing was overwhelming – the filth falling from Javi’s mouth, the feeling of his cock filling you up and your fingers on your clit pushing you to the edge. Your second orgasm creeped up on you, falling over you in waves as you cried Javi’s name.

“God fucking dammit,” Came a voice from behind you, “Baby I’m going to cum.”

Words had failed you, but you moaned in approval, doing what you could to push your pussy further into Javi’s hips. A few more thrusts and he stilled within you, letting out a raged moan as his hand squeezed hard enough to bruise at your hips.

Javier stayed still for as long as he could, letting the two of you catch your breath for a moment before he pulled himself out of you. Without his body to keep you upright you collapsed into the couch, doing what you could to pull your skirt down so you weren’t bared to the room anymore.

Javi padded back into the room after disposing of the condom in his bathroom. He sat down on the couch, lifting your legs to rest against his thighs. He was still dressed in his shirt and had thrown on a fresh pair of boxers on his way back to you.

“Javi…” You spoke, drawing his attention to you.

“What is it, hermosa?”

“I think we skipped right past friends, don’t you?”

A laugh erupted from his mouth. You think it’s the first time you’ve seen him properly laugh and you like it.

“You mean your friends don’t eat your pussy and fuck you like that?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at you.

You let your hand swat his arm, “You know, I can’t say they do.”

His eyes darkened slightly as they looked at you, “Does that mean they don’t wrap you up in bed, let you sleep for a few hours and then wake you up to bury themselves inside of you?”

Your eyes widened at the insinuation. You’d assumed you’d spend the night sleeping on his couch until you could slip out and get your keys sorted.

“You want me to sleep in your bed?” “Hermosa….” He breathed, “We won’t be sleeping much at all.”

#javier pena #narcos #Pedro pascal #Javier pena smut #Javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #Javier pena Pedro pascal

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lokischocolatefountain · 2 years ago

Text

Shit Habit

A Married!Javi Drabble

Rating: PG13 (just suggestive stuff, nothing explicitly smutty. Warning: mention of Stechner)

Series Masterlist

“What happened to the nicotine gum?” She asked, looking up from her book, catching him with an unlit cigarette between his lips, lighter clutched in his hand.

“Had a conversation with Stechner,” was all he needed to say. She hummed in understanding. Stechner had become a staple of his angry rants to her about work and he’d become a center of her jokes where she’d curse “fucking Stechner” whenever anything went wrong in their day.

“Fucking Stechner,” she cursed as he predicted, making him smile halfheartedly before parroting “Fucking Stechner” back at her. He was bringing too much of his work back home. But she still found him acceptable enough to keep around, beckoning him with her index finger. He followed, walking away from the open window to where she sat on the sofa. He tried to sit, but she stretched her legs out on the sofa before pulling him away from the seat by his hands.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she simply smiled before she began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I have to say, you look really good in a white shirt and slacks. Like a conventional office worker.”

“Huh. Fucking hate it. And the stupid SUV. I need my jeep back. Not this stupid little—” he sighed and pushed his hair out of his forehead. “Sorry, I’m just… It’s this job— it’s different. I can’t be on the field like I used to be anymore. I have to send other guys, trust that they won’t fuck up. Duffy and Lopez ended up on the news and I had to take responsibility for their shit.”

“Aww honey,” she cooed, her voice so soft it melted away some of the tension in his muscles. “Maybe this is why Noonan and Messina were always pissed at you and Steve. Because they had to face the fire after you broke the rules.”

“You’re saying it’s karma?” He asked, finally lighting the cigarette. When the first puff filled his lungs, his hand finally stopped its restless fidgeting. He was never going to be able to quit at this rate.

He kept his eyes away from her, easy to do as he stood while she was sitting. He was afraid that if he looked, he’d see disappointment. She never suggested that he quit or even demanded it of him. She had every right to demand it, especially now. She never asked for shit. It should make him feel at ease, but the more he messed up and she went without fighting him on it, the worse he felt. He knew how to defend himself against anger— he would make excuses, tell her he couldn’t quit when his job was so stressful again. But she said nothing, just offered kindness and slipped a strip of nicotine gums into his suit pocket when he dropped her off at work in the morning. What was he meant to do with supportiveness?

The second puff tasted bitter in his heart and he quickly put it out on the glass top of their coffee table as he’d gotten rid of his ashtray in a bout of enthusiasm over quitting.

“Good boy.”

He snorted. Good? He went two weeks without smoking and now that they were in Colombia, he was right back to the terrible habit.“That was my fifth cigarette today.”

“Used to be seven a day on average. You only took two puffs of this last one…and I know you’ve been very stressed lately. Good boy,” she said, pulling him down to her by his hand. Guided by her hand, he knelt down by the sofa.

“It’s a shit habit.”

“It is,” she agreed, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. “You’re an impatient man, Javier. You want everything to happen immediately. Cut yourself some slack, acknowledge that you’re doing better now than you were doing last month. If you feel shit about where you’re at in your journey to quit your smoking habit, you’ll just feel worse and quitting won’t feel worth it anymore.”

He nodded, knowing she was right. But it didn’t stop him from feeling like shit. He placed a hand on her knee, his thumb caressing a scar she’d gotten from a childhood fall in the playground. He traced the shape of it, and visualized the shape without even having to take another look at it. A new body every night used to be fun but now, he needed the familiar terrain of her body. He needed to know that when he made his way up her thigh, he would go past that mole, that when he buried his face in her neck he would smell the scent of her coconut shampoo.

“Alright… since you’re already on your knees…” she trailed, smiling suggestively as she threaded her fingers through his hair.

“Ask you to marry me?” He squinted, feigning innocence. It was fun to pretend when he knew exactly what she was asking for.

“Well, don’t be too confident with that. Just because I said yes once doesn’t mean I’ll say yes again,” she teased, the back of her hand grazing his cheek.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. My back hurts and I threw up right after I woke up and it’s all your fault. So, I’m not so enthusiastic about you anymore.”

“I’m sorry…” he said, pulling her shorts down her legs. He started with her belly, placing a kiss on it as it’d become customary of late. There was no visible difference in her yet, nothing apparent, but it felt good to acknowledge it with small affections. He had to quit his habit soon. He shouldn’t be smoking around her. While she chose to build a life with his sorry ass, shit habits and all, this baby didn’t and it would be the wrong example to set for it.

“Don’t say sorry. Show me how sorry you are,” she said, guiding him by his hair between her legs. Laughter bubbled over from his chest and he pushed her legs apart, settling himself comfortably between them.

“Si, Jefa.”

_______

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @cowboychickenlittle

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mendessi · 2 years ago

Note

I see you haven't been active in a while but I'm asking a million people if you could please write a Javi Pena fic where the reader gets injured while they're on a job and he like feels something is wrong or something like that thanks

bambi | javier peña

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

summary: you assist peña and carillo in tulo to bring gacha down but end up getting hit before the job is finished

word count: 4.4k

warnings: canon-typical violence, season 1 narcos spoilers (go watch it already wyd), kind of established relationship already, angst?, mention of death (reader does not die), tender!javi, maybe more am not sure yet, there is def a little backstory before jumping into the main part

minors dni

You had been in Colombia for almost two years and had fought your way into the position you were in. Tooth and nail, one might add. Being a woman in this line of work, in this day and age was not easy in the slightest bit. You busted your ass in school and in training just to earn a spot in the DEA, even harder to get the approval to be sent to Colombia. Even with your father having a higher up position in the DOJ, it still wasn't easy and you didn't expect it to be.

The introduction of narcotics into the United States wasn't easy on you considering one of your closest childhood friends had overdosed on their birthday trip to Miami that you were on. There was no indication that she had even consumed any drugs let alone enough to OD on, but it happened anyways and when you found her the next morning it destroyed nearly everything in you.

You were always destined to work for the Department of Justice, but something in you shifted after the death of your friend. Once the war on drugs had been declared you knew exactly where you needed to be.

Your bags were packed within an hour of receiving the call of your relocation assignment and exactly twenty four hours later you were on a flight to Bogota, Colombia to meet your new bosses at the embassy.

There was barely any time for you to set your bags down before you were asked to meet Noonan at the embassy. You weren't set to begin work for another week so you could officially move to Medellín and settle down, but there were a few papers you needed to sign to solidify your acceptance of the job.

He remembers it clear as day, the second he saw you walking into the embassy. Hair tied into a ponytail, curly pieces framing your face sweetly. A powder blue button up was tied into a knot paired with light wash jeans that weren't too tight, but were just the right amount of loose, white sneakers on your feet. His eyes followed your every step as you shook Noonan's hand outside her office door, the smile on your face brightening the room. His stomach twisted at the thought of someone like you in the war torn country you were in, wondering what even brought you here in the first place. You looked out of place, like you didn't belong here and that made him nervous. As he watched you disappear behind the ambassador's door, he decided quickly that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.

About thirty minutes later, Noonan was at his desk with you by his side. He and Steve both rose from their seats at the sudden presence of the ambassador and the short guest standing next to her.

"Boys, this is your new partner. She'll join you next week in Medellín until further notice." Noonan said before turning on her heel and leaving you there standing in front of the two men that towered over you.

You had heard plenty about them and their work thus far into the hunt for Pablo Escobar and always admired their bravery for what they do.

"Right, hello. Steve." He held his hand out to you and Javier did the same, his name coming out more as a mumble.

"Sorry?" You asked.

"Javier. Peña." He repeated a bit louder and shook your hand, your name barely making it to his ears because how focused he was on taking in all of your facial features.

"I look forward to working with you both. I have to get to Medellín but, I'll see you guys next week." You spared yourself the awkward small talk and removed yourself from the situation. You could tell they were just like any other male in this line of work that were immediately doubting you upon first impressions.

What they didn't know was that you were top of your class at Quantico and could take down a man that was three times your size. You were used to people doubting you and didn't expect this to be any different.

Steve and Javier both were sharing the same thoughts and that was how someone your size could've been approved to join the DEA in Colombia. They kept that to themselves til after you had left the building.

"She's gonna get torn apart." Steve sighed gathering his things. He and Javi were only meant to be in Bogota for the day for a briefing before heading back to Medellín.

About 30 miles from home, they came across you standing on the side of the road, blood drenching your clothes and splattered across your face and your government loaned car completely totaled. The tires screeched as Javi pulled off the road behind you, he and Steve out of the car in seconds with their guns in their hands.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" Javi asked, reaching a hand out to you. "Is there anyone near? Who did this?"

You were in tears, barely able to speak as Steve slowly moved around the vehicle a wave of relief washing over him when he saw the deer plunged through the windshield of your car.

"I'm sorry- I'm not- I don't ever cry like this, I swear. I'm jet lagged and covered in-" You barely could finish the sentence you just let out a frustrated groan.

"Javi," Steve called him over and he hesitated before stepping around you.

"Deer." Javi said before walking back towards you. He rested his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him, "Are you hurt?"

"No, it's his blood not mine. Fucking disgusting." You sighed, almost gagging at the sticky feeling of it drying to your skin. He almost smiled at the bad word leaving your lips, almost as if it didn't belong there.

"Here's what we'll do. We'll get your things, you can ride with us and we'll sort out the vehicle situation tomorrow." Steve said to you.

"I have a shirt in the car you can change into. It'll do til we get to your place." Javi said.

You sat in the back seat on the ride home after the boys loaded your belongings into the trunk and resumed the drive home, Javier's sweatshirt engulfing you. They weren't thinking it, but being so used to having to defend your every action to get to where you are now you felt the need to say it.

"I'm not like this usually. It's just been a rough first day." You fiddled with the sleeves of the sweater that Javier had lent you.

"You don't have to explain anything to us." Javier said.

"I do, though." Your replied in a small voice, loud enough for them to both hear and they understood it. You wanted to feel inferior to them, your two new coworkers seeing you so vulnerable before you first official day, but you knew better. They brought your things into your apartment for you once arriving and you thanked them one more time before they were gone.

When you went in on your first day, brand new desk was pushed against the two that were so used to being a duo. You even already had a nickname. You went through stacks and stacks of files catching up on the details of the hunt so far and listening to Javier and Steve tell you stories of what they'd been through so far.

Javier was slowly becoming obsessed with the way you gave whoever you were speaking to your undivided attention, how your eyebrows furrowed in concentration or even how you used your pointer finger to scan the lines of a file. The tiniest things you did were intoxicating to him and he hated it. You caught him staring at you a few times and figured he was just once again, doubting your right to be sat at that desk.

The boys both became obsessed with you in their own way. Steve obsessed with the way you carried yourself in the field. You took charge and never took any ounce of shit from any man that would look down on you. He learned quickly that you were not one to be messed with. Javier was just obsessed.

Obsessed with how your hair framed your face, how you quite literally would stop and smell the flowers while on a job, how you said his name, or how he sometimes caught you stealing glances at him from your desk that was right next to his. How your hand looked as you scribbled down notes from the day, or how you sounded when speaking over the walkies, the look on your face when you were connecting dots. He obsessed over he way you laughed at the things he said and got jealous when you'd laugh at something Steve said. He loved how easily you fell into place between him and his partner Steve, like the two of them were missing you the entire time. He loved how quickly you picked up Spanish as a second language and how intelligent you were. How you embraced to culture of Colombia as your own and were able to so easily connect with the residents of Medellín. He was obsessed with your smile, your hands, the way your waist curved, he was fucking obsessed with the way you smelled. Even after sprinting across rooftops, he still loved your scent, it's like nothing to him about you was not worth obsessing over.

It was almost your one year anniversary of moving to Colombia when he kissed you for the first time. He drove you home after a long day at the office since your car was in the shop and was nice enough to walk you to the door. You knew he was into you, he was the worst at hiding it, even Steve would tell him to which Javier would reply, "I'm not into her and even if I was, I'm smooth, okay? She'd never know."

You did know. And you were into him too, but you wanted him to make the first move. He was so caught up with his informants half the time you didn't know if that would ever happen, so whenever he was ready, you'd be there. It irked you to say the least, that somebody else was getting those parts of him but there was nothing you could do.

But that night you two stood outside your front door, talking about your childhood homes and what you loved most about them, you dangling the keys between your fingers as he leaned against the frame and kissed you. His fingers were soft against your cheek and his lips sweet against yours and you didn't know he could be so gentle. You'd seen him kill people before yet here was kissing you as if you'd break under his touch.

"Good night, Javi." You said to him, as you stood on your tiptoes for one last kiss before disappearing into your home, the biggest smile on your face.

Your relationship was what some would call a slow burn. You took things slow, mostly because between the war on drugs neither of you had time to focus on and nurture a relationship. So you remained best friends and coworkers, alongside Steve who sometimes felt like a third wheel. When the two of you did finally find some spare time, things blossomed so quickly and beautifully and the man was head over heels. Steve had a hard time believing it, but he always knew that once Javi found the right one, he'd be 150% all in. Steve loved that it was you that brought out that side of him.

"Bambi, we're rolling out." Carillo said to you. Hearing the nickname is nothing new after all these years, but it still almost makes you laugh sometimes. Who knew having a deer sprint in front of you on your first day in Colombia would get you a call sign that stuck with you for the rest of your career.

"Yes sir." You nodded and stood up from your desk and gathered your things.

"No, no, you're not coming." Javier said.

"Excuse me?" There were very few things Javi did that pissed you off, but the one that did it most was when he tried keeping you from certain jobs.

"This is gonna get ugly and I don't want you there." He rested his hand on your elbow gently.

"You don't get to make that decision. I'm going and I'm monitoring the Search Bloc. This is the one thing I ask you not to do." You lowered your voice, looking up at him.

"And I don't do ever do this, but I don't like the feeling of this." He lowered his tone to match yours. "Por favor, mi sol." (Please, my sun.)

"Javier, don't ask me again." You pulled away from him and followed behind Carillo as you and the rest of the Search Bloc loaded into vehicles and began the journey to Tolú. He knew there was nothing he could say once you called him by his full name.

You and Javi barely spoke the entire ride to Tolú and it should be known that it was a long drive from Medellín. Even though you sat in silence, he still rested his hand on your leg, his thumb rubbing circles onto the fabric of your jeans.

When you stepped out of the vehicles upon your arrival you watched and counted the men that loaded into boats to cross the bay. The plan was to catch them from a direction they wouldn't expect. Javi was going with the aerial team which meant you were splitting up.

"Hey," he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. "Be careful."

"You too."

He would've said the right words if he knew what would happen once you parted ways. He would've said them a long time ago if he had known. He knew it in his gut as he watched you walk away and board the boat alongside Carillo and yet he still let you go. He should've kissed you one more time. It wasn't his right to stop you from going on a job and he knew that. He let you go because of those words that he didn't say.

You and the rest of the Search Bloc trekked through the sand and the thick trees of the jungle quietly, nobody speaking a sound, guns up and ready to fire. You surely looked out of place being the only woman amongst them. A few inches larger and the gun you were holding would've been too big for you to hold comfortably.

You came across two men and the gun fire started almost immediately. This was something you were used to and certainly planned for long before you even landed in Colombia. You knew that once the first shots were fired that Gacha would try to flee.

You held your ground until enough of his men had dropped and it felt safe to start moving in. Half of those men had probably never even fired a gun before this moment. You stayed next to Carillo, taking the first steps out from the treeline only for your body to be thrown through the air as a shot from a rocket launcher hit the ground near you causing a big explosion. Your gun slammed into your face sending a piercing pain through your nose. Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, looking at your surroundings. You felt the blood trickling down the side of your head and tasted it as it leaked from your nose.

"Bambi, are you okay? Hey! Bambi!" You looked up at one of the Search Bloc members attempting to reach you. He pulled you up to which you groaned in pain, and looked to Carillo who also looked to have a head wound. The sound of the voices and gunfire were in and out as your ears kept ringing but you racked your brain trying to focus on what was happening.

"Sí. I'm okay." You sat up and watched Gacha and his son rush down the stairs and into a red chevy parked under the house while Carillo screamed for a radio. You only allowed your body to be in shock from the blow for only a split second more before the shock was filled with anger.

"Wait, Bambi. Wait!" You clenched your teeth together and stood up, repositioning your gun as you shot down multiple men running under the house screaming in frustration as the red chevy pulled off. You fired at the truck, no bullets hitting anywhere that would help stop them.

You fell forward to your knees feeling two shots fly through your shoulder and one through your abdomen from behind. You turned and fired your gun sending three bullets into his chest, falling onto your back once he hit the ground. Multiple men ran past your body, most likely trying to flee like their boss and eventually the gun fire stopped.

You felt somebody's arms hook under yours as they dragged you back to where Carillo was with the radio. He said something along the lines of Bambi... down... tell Javier... it was all a blur.

"He's down. We'll put the bird down and recoup." You heard Javi's voice over the radio, a small smile creeping on your lips. "What's the situation there, is it safe to land?"

Carillo hesitated as he looked down at you drenched in blood he wasn't sure was your own. He knew the blood coming from your head and ears were from the rocket launcher and he could tell you had been shot, he just didn't know where or how many times. Your vest clearly didn't do its job or somehow so unluckily each bullet managed to hit you in a place you weren't protected in.

"Safe to land. Make it quick." Carillo said cupping your cheeks, forcing your eyes to focus on him. The drowsy and somehow slightly smiley look on your face told him all he needed to know. "I need medics."

"They're already on the way. Where's Bambi, put her on." Javier's chest tightened immediately as if he knew. He felt it the second Carillo got on the radio instead of you, he knew it before you even made it into Tulo. His worst nightmare was becoming a reality. "Put Bambi on."

"Hey, stay with me." Carillo slapped your cheeks once your eyes started to close. "Talk to him." He tossed the walkie to Trujillo who began describing everything to Javi except for what state you were in. You could hear Javier's panicked voice flooding the speakers of the walkie sounding angrier than you had ever heard in the entire time you've known him.

"Put her on the fucking radio!" Javi yelled at Trujillo, he had tears brimming his eyes but he didn't dare let a single one spill. Anxiety was flooding his chest at the idea that you weren't okay, but he knew it from the second it happened. "Please tell me she's okay. Please." He begged.

"Trujillo, tell me she's alive. Tell me she's not dead. Please." Javi pleaded.

Everything was in and out of focus, men shuffling around you, Carillo and Trujillo saying your name over and over again, Carillo constantly slapping your cheeks to keep you awake. You hardly noticed that your vest had been pulled off and Carillo was working to keep pressure to your wounds, but you couldn't even tell where the wounds were at that point. You felt numb. Words weren't words anymore and instead just loads of gibberish filling your ears.

"Where are the god damn medics?" You heard Carillo curse. "We're not losing her."

When your surrounding came into focus once again, Javi was running towards you, taking Carillo's place, holding your body close to his.

"Hey, hey." He said with a shaky voice. "Hey, stay with me. Where are the fucking medics!"

"My love," you looked up at him, those words leaving your mouth for the first and maybe the last time, struggling to keep him focus. His brown eyes were filled with fear and that's when it became apparent to you how bad it was. You were shot three times. Everyone was panicking and it clicked that you were possibly dying.

It clicked for Javi that you were possibly dying. That this may be the last time he look into your eyes, or the last time he heard your voice. That when he woke up this morning could've been the last time he'd wake up to your beautiful sleeping face. Or that today would be the last day you two shared coffee from the same mug at work. Or even that Steve and Connie wouldn't have you for dinner this weekend like they promised. He began shaking his head, trying to rid these thoughts. You were drenched in blood like the night he found you on the side of the road, but this time it was yours and that made him feel physically sick.

Carillo was the only one at your sides now as Javi held you in his arms, tears still refusing to fall from his eyes. Everyone moved away to give space to the normally mean man who's love of his life was dying in his arms.

"Don't do this to me, please. Please, baby." He whispered into your hair. "Please, don't leave me."

"It doesn't hurt." You said to him, your hand barely finding his, squeezing it as tightly as you could manage.

"What?" He asked, bringing your fingers to his lips. He didn't care that they were covered in blood.

"It doesn't hurt." You repeated and all he could do was release a shaky breath.

"I love you," You whispered. Your thoughts were barely thoughts anymore but as you approached what seemed to be death, the only thing you thought about what how he needed to hear it from you before you died. You weren't even sure if he heard it and the last thing you thought of before shaking hands with death himself was that you never got to hear him say it to you.

"They're here." Carillo sighed in relief as the sirens from the ambulances sounded. "Peña."

Javi looked at Carillo who was staring at you, so he followed his gaze and it felt like his heart completely stopped beating. Your eyes were shut and there was blood dripping from the side of your mouth, joining the streams that had left your nose and side of your head.

"I love you." He said to you. "I love you." He said it again and then once more after that for good measure, praying to whoever would listen that you heard it at least once before you died because he was sure you were going to die and he hated himself for not saying it sooner.

He watched as they cut your shirt off of you and began working hastily simultaneously lifting you onto a stretcher and rolling you away into an ambulance.

Carillo put his hand on Peña's shoulder and looked at him. Despite the love his life being sent away, and not knowing if you'd survive this, there was still a job to finish. Carillo, Javi and the remaining men filed into trucks and drove to the scene up the road where Gacha and his son had died. Javi felt some sense of relief knowing that this was a big hit to the Medellín Cartel.

As soon as the scene was cleared Javier and Carillo went to the hospital you were being treated in and Javier called into Medellín and Bogota to let them know that you had been injured in the line of duty. Steve and Connie were on the next flight to Tolu from Medellín and there within hours. Carillo was talking to the doctors because Javier couldn't bear to hear the news that you were dead. It would kill him.

"She's out of surgery, in recovery. She's going to be okay. She's strong, they say. You can see her soon." Carillo said to Javier and he nodded, finally taking a seat in the waiting room chair.

"Good." He nodded again, finally covering his face with his hands as the tears he fought so hard to hold back finally spilled from his eyes.

Carillo sat next to him, patting him on the back as he cried silent tears of relief knowing that you had survived.

A few hours passed and Carillo had left to make his way back to Medellín so Javier was alone in the waiting room when the nurse called for him to see you.

"Hey," You said to him, your throat scratchy from the tube they had shoved down it. His heart hurt at the sight of you. Your arm in a sling, stitches in your temple, two small stitches in your nose, and a bruised face to prove that it was in fact broken. And somehow you still made all of that look beautiful.

"Mi sol," Javi whispered as he sat down next to your bed, taking your hand into both of his, kissing each of your fingertips. "I'm so sorry I let this happen."

"It's part of the job." You told him. "I made a mistake out of rage. It's my fault."

He stared at you, "I thought I lost you. They told me you died twice. Twice."

"I had something to fight for." You said, squeezing his hand.

"I am so sorry I didn't say it before and I'm not saying it now just because of the situation pero mi amor, I love you. So fucking much that it makes my chest hurt so bad that I feel like I can't breathe and when I lost you today I regretted not ever saying it to you before." He rambled on and you could subconsciously hear the monitor beeping faster as your heart rate went up. "I love you, mi amor. Mi Bambi. Mi sol."

"I love you too." You said to him and you never meant it more than in that moment after almost losing your life, accepting the idea you'd never see him again. Now that you'd been given a second chance you'd never miss the opportunity to say it again.

He leaned forward, brushing the hair from your face with the gentlest touch, and leaning in for the gentlest kiss being so careful not to hurt your nose or any other part of your body. His thumb rested on your chin as he held it so softly kissing you with such delicacy as if not to break you and it was the most favorite kiss you had shared to date.

Javier stayed with you and a week and a half later you were on a flight home to Medellín for the rest of your recovery period. Not long after that Javier moved in officially where he helped you recover and still stay sane in the midst of not being able to go out in the field. Your dad even came to visit after hearing the news where he met Javi for the first time.

When you were finally cleared to return and leave strictly desk work to re-enter the field, Javi kept you at his side more than usual to which you had to scold him sometimes but could he really help feeling so worried all the time? Nearly losing you was scariest thing he ever experienced in your life and gave him PTSD to which he still had nightmares about.

It took navigating and discussing and finding time between being work husband and wife to actually taking care of and paying attention to your very real and personal relationship, but you finally found the well deserved balance.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for the request! This was kind of fun to write and it was nice to write something after so long away

#pedro pascal #javier pena narcos #javier pena headcannon #javier pena imagine #narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena #narcos fanfiction

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cowgurrrl · 10 months ago

Text

Playing the Game

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Summary: The Aftermath [4.0k]

Warnings: interrogation setting, language, description of injuries (NOTHING GRAPHIC), discussions of nightmares, short dialogue in Spanish, Chekov’s gun if you squint really hard, some smutty thoughts and happenings, a little bit of backstory, canonical violence

"I understand that the events from a few months ago are still fresh in everyone's minds," you say, looking around the room of higher-ups. It's a big mix. CIA, DEA, military personnel, and even Ambassador Noonan. That's standard, you think. It's not every day an undercover CIA agent gets made in the streets of Medellín, kidnapped, and tortured for three days. "But my health has improved over these past few weeks, and my doctors have cleared me to return to the field. Given the grace of the board here today, I would like to return to work and finish the job I came to Colombia to do."

You accepted the transfer to the United States Embassy in Bogotá a little over two years ago and did desk work for a few months before committing to an undercover job to collect intel on the cartel. It was safe enough. Most days were uneventful as you tuned into the codes and subtle behaviors of those involved. Still, you almost always carried your service weapon with you. You made the right friends. You kept your head down. You checked in with another CIA agent once a week and regularly relayed information to two DEA agents, Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. You were fine until you weren't.

You still don't really know how they found out you were undercover or exactly what happened over those three days after they snatched you from the sidewalk. Sometimes, you're able to string together conversations had between them beating the shit out of you, but it's a lot of you repeating yourself. "No sé nada. No sé nada." You said over and over again as they accused you of lying and went back to torturing you. It wasn't an official ruling, but the people who stormed into the building collectively believed you were dead. When they stumbled in to find you sitting there, beaten but breathing, they thought it was a small-scale miracle. Upon further investigation and questioning, they were even more surprised you didn't give up any information. Instead, you threw out false leads to buy yourself and the embassy time. This wasn't your first rodeo. You knew better.

All in all, you walked away starving and dehydrated with a perforated eardrum, deep lacerations from your own pair of handcuffs, a broken wrist, countless cuts and bruises, a concussion, a fucked up knee, and cigarette burns on your arms. Guards parked themselves outside your hospital room and your apartment until they were sure the threat to your life was suspended. Since then, you've been stuck at home, bored to tears, doing physical therapy exercises to regain strength in your leg, and reading declassified files sent to you. You're up to date on the latest happenings in Medellín and more than ready to come back.

"Agent, I appreciate your willingness and courage to return to work, but how do you know the sicarios won't try to come after you again?" Colonel Wysession asks, and you shrug.

"How do we know that they might not try to come after any of us?" You ask. "You made a statement when you killed everyone involved with my kidnapping. They should know not to fuck with government agents, especially after Kiki Camarena's death."

"'Should' doesn't mean they won't try it again." Ambassador Noonan chimes in.

"You're right. They're still out there, wreaking havoc on the country and innocent people, which means you need all the hands you can get to catch them. I know firsthand how they operate and communicate with each other. You won't be able to get that information again, especially after the raid." You say. Agent Jones, the CIA representative, sighs as he flips your file open and looks over it. The interagency cooperation is nice and all, but it really comes down to him and Ambassador Noonan to make the final call.

"You have an impressive record here, Agent. You were one of the top graduates from Camp Peary. A stint overseas to surveil communist groups in Eastern Europe. Assistance in multiple criminal investigations at home. Your information and skill have helped your country in innumerable ways," he says. "They even gave you a code name for your successes undercover: The Swallow."

"To be clear, I didn't approve of that name." You say quickly, and Agent Jones looks up from your file.

"It's rare to get a code name anyone approves of." He says, and you nod, deciding to play nice.

"I guess that's true."

You know exactly why you got given that name, and it will never not make your skin crawl. Years of work in the Agency, months spent undercover, and enough bullets fired in the name of democracy to haunt you for a lifetime, and in return, you get that name plastered to your record forever. So much for respect, right?

"Agent, our main concern right now is that in bringing you back to the field, we are putting a target on your back. Now, you've made it very clear that is a burden you're willing to carry, but that doesn't mean the United States is willing to carry it as well." Ambassador Noonan says.

"Ambassador, with all due respect, the second we put American agents on the ground here in Colombia, the United States not only carried the burden but also condoned it. Other Agency personnel are all aware of the immediate threat of being here and doing this work, and many, many men have disappeared because of it. I've made it back more than once. I can do it again."

"Are you sleeping well, Agent?" Agent Jones asks out of the blue, and you turn to look at him. The question throws you off guard. You were prepared to defend your work and skill, not your personal habits. But, your mind immediately jumps to the other night without your permission.

It started how it always starts. Flinching in your sleep at phantom hits and talking to no one in particular. Random mumbling at first but then clearer, louder, until you were screaming. You shot up in bed, shaking and crying and swearing you could smell burnt flesh again. You didn't know where you were at first, but old habits die hard, and you instinctively reached for your gun. Someone grabbed your hand to keep you from hurting yourself and shushed you when you cried louder at the grip on your wrists. "It's me," he said gently, turning you around to face him. "It's me."

"I'm sleeping as well as anyone in my line of work can." You tell Agent Jones, pushing the memory from your head. "I'll sleep much better once Escobar's in the ground or behind bars."

"You're really dedicated to this, huh?" Colonel Wysession says, eyeing Noonan out of the corner of his eye, and you nod.

"A couple of loyal men with guns don't scare me, sir," you say. "After the show of force at the recon, I doubt they'll come after any one of us again. But if they do and it's me, I'll get on the first flight home. No questions asked." You know it's a good offer. You know they love to take risks with their agents and then act like they're doing them a service by taking them out. You know how to play this game.

Jones, Noonan, and Wysession talk quietly amongst themselves as you sit there, your hands folded calmly in front of you. It takes them all of two minutes to come to a decision.

"You're cleared to return to four weeks of desk duty. After that time, we will reevaluate your position and see if we can't get you back in the field." Ambassador Noonan tells you decisively, and your jaw clenches.

"Four weeks?"

"I can make it six."

"Four will be perfectly fine, ma'am. Thank you, Ambassador." You say as you stand up and shake her hand.

"Welcome back, Agent."

You almost forgot how mind-numbing desk duty is. If you hadn't been made, you definitely would've. All day, you watch agents from other agencies come in and out with intel and stories from the streets while you're forced to sit there and file reports on a typewriter that may be older than you. You want to gouge your eyes out when you catch wind of a planned tactical pursuit. The gun sitting in the top drawer of your desk feels like it's burning a hole in your brain, and all you want to do is go back out and do actual work. You didn't graduate top of your class to be a fucking secretary.

You don't know what's worse: desk duty or being chained to your desk when a familiar voice calls your name.

"Well, if it isn't the biggest pain in my ass," you greet as Javi parks himself in front of you. He doesn't object to you calling him a pain in the ass. It even seems to amuse him. "How can I help you, Javier?"

"What makes you think I need somethin', huh? Maybe I just wanted to see how you're doing." Javi says, and you chuckle, shuffling especially important files away from prying eyes. He rests his hands on your desk and leans forward, his billowy shirt opening enough to give up a nice view of his chest. You glance between him and his collarbones and level him with a knowing look.

"Call it intuition." You say. You wait another second for him to fess up to what he needs before lifting your hands to start typing again. He sighs and slides you a picture of a sicario, looking around to ensure nobody's watching the interaction.

"What do you know about him?" He asks quietly. You furrow your brows and shake your head.

"Who's that?"

"C'mon, I know you have intel on all these fuckers. I just need to know where he hangs out. We need to ask him a few questions."

"And when Noonan asks where you got the information? Because you know she will ask."

"I'll say I got it from an especially beautiful high-level CI."

"Enticing," you say. "I don't work for you, Javi. If you want information, go out on the streets and get it yourself."

"Nobody's willing to acknowledge that this guy is the reason a CIA agent got kidnapped." He says. You stiffen in your chair and look at the picture again. You know you have information on him and remember seeing him around town when you were undercover. You also know you're not supposed to give classified information to the DEA until it is declassified.

"How do you know that?" You ask, and he shrugs as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"If I tell you, are you gonna give me something in return?"

"If you make it good."

"We have reason to believe one of Pablo's informants caught you sniffing around for information and started tracking your movements. We still don't know how he found out you were CIA, and we need to find him to understand how," he says, pointing at the picture to emphasize his point. You take a deep breath and debate your options. "Look, all I'm asking you to do is… misplace a few files. It happens all the time. There's no way it would come back to you. Plus, I know how bored you are. Live a little."

"They've still got you on desk duty?" Steve asks as he comes down the steps, and you look away from Javi's intense gaze to smile at him. Steve, Javi's partner and DEA's golden boy, has always been kind to you. You're friends with his wife, Connie, and you've spent many a drunken night at their apartment. He's a good man. You give it a few more months here before that changes.

"Couple more weeks." You say before looking back at Javi. “Sabe lo que me estás pidiendo que haga?” Thank God for white men who move to a country with no understanding of the language. Javi gives you a look and chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Por supuesto que no.” He shakes his head and you scoff.

"Eso es que piensaba," you say as you sigh, tear off a corner from a scrap piece of paper, and write down the name of a local bar. "His name is Jorge Alemán. He hides from his wife and mistresses at this bar downtown. He's gonna be armed, so be careful." You hold out the piece of paper to Javi but pull it back before he can grab it. "This doesn't come back to me."

"Course not." He says. You finally hand it to him and look over your shoulder to make sure nobody's watching you give him information. Steve looks confused but willing to go along with whatever as Javi memorizes the name.

"Do me a favor?" You say, forcing his brown eyes away from the paper. "Don't pull your punches with him. They certainly didn't with me." It's the most you've talked about the kidnapping at work since it happened. You catch both Steve and Javi looking at the thick scars around your wrists, but you don't pull them away. If anything, you hope it inspires them to get a little creative with their interrogation.

"Yes, ma'am," Javi promises. With that, he takes the paper and the picture, and the two of them disappear up the stairs to do whatever they need to get information. It's better for all three of you if you don't know the exact details of how the other does their jobs. You've each seen the aftermath of each other's training. You don't need to imagine much, but it's a nice boundary in a time where there seems to be none.

When Steve and Javi come back a few hours later with "important intel" for the Ambassador, you pretend not to know anything about it. Thirty minutes later, you're called in to get the information for the first time, and you tell them what you already told Steve and Javi. They agree to fly CENTRA SPIKE over him for a few days to see if they can pick anything up. "Is there anything I can do to assist with this investigation, Ambassador?" You ask before she can try to dismiss the three of you, and she shakes her head.

"A few more weeks, Agent. I need to ensure your safety before I let you loose again."

"Ambassador, it might be helpful to let her return fully to the field. It could inspire Alemán to reach out to his contacts about her, and we could get more information about how she got made." Steve suggests, and Javi nods.

"He's right. We have to give CENTRA SPIKE something to pick up. Why not details about her?" Obviously, your absence has impacted them, especially if they're going to bat for you. Part of you warms at the thought of them caring so much about you, but the other part worries about what the Ambassador will say.

"Her work is also valuable to the Embassy as a whole. It would be a mistake to sideline her any longer."

"Okay, gentlemen, you've made your point," Noonan cuts Steve off before he can continue, and you have to fight your smile when she looks at you. "Can you handle this?" She asks, and you nod.

"Yes, ma'am." You say. She shakes her head before reaching for what you're assuming is your file behind her and writing something down.

"The second I think it's too much for you, I'm pulling you back out. This time for two months and there will be no negotiations to be had unless you want to get on a plane home. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," you agree. "Thank you, Ambassador."

"Don't make me regret this."

You'd be lying if you said you didn't go home with a little extra pep in your step. You got two weeks taken off of your mandatory desk duty and got your badge back. You've had much worse days, most of which ended with you drinking one too many and smoking until your small apartment is hazy. Today, you feel much better despite your apartment being a mess.

Mail has piled up on the counter next to your medical discharge paperwork and physical therapy exercises. Letters postmarked from the United States bore into you as you do your best to ignore them by plopping your bag on top of them. Half-open rolls of gauze are scattered around, so you could always have one on hand when changing your dressings. Your breakfast dishes are still in the sink, but you are not motivated to wash them. Besides, you're just gonna make a bigger mess once you start making dinner.

You'd been thinking about what you would make all day and only settled on it once you left the Ambassador's office. There's not much you get to control during your day, so you take special care with the food you eat. You like cooking. You always have, and you're not half-bad at it. It's one of the only times you can call the shots and turn your mind off, worries about cartel numbers and communist groups in the jungle pushed away for a time. You're stirring a big pot on the stove when the knock sounds at your door.

He's late. He's always late. He'll claim it's deliberate so nobody can track his movements, but you're convinced he has no sense of time. His work habits can prove as much. You can't count how often you've been working late with him and had to pull him away from his desk because he didn't realize it was midnight. "Just let me do one more thing, and then we can leave," he's always tried to negotiate. You barely manage to get him to stop every time, but he relents after so much convincing.

You turn down the radio in your kitchen and walk over to the door to let him in, a smile already tugging at your lips. You barely have the deadbolt unlocked before he's pushing through the door and stealing air from you. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes (a nightcap with Steve?), and your hands reach up to play with the curls at the nape of his neck. He hums against you as he shuts the door behind him and presses you against it.

"Somethin' smells good." He mumbles.

"I'm making dinner. Figured it was a special occasion." You say, but he's already ducking his head down to mouth at the column of your throat, his teeth grazing the spot he knows makes you dizzy.

"'M not hungry." He says even though you know for a fact he's been living on cigarettes and coffee all day. You push him away and give him a look, but he feigns innocence, his fingers sneaking their way up your shirt.

"I did not cook all this food for you to tell me you're not hungry," you say. He opens his mouth to argue, but you kiss him before he can, and he, predictably, melts into you. "Dinner first, and then I'll let you do whatever you want me to do. Deal?"

"Whatever I want?" He echoes, and you nod. "Must be a damn good dinner."

"Mm, the best." You say as you push him off you to return to the stove. He sighs and lets you pass, but he quickly settles behind you, his hands dangerously roaming over you as you stir the pot again. You smack his wrist when his hand tries to duck under your waistband, and he groans. "You made a deal."

"Deals are broken all the time," he kisses the back of your neck, insatiable, and you shiver as his mustache brushes against your skin. "I've also been thinkin' bout this since you pulled that shit at work."

"That really did it for you, huh?" You ask, a smirk pulling at your lips, but it quickly fades when he grinds his hard cock against you. He nips at your earlobe and successfully manages to unbutton the top of your jeans, your breath hitching when his fingers trace the waistband of your panties.

"You don't work for me, huh?" He breathes, and you laugh as you rest your head back on his shoulder.

"My security clearance is higher than yours."

"Y'know, sometimes I think you like terrorizing me."

"Who says I don't?" You know you're treading thin ice with him, but you don't care. You always like to rile Javi up just to see what he'll do. When he reaches around you to safely turn off the stove, you know you've got him right where you want him. Something in your brain complains about the dinner you made, but it quickly shuts up once his fingers push your underwear to the side and graze your clit. You sigh in relief, already putty in his hands, and he's barely touched you.

He draws tight circles around the little bundle of nerves, and you grip the edge of the counter to try to keep your balance. His other hand rests lazily around your throat, not enough to restrict your breathing but enough to keep you upright with the promise that he could. This— the desperate need and no time wasted— is more familiar than anything else.

Since the kidnapping, he's treated you like you're made of glass. He tried a few times to come to take care of you, but every time you argued about something, you would make him leave. You'd rather heal alone than have someone staring at you like a kicked dog. You were the one practically begging him to touch you the second you felt well enough, and you were the one who had to convince him you wouldn't break. Later, he would tell you he was scared to even kiss you because he just kept seeing you chained to that chair, bloody and beaten. It's taken a lot of adjustments on both sides, but him pressing you against the counter and taking control is the most reminiscent of the beginnings of your relationship when it was still "one more time," and you could barely stand each other.

It was stress relief. In a lot of ways, it still is. Nobody knows about you two, and neither of you is ready or willing to disclose to Noonan. She'd immediately send one of you home, but it definitely wouldn't be Javi. So, you're completely fine sneaking between apartments and fucking catastrophic days away. It's enough. Unlike the way he's touching you.

"Javi," you whine, arching into his touch, and he shushes you. His middle finger barely pushes into you when a loud boom sounds nearby, followed by blaring car alarms. You jump, and he quickly withdraws and shields your body with his as the floor shakes. It might not have been in the neighborhood, but it was really fucking close. You wait out any aftershocks or additional bombs, and both your phones start ringing, not even five minutes later.

A car bomb planted in Jorge Alemán's truck exploded when he put the keys in the ignition. He died before the bomb was even done exploding. Whoever found out you were CIA not only sold that information, but they killed Alemán before he could talk. They must've seen Javi and Steve poking around. They might know you're back at the Agency. They might try to kill you as a way of tying up their loose ends. Steve warns you as much when you show up at the scene, uncomfortably turned on and annoyed at the same time.

"This could get real ugly," Steve says, and you nod.

"You regret coming down here?" You ask. He gives you a look as Javi walks around the vehicle's wreckage but shakes his head.

"Do you?"

"No," you say. "I came here to nail Escobar, and I'm not going home until we do. If it has to get ugly for that to happen, that's fine." He looks like he wants to say something more but stops himself. Instead, you join Javi next to the car and talk with the local police about what happened, completely aware that bystanders have seen your face and the gun on your hip. They know you're with the United States government, and they know what you're worth.

Yeah, shit was gonna get real ugly, and you thought you were ready for it. But then again, everyone did in 1992.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 2 years ago

Note

Your writing kills me in all the best ways 🥺 even for characters I don't care about!!

Could I request 6 & 11 with Javi from the comfort prompts?

Send me a comfort prompt!

Thank you my dear 🫶

*Deténgase, por favor - Pull over, please

Prompts: Bringing them their favorite beverage; Stopping by their workplace on your way home late at night with the hunch that they’re still there

"God, it's late," Connie sighs as the two of you drift out of the bar. "Steve better be home by now."

"Something you need to talk to him about?"

"Not particularly. I'm...Getting tired a little of sleeping alone," She admits with a thin smile. "Sometimes when he is there, it's like I don't even know who he is."

You nod, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat as a taxi pulls up for the two of you. You climb in, leaning back in your seat a little. Hopefully Steve is home. Hopefully, Javier is, too...

But deep-down, you're almost certain that he's not. You eye a liquor store as you drive past it, considering it. You let yourself stew in the thought for a few minutes before—

"Deténgase, por favor," You urge, leaning forward to catch the driver's attention. Connie frowns across the seat as you fish into your bag for your wallet.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just, um—I need to check on something at the office."

"We can take you there—"

"No, it's alright, I'll get my own. You okay getting home?"

"Yeah," She nods.

"Here," You pass your half of the cab fare over. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You climb out of the cab, shutting the door behind yourself. You second-guess yourself as you buy a bottle of whiskey, then again as you get a cab to the office. The nerves are worse still as you go up in the elevator, and you have to remind yourself that it's better if he's not there. If anything, you'll just put the bottle in his desk where he usually keeps one and get yourself home.

Rounding off of the elevator, you see the lights on, but only one person there. It's a bit of relief—it means that Steve's probably home with Connie. Javier is hunched over his desk, probably eyeing some file or map. You can see smoke curling from a cigarette that's likely either between his fingers or his lips. You knock loudly on the doorframe to draw his attention, not wanting to catch him off-guard.

Javier glances back, then does a double-take at the sight of you, his brow furrowing.

"What are you doing here?" He asks.

"Came to see if you needed help or company."

"How'd you know I'd still be here?"

"Hunch."

Javier nods a touch, gaze dropping from your face. Your skin goes hot as he seems to absently sweep your body before he turns away, clearing his throat.

"I won't be great company tonight."

"That's alright. You're usually not."

"Thanks."

You bite your lip as you watch him shift through a file, seemingly intent on ignoring you.

"...Well," You shift, "Do you at least have time for a drink?"

Javier glances over, eyes steadying on the bag in your hand. He purses his lips, thinking for a moment...And then draws his drawer out, taking out two tumblers. You try not to smile in smug satisfaction as he shuts the door and waves you closer.

"Would you like to do the honors?" You ask, setting the bottle down. Javier casts you a sidelong glance as he takes hold of the bottle.

"Thought you were going out with Connie tonight," He comments.

"I did."

"How is she?"

"Fine...Missing Steve."

"Well, far as I know, he's home, so she shouldn't be missing him much tonight."

You hum thoughtfully as he pours a healthy amount into both glasses, then scoot back to sit on his desk. You try not to overthink the way Javier watches you, instead twisting to turn his file toward you. Your eyes narrow a touch as you scan the information.

"This again?" You ask. "I thought Noonan called it on this op."

"She did. I'm looking for a new angle."

"Hell of a time to do it."

"No better time."

"No? Why's that?"

"I have a meeting with her in the morning."

"And you're planning on going into it in day-old clothing and without shaving?"

"I'll make it home in time."

"Oh really?"

"Sure. Sooner you stop slowin' me down, the faster I'll get home."

Your stomach plummets at the off-handed comment, and the way Javier turns the file back toward himself. Blame it on the late hour, or the drinks you had with Connie, but tears prick in your eyes. You force them back with a couple of blinks, raising your glass and draining it far faster than you should've. It burns on the way down, is still burning as you set your glass down and say, "Guess I'll be going, then."

"Hey, c'mon—"

You see Javier straighten in your periphery as you push yourself off of his desk.

"I didn't mean it like that," He adds.

"Yes you did."

You take the uncapped bottle petulantly, beginning to stride away.

"Wait a minute!"

You pick up your pace as you hear the scrape of Javier's chair, the thud of his feet catching up. You go still as he catches hold of your wrist. He takes a couple more cautious steps forward as he crowds closer. You can feel the heat of his chest against your back, hear the way he draws in the scent of your perfume.

"I didn't mean it like that," He repeats softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. Your fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle.

Maybe he didn't. Maybe he did, and he's just trying to stay in your good graces. Either way, you're more certain than ever that you never should've come. You shove the bottle into his chest, forcing him to let go of you to catch hold of it. You don't bid him goodnight, or tell him that you're certain he's fill of shit. You just stride to the elevator and keep your expression neutral, your gaze averted until the elevator doors close. Once they're shut, you sniffle, slouching back against the elevator wall as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Fuck."

#Javier Peña x Reader #Javier Peña x You #Javier Peña/Reader #......SORRY—#asks #replies #prompts #writing prompts

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lolitastories · 4 months ago

Text

GHOST

Javier Pena x Reader

Chapter 9

I decided to stay a couple of days in Cumeral. I got a phone to get in contact with Steve to make sure things were okay to come back but it was never good news. In the operation to catch Gacha alive went downhill when Pena gave orders to shoot him. It meant a huge success for Caramillo and his Searchbloc. Then of course after the new presidential candidate chose to back up extradition, Pablo attempted against his life. Causing innocent lifes to be lost in a terrible plane crash. Since then there have been two other bomb attacks around the area of Bogota. Pablo was now seen by the people as a terrorist. I needed to get back now, Pablo and his cartel were busy building the war to focus on me. Of course it still wasn’t safe to just be walking around but Noonan will get the safe place ready at the latest tomorrow. I park the car in Steve’s building but have no way to get in. Thankfully I learned useful skills. I turned around carefully picking on the lock until it opened. I did the same with Pena’s door that almost fell apart from excess pulling. For an agent who could be killed at any second, finding him spread out on the couch without flinching on the slightest move was astonishing. I dropped the keys on the counter and came around to see his eyes closed peacefully. Black casual button up coming half way. The bottom half untucked from his pants that was unzipped too. Shoes off with one leg hanging off the couch. Arms resting under his head probably after he ran it throught his hair. You could see pieces going in different directions. I had a thought run through my mind but I know it wasn’t the best. I know moving closer wasn’t the best. Leaning over him and fixing my eyes to see every detail of his face wasn’t the best. My hands unbuttoning his shirt slowly wasn’t the best. Moving my hands up his chest while my leg moves over to straddle him wasn’t the best. I hear a soft groan coming from his chest and I freeze. Seeing as his arms come loose falling to my lap unconsciously he settles back down in his sleep. His subtle hip movement caused a friction against my panties I couldn’t deny. Thankfull for the skirt I was wearing it was easy to move out the way. I started to grind and I was unable to stop on the force that kept building in my strides. I grip his big hands and place them on my breasts. How stupid do I feel grinding on a man asleep on his couch. Trying to cum solely on the contact of his jeans and as I force an unconscious man to grip my breast for more friction. The answer to that is I don’t, I feel fucking great. “Holy Fuck” I look down seeing Pena stirring awake as he moans. He takes over his hands and does his own teasing himself. I remove my hands to slowly run it up and down his chest putting more pressure on our connecting bodies. “Baby” he whines once he opens his eyes.

“Should I be worried how you so calmly woke up to this?” I hold in a moan as his cold strong hands move under my shirt to grip my skin.

“How can I be angry or deny this?” He pushes himself up removing my shirt to find no bra underneath. “Or this?” fuck. Breath cut off half way as he connects his mouth to one boob. He doesn’t kiss it or licks it, no, Javier Pena attaches himself like a leech and just starts sucking.

“Javi” I grip his head, wanting him to continue forever but of course he is such a dick and pulls away. “What the fuck?” I hit his shoulder. His face filled with that stupid grin he always carries. “Do you tease every girl like this?” he shakes his head. “Right.” I roll my eyes.

“Every girl doesn’t get a chance to wake me up like this” He wraps his arms around my waist, pulsing me closer. “Not every girl would get a chance to manipulate her way to this” I grunt, blocking his words. He removed one arm at a time that was covering my chest from him.

“You probably would let any girl do this to you aslong as you are getting some” I wasn’t angry or upset, I just didn’t want this to get up in his head.

“I remember your scent” He ignores me. He places a kiss on my cheek. “I remember the way your hands feel against mine” He goes down to place another kiss on my neck. “How your soft whines and moans sound” He moves his hand to grip on boob and places a kiss on it. “And how perfect this tits fit in my hand and how fucking great the taste” With those last words he latches on again with more force.

“Oh my god” I squeal, pulling him closer as I wrap my hands, cradling his head. He sucks and I start to grind against him faster and faster each second that goes by. I throw my head back in ecstasy. He gripped my other breast, playing and tugging. “Javi?” I look down, moving his hair out the way to see his eyes. “Can you just fuck me?” I don’t want any more foreplay or words to be exchanged. I only want to feel him against me, inside me, and intimately. He removes himself without another word, only a nod. I move my hand downward and help him remove his pants. I look up seeing his own eyes focused on mine. The sun was going down so the yellow glow on his tan skin made this feel more like a dream. I took him in my hand. His throat letting out a grunt as an impulse thrust caused his tip to rub against my inner thigh.

“No teasing” He whines, placing both hands on my hip.

“I wasn’t planning on it” I raise my hips just enough to position him right under me. I go down slowly feeling every inch go inside me. It hurt me feeling the stretch get wider and wider but what pretty sounds he made that distracted me.

“Querida” He whispers as I settle all the way down. My pussy tigting against him. Molding together, never wanting to let go.

“You feel so good” I grab his face bringing him in for a kiss. A slow dominating kiss. I don’t think I could ever get tired of them. “Are you going to fuck me like one of your girls?” I didn’t mind becoming one more on the list. I already had him here, with me. What use will it be remembering how many more girls he has done this with? Not when I have him here,body and soul, just like he has me.

“You will never come close to one of those girls” He grips my face. “Yes, I’ve had many but not one that holds me as tight as you” Fuck. “Not one that says my name so sweetly” His words were fuel to me. I started moving slowly, up and down. “Not one that could get me on my knees begging if she only asked” I hold in a moan. “Not one that fills all my daydreams and nights fantasies” My hips move up and down at a rapid speed. My head falls back with my eyes closed. I don’t know how I could hear his voice with the moans and whimpers coming out of me or the clapping that we cause everytime I go down. I grab on to his shoulder feeling a sheer coat of sweat. “You’re not like one of those girls” He pushes me against him, starting to kiss my chest. “Far from it” He trails his kisses up to my neck.

“Javi” I hold him closer and my pussy clenches even tighter as I feel the pressure build. “Fucking me so nicely, mi amor” I take the chance to bit into his neck earning a groan. My nails create crescent indents on his back.

“Always imagine you like this when I first saw you” He whispers into my neck and he starts to rub my back. His hips moving at an even faster pace. “Tight skirts and those blouses that you purposely don’t button all the way” Fuck I was so close. “Wondered how easy it would be to bend you over my desk and fuck you”

“Shut up” I cover his mouth slowing down our movement but slamming harder and tighter on his dick. “Baby, I need you” I pushed back, grabbing onto his face. “Inside” I leave a quick kiss on his lips. “Cum inside me” I didn’t say the word please but everybody hearing would know I was begging. He nods, wrapping his arms around my hip thrusting with more force.

“How could I deny you?” He grunts. I hold on to him as his dick goes deeper and somehow it feels tighter. All we hear is the painting of us two. The sound of clapping and my juices by us two. The feeling of us two being the only ones that matter right now.

“Javi” I moan, holding him close as I feel my high. “Fucking hell”

“That's it mi amor. Just keep taking it” I ride out my high as he continue to fuck me. As I come down I feel his cum spill in me. He doesn’t stop.

“Javi!” Insatiable for more I don’t push him away. I like the idea of him using me. His eyes clenched shut. And his hands are leaving bruises on my hip. Soon his movement slows down until we are back to the start, except this time sweaty with a mixture of us sliding down our legs to the couch.

“When?” Breathing heavily I cocked my head to the side. “When are you going to start calling me by my name when we are not alone?” I smile looking down as I trace a figure on his chest.

“If I start,” I pause, moving the trail up to his face. “All I will think about is the times we spent alone”

“That's something I can handle” I laugh pushing his shoulder playfully “Having your mind filled with images of us, like you filled mine doesn’t sound back” I roll my eyes. I didn’t have time to reply as I heard my phone ring. I go to remove myself from Javier but he pulls me down.

“Fucking hell” I groan starting to feel sore from our past actions. I give him a glare. “I need-” I grunt, not really wanting to fight. I leaned down as far as I could and picked up the phone answering it. “Hello?”

“L/N. I know you are back, I need you back in the office”. It was the ambassador. “I will send a car to pick you up-” I smack Javiers hand away as he goes to touch my breast. “Or, I know you are in Murphy's place so I can order Javier to escort you down?” With his antics I wanted the conversation to be over so I just agreed. “I will need a full-” I cover the phone glaring at the little stubborn boy infront of me.

“Can you stop for a quick second?” I groan, placing the phone back in my ear. He shakes his head and I didn’t have to ask why, I could feel it. He was getting hard again. “Okay. I will get to it”

“I will have everything prepared for you then” We say our goodbye and I hang up. I throw the phone behind him and start hiting him.

“That was the ambassador you stupid” I hear a slight laugh. “We need to head into the office”

“She wants you back soon? It's not safe yet” I roll my eyes. I hold on to his shoulder as I get up slowly, feeling like a baby deer.

“I need to go back one day, this job will never be safe” With that I go take a quick shower locking the door behind me so It wouldn’t take longer if he comes in. I leave the bathroom dressed and styled and wait for Javier to do the same. While waiting for him and as he drove me to the office I pictured a new routine. How easy this feels and it's scary. Most people who take this job realize they have nothing to lose or because they have so much to lose that they will die to protect it. Thankfully I am one of the first ones. I always thought the second group of people were stupid. It always caused trouble and heartache. But as I look to my left I realise I am becoming one of those stupid people and I don’t mind. But at the end of the day my mind wins.

Chapter 10

#javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #javier pena x y/n #javier peña #javier peña smut #narcos #steve murphy

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mrsjavierp · 1 year ago

Text

Where you belong?

Chapter 5 - Die For You

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing - Narcos Universe (not so accurate), bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only your clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator - 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N:

So, I'm using narcos universe, but screwing up the timeline because we need plots and things for our couple. Nevertheless, just a warning for the accuracy of the series. Btw, I'd love to know about you're thinking about it so far! Your opinion is really important! Tks <3

Y/N's POV - 1st Person

After an investigation we did together with the CIA and the Mili Group, we finally had proof about La Catedral.

Steve, Javier and I were discussing the possibilities and what Noonan would authorize. At the end, I knew what to do first: talk to Gaviria.

We were running against time and Escobar again...

"Yes, ambassador. I know it's risky... But I know we can screw that MF and try to bring Escobar to the US. I'll talk to Gaviria, let me handle it."

Noonan sighed, I finally won.

"Don't disappoint me, Y/LN. You've done a hell of a job in NYC and have been doing it in Colombia. We trust you. You've got a backup plan?"

"Yes. Already on it, even with plan A working. We're not stopping until we get the motherfucker."

"Good luck, keep me posted."

I called Steve and Peña to my office.

"I'm heading to Bogota. I need to talk to Gaviria in person about it all."

"I'm going with you, jefe." - Javier said.

"No need to. As a matter of fact, I need you both here... We need to be ready to all that'll happen to La Catedral. My gut is feeling really bad."

They both knew what it meant: bad things for sure. My gut were never wrong, unfortunately. Sometimes early, but never wrong.

When I tried to reach, none of them were available.

Something is off... I reached even for Connie and she lied to my face. I'm gonna chop someone's head off.

When I arrived back at the office, my head was spinning:

An informant confirmed Moncada’s and Galeano's deaths a few days ago, meaning that Escobar was losing his senses. Was that the La Catedral effect? What will be his next move? The Colombian media were, by the way, publicizing it badly. Noonan would fuck me and the rest of the DEA, probably, if she didn't got fired before that. I knew how the US thought about it. And, the cherry on top: Javier and Steve missing.

I was really fucking overwhelmed.

A couple of hours later, while I was tracing possible steps for Escobar, trying to think like him, Steve showed up at my office.

"Murphy, what the fuck? Where the fuck were you?"

At the same time, Javier barged in: "Y/LN, I've gotta talk to you, it's urgent! I think Steve..."

"Hey, man."

"Peña, close this fucking door now!" - I yelled, furious.

I turned on the TV.

"Watch it: it's a fucking disaster. The Colombian army is outside La Catedral, Sandoval just entered... Brace yourselves."

They looked at each other, in silence.

"Here's what I think and what I'm doing: I'm suspending both of you, for a week. Stay low. I know you both tipped the media. Major Wysession told me about what you asked him, Peña... Don't you ever do that again. When I arrived here, I told all of the DEA to be straight with me and I'd be straight with you... Don't go to Wysession or Noonan or anyone. Come to me. I'll handle it. And Murphy, let me guess, Cali? Co-operation proposal?"

Steve swallowed hard.

Javier turned his face away from me.

I poured a glass of whiskey for myself.

"You better hope that Noonan doesn't get me fired."

"Y/LN, yes. Cartel de Cali kidnapped me. They didn't like that we helped kill a few of them, but apparently there was someone innocent among them..."

His words faded away as the TV announced about Escobar's escape.

Narrator's POV

Escobar ran off again.

Noonan got... A nice retirement.

You maintained your position, since Crosby knew and liked how you worked, but didn't stop you from hearing a bunch of shit.

You send Peña and Murphy to check La Catedral, but nothing worked.

"Here's the deal, niños. We're moving to CNP headquarters. Pinzón is such an ass, but I'm working on it. He hates our kind, but who doesn't in Colombia? He threw the tip line on my lap and I'm giving it to you."

"Telephone Operator? Really? Fuck me..." - Murphy complained.

Javier was... Distant. Weird in your eyes. You pretend not to care.

Something is off... - you thought.

Weeks passed since he last touched you, in that pool. A few casual happy hours, catching glimpses. Smirks.

When you touched yourself, even without your vibrator, his image was right there: crystal clear in your mind.

You were almost giving up drinking your beloved whiskey and dear cigars... To be healthy?

Fuck, no.

The whiskey's flavor and the cigar's scent remind you of his breath. You wanted to keep him far, but it was becoming unbearable.

"Be patient, you two. I'm not allowed to say much for now. At least pretend to do something. I'm working on our budget and relations with both governments."

After a few screw ups from the agents, as they captured Bush and became a joke, the days were appearing longer and harder. You were practically going insane to prove Crosby, the soon to be new ambassador, that your new, big and, overall, expensive plan was going to work.

You only needed a little luck...

Until it happened: the tip line handed to you three La Quica, one of Escobar's sicarios.

"Pinzón, I'll be a car and two men. Don't make me push further. We're just checking, we're not going to alarm'em." - you told him.

He sighed, made a joke about the fake calls... But said yes.

As you all prepared to go, Murphy received a call from Connie and she told she was leaving Colombia.

"No, Con, please... Just listen!" - Steve was desperate.

"Murphy, go to the airport. You're not going with us. Go talk to your family, now!" - you spoked at him and he ran off.

"Let's go, boys. We all want La Quica." - I said.

Y/N's POV - 1st Person

"I swear, I don't know this one!" - Javier defended himself.

"I already told you, we don't care, Peña. But is this new? It's gotta be, as you don't know it..." - I joked, my heart was a little broken.

The other cops laughed, as Peña rolled his eyes.

I didn't want to admit that his fame towards prostitutes and brothels made me jealous and a little resentful.

He'd never know about how I felt nor my... Preference for a certain sextoy baptized after him.

"Stop by the payphone, back here." - I hid my gun and put on a cap, to match my jeans, sneakers and plain shirt. I could pass without no one noticing. - "Vamonos." (Let's go)

Me, Javier and one of the cops got out of the car, one by one.

But someone spotted us and told La Quica.

Out of the sudden, we're running around and, at the market, behaving as a predator hunting a prey.

That place was so hot, so crowded... I couldn't see anything... Until he glanced before my eyes.

"Gotcha, pendejo." - I ran as fast as my legs could and a bit more.

A fucking cross-fire started out of the blue and I had to hold a little.

Fuck! - I cursed alone.

I needed to think fast: we're just four and didn't know who to shoot.

Fuck it! I'm going after him! - I decided.

"Someone cover for me!" - I yelled and ran off again. I didn't have an answer before going.

Narrator's POV:

"Fuck! Where is she?" - Peña yelled.

When the shots stopped, they saw how the Colombians were frightened. They just wanted peace, not gringos and narcos shooting around.

"Where the fuck is my jefe?" - Javier asked again, screaming, to the other cops, seeing red, looking for you. The veins on his neck were bulging.

The backup arrived shortly with Pinzón.

"My men are looking for her, she went after one of the big fish. Some nerve the girl got, gotta say." - Pinzón mocked.

The other cops held Javier, asking for him to calm down.

Javier'd burn all the fuck down, until he finds you.

"Let me go. Not in the mood." - he said to the poor guy.

"Peña, look! It's her!" - He pointed out to you, a little bit hurt, your pink shirt torn and dirty.

Smiling like a kid on Christmas morning, you came out of nowhere, a little hurt, a few bruises starting to appear, your blouse dirty and torn up... But still looking pleased: a victorious agent.

Coming closer to Peña and Pinzón, you start:

"¡Mis amigos, mira que cosita más bonita tengo acá! I'd like to formally introduce you to this pendejo... Not La Quica this time, but we've got Luiz Rodriguez." (My friends, look what a beautiful thing I've got!)

"In my car I have a bag with 50 grand. If you give me one hour, I can make it ten times bigger." - he offered.

You burst out laughing at him.

"Oh, mi regalito..." (my little gift) - You had started, as one of Pinzón's men put on some handcuffs and you fondled his cheek. - "You're going to Disneyland. Don't worry, we're gonna take so much care of you, mi tesoro." (My treasure)

Javier knew you're mocking that sicario, but he still felt something awful on his chest, 'cause you're supposed to call him those sweet names, not that thug.

Arriving at the building, you and Javier went to the locker room, to change before going home.

"Y/N, you scared the shit out of me. Luiz did all of these injuries? Or has anyone helped him? I swear, if there's someone else, I'll..." - he started, looking worried at you.

Y/N's POV - 1st Person

"No, Peña." - I interrupted him, as I searched for clothes in my locker. - "You're not doing anything. I can take care of myself."

Javier punched his locker hard as fuck.

"I thought I lost you! Don't ever do that again!" - he yelled.

I laughed, in a sarcastic tone, observing him. He seemed actually worried.

"You know what, Peña? I don't care!" - I lifted my blouse, showing my huge scar on my ribs. - "Can you see it?" - his face shifted from pissed to desolated, as my eyes watered. He looked at another place. - "No! Don't turn! Take a nice long look at it! - My tone was so harsh. His eyes were so sad. - I always take care of myself! I've been alone in this world for as long as I remember, Peña. It's not my first fight on the field, it's not gonna be the last!"

His face was devastated... He felt sorry for me?

"Are you sorry for me, Peña? Oh, grow up! Why do you even care if I die or live? I know you hate me! And you know what? I fucking hate your guts as well!" - I screamed.

He remained silent. Why?

I started to change to a black shirt. I needed to leave.

I walked to the door, but when I noticed, he was behind me, holding it, not letting me leave.

"Y/N, cariño, I know you can take care of yourself, you've been doing that for a while now..." - he whispered in my ear. - "I heard you, by the way... Yes, I heard while you took care of yourself almost every night."

I swallowed hard, thinking:

Oh fuck, he heard me... Oh no...

"However, you called out my name, didn’t you?" - he continued.

I leaned on the door pressing my back against it, turning to face him as Javier got on his knees and looked at my with those puppy brown eyes and said:

"Let me make your fantasy come true, cariño... Let me be your good boy, your obedient soldier."

His hands started to take off my boots and socks, one by one.

After that, he unbuttoned my jeans and slowly, so slowly, put it down to my feet, throwing it somewhere...

There I was, only in underwear and a shirt, my skin felt hot.

His eyes never left mine.

I took off my shirt and bra and, lastly, his hands took off my red panties, at a slow pace, as if he was trying not to scare me off.

There I was, naked in front of Javier.

He seemed to be thinking on what to do first, until he said:

"Tell me what you want, cariño. Let me be your good boy."

I just nodded positively.

"Words, please. Use your big beautiful mouth, cariño."

"Y-y-yes, Javi... Put your lips on me, show me how good you are..." - my voice barely came out.

He smiled, picked up one of my legs over his shoulder exposing me. His lips met my folds, oh so soft, so delicate... My hand grabbed his hair, pulling closer.

He explored me, without any rush, as if he wanted to last as long as possible... Teasing my hole, opening me up with the tip of his tongue, fucking me. My clit throbbed, as my pussy clenched around his tongue.

I bit my lips, trying to stay quiet, my eyes closed. I couldn't look down, I was almost ashamed.

"Mmm..." - I sobbed, pulling his hair harder.

He slipped two fingers in me, and taking his mouth off me, said:

"Look at me, cariño, open your beautiful eyes while I make you feel good. Am I doing, at least, a nice job?" - he smirks, knowing he was. I opened my eyes, looking down, probably blushing. No one ever made me look as I was being eaten out. - "A little reassurance won't kill you."

"Y-y-yeah, Peña..." - I managed to say.

Oh, fuck.

His thumb met my clit, putting a gentle pressure as his middle and index fingers touched my g-spot.

"You can do better than that, cariño..." - he grinned, asking for more. - "You wet half of my face, Hermosa, you can call me Javi again."

"¡Hijo de puta!" - I cursed. - "Make me come on your lips, for God's sake... Be my good boy, Peña." - I asked.

He smiled and got back to suck my clitoris, making me shake under his touch.

I came so hard, dripping all over Javier, calling out his name.

He took off one finger, slowing his pace. A very satisfied "hum" came out of him.

"You taste like heaven... You were such a good girl for me, cariño... But I'm greedy, you know? I want more from you and your sweet little pussy." - he smiled. - "I wanna see you beggin'... I'm not stopping now."

I was still burning from my first orgasm.

Javier Jesus Peña was trying to kill me, for sure.

My hand traveled from his hair to his cheek, caressing him.

"Javi... I'm only gonna say this once: do what you want with me. Do what you want to my body. I'm yours for tonight."

His finger left me, leaving me empty.

Oh, fuck.

He stood up, looking deep in my eyes.

"My place or yours?" - he questioned.

"Yours." - I responded, barely breathing.

He picked up my clothes, helped me get dressed and we went to his place.

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nicolethered · 1 year ago

Note

hiya missus, your next mission should you choose to accept it is to find the first hickey on Javier Pena’s/PP’s neck in S1 ep3! @avastrasposts says it’s when when Steve, him and Noonan are at the board. I’ve looked through your selection, it can’t get the, big enough to have a good look. Sorry to make you look at Javi P, but I’m sad, single, lonely and bored on a rainy Sunday in the UK making myself sick on chocolate!!!!!! You do know you are my gif Angel don’t you??? 😇💋💋

Idk if I see anything here…

#pedro pascal #javier peña

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folkimplosionmusic · 4 months ago

Text

Tim Buckley

Martin Aston, MOJO, July 1995

IN 1965, THE LOS ANGELES MAGAZINE CHEETAH dubbed three emerging singer-songwriters – Jackson Browne, Steve Noonan, and Tim Buckley – 'The Orange County Three'.

Browne progressed towards a comfortably feted stardom which endures to this day Noonan vanished into the ether after one album. And somewhere between their two paths drifted the late Tim Buckley. Between rabid adulation and ignoble obscurity, between legendary status and the losers' list, his is a fixed position, like a star that shines fiercely in the night sky but in space was extinguished eons ago.

Twenty years after his death on June 29, 1975, diehard disciples complain of the mismanagement of Tim Buckley's legacy. Here was a man whose recordings remain extraordinary cross-pollinations of folk-rock, folk-jazz, the avant-garde and all points in between. They are, in the words of Lillian Roxon's famed 1969 Rock Encyclopaedia, "easily the most beautiful in the new music, beautifully produced and arranged, always managing to be wildly passionate and pure at the same time". A shame, then, that they are still to be posthumously rewarded with a decent CD reissue campaign.

"When an artist finally comes through all this mess, you hear a pure voice," said Tim Buckley three months before he died. "We're in the habit of emulating those voices when they're dead."

TIMOTHY CHARLES BUCKLEY III WAS BORN IN AMSTERDAM, New York on Valentine's Day, 1947, his family uprooting westwards a decade later to Anaheim, home of Disneyland and strip malls. He grew up with music. Grandma dug Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith, mom adored Sinatra and Garland. Timothy Charles III himself leaned towards the gnarled county of Johnny Cash and Hank Williams, the lonesome sound of the singing cowboys. The kid even taught himself to play the banjo.

Larry Beckett, the Buena Vista high school friend who added erudite lyrics to Buckley melodies over the years, recalls how schoolboy Tim always wanted to sing. Buckley had learnt how to use his perfect pitch from crooners like Nat 'King' Cole and Johnny Mathis but chose to exercise his range by screaming at buses and imitating the sound of trumpets. His voice set sail for the edge early

Jim Fielder, Tim's other best buddy at school, recalls first hearing the Buckley voice. "One hesitates to get flowery but the words 'gift from God' sprung to mind," he says. "He had an incredible range of four octaves, always in tune, with a great vibrato he had complete control over. You don't normally hear that stuff from a 17-year-old."

Recruited by C&W combo Princess Ramona & The Cherokee Riders, Buckley played guitar in a yellow hummingbird shirt and turquoise hat. The Princess soon saw that Timmy's heart wasn't in country – his nascent love of Miles Davis and John Coltrane testified to that – so suggested he turn instead to the burgeoning folk scene. Despite an intuitive gift for its melodic nuances, 'folk-rock' was a tag that would later irk him. Buckley was always cynical about how the business worked. "You hear what they want you to play when you're breaking into the business," he told Sounds in 1972, "and you show 'em what you've got."

With Fielder on bass and lyricist Beckett on drums they formed two bands, the Top 40-oriented Bohemians and the more esoteric, acoustic Harlequin 3, who would mix in poetry and freely ad-lib from Ken Nordine's Word Jazz monologues.

Buckley quickly won great notices in LA, and the 'Orange County Three' accolade only heightened the interest of the music business. Mothers Of Invention drummer Jimmy Carl Black was impressed enough to suggest a meeting with Herb Cohen, a manager with a curiously dual reputation for unswerving breadheadedness and courageous work with mavericks from Lenny Bruce and the Mothers to Captain Beefheart and Wild Man Fischer. Instantly smitten – "there was no question that Tim had something unique" – Cohen sent a demo to Jac Holzman at Elektra, home of folk-rocking excellence.

"I must have listened to it twice a day for a week," said Holzman. "Whenever anything was getting me down, I'd run for Buckley. He was exactly the kind of artist with whom we wanted to grow – young and in the process of developing, extraordinarily gifted and so untyped that there existed no formula or pattern to which anyone would be committed."

Buckley in turn told Zigzag that he respected Holzman because he believed Jac only signed multi-talented acts who made each album an individual statement. Yet Buckley's self-titled debut album in 1966 was also his most generic. "I was only 19," Buckley later recalled in Changes magazine, "and going into the studio was like Disneyland. I'd do anything anybody said." The beat-guitar chime of Lee Underwood and the songs' baroque dressings were blood-related to The Byrds, par for the folk-rock course. "Naive, stiff, quaky and innocent, but a ticket into the marketplace," was Underwood's verdict. But you can discern what Cohen and Holzman had so clearly appraised: above all, that soaring counter-tenor voice and remarkable melodic gift.

The follow-up, Goodbye & Hello (1967), was tainted less by convention than by overambition. Producer Jerry Yester probably saw the chance to drape Buckley's ravishing voice in all the soft-rock flourishes at his disposal, while Beckett's convoluted wordplay was just the wrong side of pretentious. Buckley had radically outgrown the first album's high-school origins, his voice now adopting the languid resonances of his Greenwich Village folk idol Fred Neil on the aching ballads 'Once I Was' and 'Morning Glory'.

"Me and Tim hung around in Greenwich Village during the 1960s," recalls the reclusive songsmith of 'Everybody's Talkin'' and 'Dolphins'. "Tim was completely immersed in the music 24 hours a day He ate, drank and breathed music. I would not be at all surprised to learn that Tim worked on chord progressions and melody lines in his dreams, he was that committed to the art form."

In the Neil vein, Buckley's bristling 'I Never Asked To Be Your Mountain' is a six-minute epistle to his already estranged wife Mary Guibert and son Jeffrey Scott (better known now as Jeff Buckley).

"The marriage was a disaster," says Jim Fielder. "Mary was full of life and talent, a classical pianist and Tim's equal. But the pregnancy made it go sour, as neither of them was ready for it. To Tim it was draining his creative force, and Mary wasn't willing to take the chance on his career, putting it to him like, Settle down and raise a baby or we're through. That kind of showdown."

In the climax to 'I Never Asked To Be Your Mountain', Buckley yelped, pleaded, even shrieked "Baby, pleeeaEEESSE!"), the first evidence of the places his pain would take him. Honesty was the key. When Buckley and Beckett played it autobiographical – exquisitely vulnerable, naive yet insightful – the results were stunning. When they played to the gallery it sounded forced. Of the title track's anti-Vietnam tract, Buckley said, "I just hate the motherfucker. It's like, 'OK motherfuckers, you want a protest song, here it is'. They were bugging the hell out of me so I figured, just this once, and then I wouldn't have to do it again.

"Talking about war is futile," he reckoned. "What can you say about it? You want it to end but you know it won't. Fear is a limited subject but love isn't. I ain't talking about sunsets 'n' trees, I'm involved with America...but the people in America, not the politics. All I can see is the injustice."

Elektra's Jac Holzman, however, felt positive: a poster of Buckley loomed large over Sunset Strip. "As we got deeper into 1967 and Vietnam," Holzman observed, "the combined effect of his words, his music, his passion, his persona struck a particular resonance. To some extent he was the bright side of people's tortured souls, and maybe of his own tortured soul. He could express anguish that wasn't negative."

Goodbye & Hello reached 171 on the Billboard chart, but Buckley wasn't in the mood to consolidate. Instead, when Tonight Show guest host Alan King made fun of his hair, the singer retorted, "You know, it's really surprising, I always thought you were a piece of cardboard." On another outing he refused to lip-synch to 'Pleasant Street' and walked out.

WITH HINDSIGHT, UNDERWOOD TRACES Buckley's depressive tendencies to his father who "suffered a head injury in the Second World War and from then on his insecurities and rage made life miserable for Tim. He saw Tim's beauty, and called him a faggot and beat him up. He looked at Tim's talent and said he'd never make it. His mother didn't help: she'd tell him he'd die young because that's what poets always did. So he grew up deeply hurt and feeling inadequate, yet driven by this extraordinary musical talent that possessed him." The result, Underwood ventures, "gave Tim a deep-seated fear of success...he wanted people to love him but, as they did, he pushed them away".

"Long after his death," says Beckett, "I realised that there were very few songs he wrote that didn't have the word 'home' in them. It seemed like he felt homeless, and nothing would restore it. He seemed OK in high school, maybe a little wild, but he got increasingly neurotic. He'd almost welcome a negative comment that would reaffirm his feelings."

When, in 1970, Jerry Yester's wife Judy Henske poked fun at the line "I'm as puzzled as the oyster" in the majestic 'Song To The Siren', Buckley instantly dropped the song from the set. "He took the smallest criticism to heart," says Larry Beckett, "so that he couldn't even perform a song which he admitted was one of his all-time favourites!"

Another incident stands out from this period. Tim's choirboy looks and froth of curls had attracted a Love Generation-style teenybop following. At a show at New York's Philharmonic Hall, his most prestigious to date, various objects were thrown on stage, a red carnation among them. Buckley stooped down, picked it up and proceeded to chew the petals and spit them out.

"He was very vulnerable and emotional," says Beckett's ex-wife Manda. "It made him terribly attractive to everybody of both sexes. People just sort of swooned around him because he was so sweet. I think that frightened him. He was difficult to deal with because he was scared of his power over people. He almost seemed to reject his audiences for loving him so much. He wasn't mature enough to accept that kind of attention."

Tim would also embroider the truth. At school he'd lied about playing C&W bars, while Larry Beckett remembers dubious boasts of female conquests. Buckley also claimed to have played guitar on The Byrds' first album, which Roger McGuinn always denied. "Tim liked to feed the legend," Beckett recalls with a wry chuckle. "He was quite amoral – if a lie gave a laugh or strengthened his mystique, that was fine. But his music was always honest."

"If someone dared him to do something, he'd do it," recalls British bassist Danny Thompson, who accompanied Buckley on his 1968 UK visit. "This free spirit was what most people saw, but I also saw a bit of a loner. Unlike most people who get into drugs, he wasn't a sad junkie figure. He was more of a naughty boy who said, 'OK, I'll have a go, I'll drink that'."

If he admired Hendrix and Hardin and Havens, Buckley frequently railed against the rock establishment. "All people see is velvet pants and long, blond hair," he fumed. 'A perfect person with spangles and flowered shirts – that's vibrations to them."

"He viewed the blues-oriented rock of the day as white thievery and an emotional sham," says Underwood. "He criticised musicians who spent three weeks learning Clapton licks, when Mingus had spent his whole life living his music.

Retreating to his home base in Venice, LA, Buckley and Underwood took time out to immerse themselves in the music of the East Coast jazz titans. Miles, Coltrane, Monk, Mingus and Ornette Coleman all provided inspiration as rehearsals slowly metamorphosed into jam sessions. The day before playing New York's prestigious Fillmore East theatre, Buckley asked vibraphonist David Friedman to rehearse for the show. Seven hours without sheet music later, a new sound was born.

With Happy/Sad (1969), Buckley began to arc away from the underground culture that had launched him. New York photographer Joe Stevens, a good friend of Buckley's at the time, recalls the singer's suspicious attitude towards the forthcoming Woodstock festival. "He said, Are you really going? Oh man, it's going to be awful.' Yet we used to hang out on a friend's farm which was like a scaled-down Woodstock, with hippy girls walking around, weird food, drugs, freedom and trees."

Although Jerry Yester was again involved, Happy/Sad was the polar opposite to Goodbye & Hello's crowded ambition: spacious, supple, a sea of possibilities. The line-up was just vibraphone, string bass, acoustic 12-string and gently rippling electric guitar. "The Modern Jazz Quartet Of Folk," enthused vibraphonist David Friedman. "Heart music," Buckley offered, and Elektra used his words in the ads like a manifesto. Happy/Sad's only real comparison is Astral Weeks, a similarly symmetrical, fluid work that revels in its lack of boundaries while possessing a unique tension.

"The trick of writing," Buckley felt, "is to make it sound like it's all happening for the first time. So you feel it's everybody's idea."

Van Morrison, Laura Nyro and John Martyn were also melting the walls between rock, blues, folk and jazz; at 22, Buckley was the youngest of the bunch. He'd also caught the jazz bug the hardest. Yester revealed that the band resisted second takes, while 'Strange Feeling' was bravely anchored to the bass line of Miles Davis's 'All Blues' before Buckley's voice set sail, caressing and cajoling.

"Being with Tim was like going out with an English professor," recalls Bob Duffy, Buckley's tour manager at the time. "He was very serious and almost stodgy, exactly the opposite of what you'd think a rock star would be. He wasn't in the music business to get laid. If one of the guys in the band came up and mentioned women, 13 of them would run out of the room, except for Tim who just sat there, guitar in hand, almost like he was teaching himself the songs again even though he'd played these songs 200 times, because he wanted the show to be as musically performed as possible. I saw incredible shows that he got depressed about, and wouldn't talk to anyone afterwards – he was very Zappa-like in that demanding way, but he was one of the sanest people on that level that I worked with."

As its very title acknowledged, despite Happy/Sad's sun-splashed backdrop, musical invention and lyrical joie de vivre, its mood was acutely introspective. Critic Simon Reynolds has described it as "a poignant premonition of loss, of an inevitable autumn..."

Lyrics had clearly shifted to a secondary, supportive role. Larry Beckett says he was politely informed that the singer would pen the lyrics alone. "He was moving toward a jazz sound, so to have wild poetry all over the map, you'd miss the jazz. But it was my feeling too that Tim felt his success was due to my lyrics rather than his music, so he wanted to see how well he'd do alone. He tended to believe the worst about himself..."

"It was very hard for me to write songs after Goodbye & Hello, because most of the bases were touched," Buckley admitted. "That was the end of my apprenticeship for writing songs. Whatever I wrote after that wasn't adolescent, which means it isn't easy because you can't repeat yourself. The way Jac [Holzman] had set it up you were supposed to move artistically, but the way the business is you're not. You're supposed to repeat what you do, so there's a dichotomy there. People like a certain type of thing at a certain time, and it's very hard to progress.

In another interview Tim said, "I can see where I'm heading, and it will probably be further and further from what people expected of me."

"He was very friendly and open to ideas, not a prima donna or a hypocrite," recalls John Balkin, who played bass with Buckley in 1969-70. "There was no drugs, sex and rock'n'roll in relation to him as an artist, not like Joplin and Hendrix, getting stoned before or during a gig. He felt stifled and frustrated by the boundaries that be, trying to stretch as an artist but making a living too. I remember Herbie Cohen saying, 'Go drive a truck then'..."

PROGRESSION WAS NOW BUCKLEY'S WATCH-word. Dream Letter, recorded in 1968 at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall, was already more diffuse than Happy/ Sad, lacking the pulse of Carter CC Collins's congas. The budget couldn't afford him or bassist John Miller, so Pentangle's Danny Thompson was drafted in to play an intuitively supportive – and barely rehearsed – role.

"I got a call asking me to turn up and rehearse everything at once," recalls Thompson. "He refused to get into a routine of singing 'the song'. We did a TV show, and when it came to doing it live Tim said, 'Let's do another song', which we'd never rehearsed. It was two minutes longer than our time slot, and the producer was putting his finger across his throat, and Tim looked at him with a puzzled expression and carried on, like art and music was far more important than any of this rubbish that surrounds it. He was fearless."

Clive Selwood, who ran the UK branch of Elektra records, recalls the same episode: "Tim had got a slot on the Julie Felix Show on BBC. He turned up to rehearsals with Danny Thompson an hour late; he shuffled in, nodded when introduced to the producer, unsheathed his guitar, and they launched into an extemporisation of one of his songs that lasted over an hour. The producer and Felix watched open-mouthed, not daring to interrupt. The most exhaustingly magical performance I have ever witnessed – and all to an audience of three. When it was done, Tim slapped his guitar in the case, said 'OK?' to the producer, and departed."

A year later after a heady bout of touring, including the Fillmore East's opening night alongside BB King, Buckley's muse was flying high. In 1968 he'd sounded enraptured, a wayward choirboy testing the limits of a new-found sound, but the voice of 1969 scatted and scorched, twisting and ascending like a wreath of smoke. The music mixed blues, jazz and ballads, throwing in calypso, even cooking on the verge of funk. A key Buckley moment arrived at the climax of a simmering 14-minute 'Gypsy Woman' (from Happy/Sad), when he yelled, "Oh, cast a spell on Timmy!", like an exorcism in reverse. Few singers craved possession so hungrily.

A little-known artefact from this period is his soundtrack music for the film Changes, directed by Hall Bartlett who later went on to helm Jonathan Livingston Seagull. A live set from the Troubadour, finally released two years ago, previewed material that surfaced on Lorca (1970). The album was named after the murdered Spanish poet, whose simultaneously violent and tender poetics Buckley was vocally mirroring. On the song 'Lorca' itself, and on 'Anonymous Proposition' and 'Driftin',' Buckley floats and stings over a languid blue-note haze – crooning and stretching half-tones over shapeless stanzas.

"We never had any music to read from," bassist John Balkin remembers. "We just noodled through and went for it, just finding the right note or coming off a note and making it right." Buckley regarded the title track as "my identity as a unique singer; as an original voice."

The timing wasn't great. Now tuning into such mellow songsmiths as James Taylor, the Love Generation was in no mood to follow in Buckley's wayward footsteps, any more than Buckley had kowtowed to Elektra's craving for old-style troubadour charm. As Holzman says, "he was making music for himself at that point...which is fine, except for the problem of finding enough people to listen to it."

"An artist has a responsibility to know what's gone down and what's going on in his field, not to copy but to be aware," the creator responded. "Only that way can he strengthen his own perception and ability"

Around this time Holzman was poised to sell Elektra, which upset Buckley Although major label offers were on the table – "a lot of bread, which makes me feel really good" – he decided that money wasn't the issue: "That's not where I'm at. I can live on a low budget." After some deliberation he signed to Straight, a Warners-distributed label formed by Herb Cohen and Frank Zappa. "It would be better for me to stay with one man who had taken care of me," he said. "No matter what anyone thinks of Herbie, he's a great dude." But he capitulated to Cohen's demand to record a more accessible record: aptly named, Blue Afternoon (1969) is a collection of narcotic folk-torch ballads.

"Tim always wrote about love and suffering in all their manifestations," says Lee Underwood. "He felt that underneath love was fear, fear of love and success and attention and responsibility" In the album's centrepiece, 'Blue Melody', Buckley keens: "There ain't no wealth that can buy my pride/There ain't no pain that can cleanse my soul/No, just a blue melody/Sailing far away from me." In 'So Lonely', he confessed that "Nobody comes around here no more". In press material for the album, Buckley said the songs had been written for Marlene Dietrich.

Blue Afternoon beat Lorca to the shops by a month. With two albums vying for attention, his already diminished sales potential was halved. (Lorca didn't even chart). Buckley never commercially-minded, was still looking forward. "When I did Blue Afternoon, I had just about finished writing set songs," he told Zigzag. "I had to stretch out a little bit...the next [album] is mostly dealing in time signatures."

Has any troubadour ever stretched out quite as Buckley did on 1970's Starsailor? Buckley's third album in a year in the words of bassist John Balkin, was "a whole different genre". Balkin, who ran a free improvisation group with Buzz and Bunk Gardner of the Mothers, had introduced Buckley to opera singer Cathy Berberian's interpretations of songs by Luciano Berio, inspiring the ever-restless Buckley to new heights. Over throbbing rhythms and atonal dynamics, the Gardners' blowing was matched by Buckley's gymnastic yodels and screams: one moment he sounded like an autistic child, the next like Tarzan. Everything peaked on the title song, with its 16 tracks of vocal overdubs. Larry Beckett, recalled to add impressionistic poetry to expressionistic music, also had a field day: to wit, the likes of "Behold the healing festival/complete for an instant/the dance figure pure constellation." Indeed.

"For the 'Starsailor' track itself," recalls Balkin, "we wanted things like Timmy's voice moving and circling the room, coming over the top like a horn section, like another instrument, not like five separate voices. His range was incredible. He could get down with the bass part and be up again in a split second."

Fiercely beautiful, Starsailor is a unique masterpiece. Aside from 'Song To The Siren', the album was the epitome of uneasy listening. "Sometimes you're writing and you know that you're not going to fit," Buckley responded. "But you do it because it's your heart and soul and you gotta say it. When you play a chord, you're dating yourself...the fewer chords you play, the less likely you are to get conditioned, and the more you can reveal of what you are."

If Starsailor came close to Coltrane's 'sheets of sound', it was hard not to see it as commercial suicide. Attempts to reproduce Starsailor live didn't help. "The shows Tim booked himself after Starsailor were total free improvisation, vocal gymnastics time," recalls Balkin. "I can still see him onstage, his head down, snoring. There was one episode of barking at the audience too. After one show, Frank Zappa said we sounded good, and he wasn't one who easily handed out compliments."

"BUCKLEY YODELLING BAFFLES AUDIENCE," ran a Rolling Stone headline. As Herb Cohen says today, "he was changing too drastically, playing material that audiences weren't necessarily coming to hear and that was beyond the realm of their capability"..."An instrumentalist can be understood doing just about anything, but people are really geared to something coming out of the mouth being words," a resentful Buckley said in a subsequent press release. "I use my voice as an instrument when I'm performing live. The most shocking thing I've ever seen people come up against, beside a performer taking off his clothes, is dealing with someone who doesn't sing words. If I had my way, words wouldn't mean a thing."

Buckley was driven into deep depression by Starsailor's failure. Straight wouldn't provide tour support, the old band had fragmented because there was so little work for them, and Buckley was reduced to booking his own shows in small clubs. At last he shared the bitter, neglected status of his jazz idols. Underwood confirms that in order to take the sting away, Buckley dabbled in barbiturates and heroin. When Buckley prefaced 'I Don't Need It To Rain' on the Troubadour album by saying, "This one's called Give Smack A Chance", it was a dangerous joke. "He was mocking the peace movement, the whole Beatles mentality of the day" says Underwood.

At least his personal life had improved. He'd re-married, bought a house in upmarket Laguna Beach (subsequently painted black to outrage the neighbours), and effectively gone to ground. "I'd been going strong since 1966 and really needed a rest," was Buckley's explanation. "I hadn't caught up with any living." He also inherited his wife Judy's seven-year-old son Taylor.

Judy doesn't recall any drug abuse. Nor does she remember Tim driving a cab, chaffeuring Sly Stone or studying ethnomusicology at UCLA, as the singer often claimed at the time. Instead, she recalls Tim reading voraciously catching up with his favourite Latin American writers at the UCLA library and channelling his creative urges into acting.

The unreleased 1971 cult film Why? Starring OJ Simpson was shot during this period. "It was their first film but both Tim and OJ were incredible actors. The camera loved them," remembers co-star Linda Gillen. "Tim had this James Dean quality He's so handsome in the movie and yet such a mess! You know those Brat Pack kind of films, where people play prefabricated rebels who see themselves as kinda bad but they have a PR taking care of business? Well, Tim was the real deal. He didn't give a fuck how he looked or dressed. He had no hidden agenda. He had an incredible naivety.

"We used to improvise in the film. Tim's character talks to the effect that you can't commit suicide. You can't amend your feelings for other people; you have to find that thing that's good in you and keep that alive. A lot of the group had been onto my character about taking heroin but Tim would always be the sympathetic one. But that was Tim. He'd understand where they were coming from, why they would do what they did.

"On set, I used to hum to myself to fight off boredom and Tim would pick up on what I was humming, like 'Miss Otis Regrets', and we'd end up harmonising together" she continues. "I loved Fred Neil, and asked if he knew 'Dolphins', which he sung for me. He'd say 'They got to Fred Neil, don't let it happen to you'. He'd talk in this strange, paranoid, ominous way, about 'the man'. That night, we went to buy Fred's album and bypassed Tim's on the way! He never hustled his records to me; he wasn't a self-promoter.

"I wondered why Tim was working on this schleppy movie, because I knew people like Roger McGuinn who were making millions, and he said, very silently 'I need the money'. We were only earning $420 a week on the film, and I said, is that all the money you have right now? and he said, 'No, I'm getting a song covered,' which I think was 'Gypsy Woman' which Neil Diamond was going to do."

Meanwhile, the comic plot of his unfilmed screenplay Fully Air-Conditioned Inside was based on a struggling musician who blows up an audience calling for old songs and makes his escape tucked beneath the wings of a vulture, singing 'My Way'...

WHEN AN ALBUM FINALLY EMERGED IN 1972, Buckley had once again avoided covering familiar ground. Greetings From LA was a seriously funky amalgam of rock and soul. His youthful verve might have gone, but his wondrous holler whipped things along. "After Starsailor, I decided to re-evaluate, and I decided the way to come back was to be funkier than everybody," he boasted. But would radio stations play a record as shocking lyrically as Starsailor had been musically?

Judy was the new muse ('An exceptionally beautiful woman, provocative and witty too," says Underwood) and the album was drenched in lust. In a year when David Bowie made sex a refrigeratedly alien concept, Buckley wrote a set of linked songs in a sultry New Orleans populated by a constellation of pimps, whores and hustlers. "I went down to the meat rack tavern," was the album's opening line; and it closed on, "I'm looking for a street corner girl/And she's gonna beat me, whip me, spank me, make it all right again..."

Buckley explained his reasoning to Chrissie Hynde when she interviewed him for the NME in 1974. "I realised all the sex idols in rock weren't saying anything sexy – not Jagger or [Jim] Morrison. Nor had I learned anything sexually from a rock song. So I decided to make it human and not so mysterious."

Producer Hal Willner who subsequently organised the Tribute To Tim Buckley show at St Anne's Church, Brooklyn, remembers the singer at this time. "I saw Buckley live four times, including two of the best performances I've ever seen. He was everything someone could look for in music, totally transcendent. The first time took 100 per cent of my attention, like taking some sort of pill. You'd expect it from guys like Pharoah Sanders and Sun Ra, but that's a very rare feeling to get in rock. Another time he opened for Zappa in his Grand Wazoo period, and the audience was incredibly rude to him, booing and heckling. But he handled it beautifully just carrying on, talking sarcastically, trying to get them to blow pot smoke on the stage. He was a genius in every sense. He should be seen on the same level as Edith Piaf and Miles Davis."

"Rock'n'roll was meant to be body music," Buckley stated in Downbeat magazine. But diehard fans wanted to know why he was now singing rock'n'roll. "His last albums were dictated somewhat by business considerations," says Lee Underwood, "but few understood they were also dictated by major music considerations. Where else could he go after Starsailor's intellectual heights except to its opposite, to white funk dance music, rooted in sexuality? At least Tim's R&B was honest, unlike the over-rehearsed stuff that pretends to be spontaneous. Greetings is still one of the best rock'n'roll albums ever to come down the pike. Throughout his career, he constantly asked and answered a question that can be terrifying, which is, Where do we go from here? People criticised him during Lorca and Starsailor and wanted him to play rock'n'roll, but when he did they said he sold out."

True compromise was far more detectable on 1974's album Sefronia, released by Cohen and Zappa's new DiscReet label under the Warner Brothers umbrella. "Everyone was second guessing where he should go next," says his old friend Donna Young, "and Tim started listening to what other people thought."

Some new-found literary acumen was displayed on the title track, a ballad as lush as the album's reading of Fred Neil's 'Dolphins'. But five of the songs were covers, including the sappy MOR duet 'I Know I'd Recognise Your Face', while pale retreads of Greetings' honeyed funk served as filler. Guitarist Joe Falsia was now in the Tonto role, Underwood having stepped down to deal with his drug addiction. Herbie Cohen was obviously calling the shots. "Some of those songs were beautiful but you have to get through Herb's idea of what is commercial," says Underwood.

As commercial compromises go, Sefronia was terrific – radio-friendly and lyrically approachable – but Buckley knew the score. "If I write too much music, it loses, as happened on Sefronia. Y'know, it gets stale." In reference to the folk-rock era, he observed that "the comradeship is just not there any more, and it affects the music." His boisterous barrelhouse sound was showcased at 1974's Knebworth Festival in Britain, where Buckley opened a bill that included Van Morrison, The Doobie Brothers and The Allman Brothers Band. It was his first UK show since 1968, and few knew who he was.

Photographer Joe Stevens reacquainted himself with Tim at a DiscReet launch in London: "He was sitting at a table signing autographs, which I couldn't have imagined him doing before. When he saw me he said, 'Come on, let's get out of here,' before they'd even said, 'Ladies'n'gentlemen, Tim Buckley!' We hit the street, took some photos, then took a taxi back to my place. He spent two days curled around my TV set, cooing at my girlfriend. We got calls from Warners accusing me of kidnapping their artist! You could see what had happened to him. The youth had gone out of his face, and his smile would break into a frown as soon as it had finished."

Look At The Fool (1975), with its frazzled, Tijuana-soul feel, was purer Buckley again, but the songwriting meandered badly – 'Wanda Lu' remains one of the most ignominious final songs of any brilliant career. "It just seemed that the more down he became, the more desperate he sounded," his sister Kathleen told Musician magazine. "The work of a man desperately trying to connect with an audience that has deserted him," pronounced Melody Maker. The photo on the back cover caught Buckley with a quizzical, defeated expression. Look at the fool, indeed. Honest to the end.

In 1974, Buckley wrote to Lee Underwood: "You are what you are, you know what you are, and there are no words for loneliness – black, bitter, aching loneliness that gnaws the roots of silence in the night..."

"Tim felt he'd given everything to no avail," says Underwood. "He was even suicidal for a short while because he felt there was no place left to go, emotionally speaking. He was gaining new audiences and improving his singing within conventional song forms, but comments that he'd sold out made him feel terrible. He never understood his fear of success, and remained divided and tormented to the end. I urged him to take therapy shortly before his death, when he was feeling very bitter, to the point of suicide, but he said, 'Lose the anger, lose the music'."

"We saw a lot of him over the years as disillusionment set in," says Clive Selwood, who, inspired by Buckley's session for BBC's John Peel Show, later founded the Strange Fruit label and its Peel Sessions. "When we first met he spent his leisure time cycling across Venice Beach, guzzling a six-pack. When we last met, he was carrying a gun, in fear of the reactionary side of American life, who despised his long hair. He said, 'If you're carrying a gun, you stand a chance'."

"He continually took chances with his life," adds Larry Beckett. "He'd drive like a maniac risking accidents. For a couple of years he drank a lot and took downers to the point where it nearly killed him, but he'd always escape. Then he got into this romantic heroin-taking thing. Then his luck ran out." Buckley's most revered idols were Fred Neil – who chose anonymity rather than exploit the success of 'Everybody's Talkin'' – and Miles Davis, both icons and both junkies. "He lived on the edge, creatively and psychologically" says Lee Underwood. "He treated drugs as tools, to feel or think things through in more intense ways. To explore."

One planned exploration was a musical adaptation of Joseph Conrad's novel Out Of The Islands and a screenplay of Thomas Wolfe's You Can't Go Home Again. Of more immediate consequence, Buckley had won the part of Woody Guthrie in Hal Ashby's film Bound For Glory. The role might have restored him to public consciousness as well as financial independence, but in the end it went instead to David Carradine.

Buckley was still up for playing live. After a short tour culminating in a sold-out show at an l,800-capacity venue in Dallas, the band partied on the way home, as was customary An inebriated Tim proceeded to his good friend Richard Keeling's house in order to score some heroin.

As Underwood tells it, Keeling, in flagrante delicto and unwilling to be disturbed, argued with Buckley: "Finally in frustration, Richard put a quantity of heroin on a mirror and thrust it at Tim, saying, 'Go ahead, take it all', like a challenge. As was his way, Tim sniffed the lot. Whenever he was threatened or told what to do, he rebelled."

Staggering and lurching around the house, Buckley had to be taken home, where Judy Buckley laid him on the floor with a pillow. She then put him to bed, thinking he would recover; when she checked later, he'd turned an ominous shade of blue. The paramedics were called but it was too late. Tim Buckley was dead.

"I remember Herb saying Tim had died, and we all just sat there," recalls Bob Duffy, Buckley's old tour manager. "It wasn't expected but it was like watching a movie, and that was its natural ending."

"It was painful to listen to his records after he died," says Linda Gillen. "I remember how vibrant he was. He had that same lost alienation as friends who had committed suicide. He was smart, wonderful, mean nasty, kind, racist, and a loyal friend, all kinds of contradictions. A true original."

"When he died, I took a week off," remembers Joe Stevens. "He was special – an innocent in an animal machine."

IN 1983, IVO WATTS-RUSSELL of the 4AD label had the inspired notion to marry the vaporous drama of the Cocteau Twins to Buckley's 'Song To The Siren'. Punk's Stalinist purge was over, and the result was a haunting highlight of post-New Wave rock, launching both This Mortal Coil and Buckley's posthumous reputation.

Before he died, Buckley had been planning a live LP spanning the various phases of his career. Sixteen years later Dream Letter was released to great acclaim. "Nobody would have listened before," reckons Herb Cohen. "Things have their own cycle, usually close to 20 years. You have to wait."

"He knowingly compromised his fierce artistic ideals, but his gut feeling was that he'd get more freedom later," says Larry Beckett. "If he'd gone into hiding for 10 years, no end of labels would have recorded anything he wanted. Things do come around."

"He was one of the great ballad singers of all time, up there with Mathis and Sinatra," believes Lee Underwood. "He would have pulled out of his youthful confusion, expanded his musical scope to include great popular and jazz songs. Tim Buckley didn't say 'I am this, I am that'. He said, 'I am all of these things'."

#jeff buckley #jeffbuckley #tim buckley #Martin Aston #MOJO #July 1995

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kwebtv · 4 months ago

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From the Golden Age of Television

Season 4 Episode 1

Big Town - Baseball Story - CBS - September 10, 1953

AKA "Heart of the City", "Headline" and "Byline Steve Wilson"

Drama

Running Time: 30 minutes

Written by Lawrence Kimball

Produced by Jack J. Gross and Philip N. Krasne

Directed by Charles Haas

Stars:

Patrick McVey as Steve Wilson

Jane Nigh as Lorelei Kilbourne

Paul Langton as Stan Benton

Adele Longmire as Mady Benton

James Flavin as Tim Donovan

Murray Alper as Noonan

Garbor Curtiz as Dr. Steinberg

#Baseball Story #TV #Big Town #CBS #Drama #1953 #1950's #Patrick McVey #Jane Nigh #Paul Langton #Adele Longmire

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arielhopepeace · 2 years ago

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This is the final part of my Javier story, and I’ll be writing my new Joel story next!

Part Four

18+ only

Tw: smut, murder, drugs, prostitution, oral (m/f and f/m receiving), gun violence

Javier’s POV

Steve and I are sat at the embassy, both of us reviewing the recordings of y/n and her father's right hand man, Harry. I'm clearly distracted, picturing her gorgeous moans falling past her swollen lips as she shudders beneath me with pleasure. I've only been away from her for a few hours, but it feels like fucking years.

Those same moans that were filling my bedroom just this morning are now echoing throughout the office, making me shift in my seat.

"Yeah, we can take this out," Steve says as he stops the recording, the click of the tape making me snap out of my waking dream.

"Oh, yeah. Right."

He shifts, standing to pull a file out of the large metal cabinets behind us, flopping it on our desk. "I did some digging this morning while you were with y/n," he says with a knowing smirk, "and I looked into her very close friend, Harry."

I move forward, gazing down at the several pictures of him, and the papers with his name on it. "And?"

"Guy's clean. He's never been arrested for anything anywhere; not in the states, not in England, not in Colombia. If it wasn't for these pictures that we've taken of him, we'd having nothing on him. But now that we have a name, we matched it to the face."

My fingers sift through the file to pick up a photo of him, getting a good look at his appearance. He's not a bad looking guy by any means, and he looks tall. I've never thought that I was unattractive, but for some reason I'm highly jealous of this man, and feel like I'm simply not better than him.

God, what's happening to me?

"Peña," Steve snaps, making me shake my head to focus on him. "You trying to fuck this guy too?"

"God, shut up," I shake my head, chuckling as I toss the photo. "Just haven't really looked at him before."

"When will you admit that you slept with yet another informant?"

My hands finger my back pocket, pulling out my cigarettes and lighter. "I've never admitted to sleeping with any."

Steve laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah, you didn't have to. But don't let Ambassador Noonan find out about y/n. She'd fire you, Peña, and probably worse."

I light the tip, inhaling the smoke and feeling it spread into my lungs before I blow it out. "Yeah, whatever. She didn't fire me for going to the whorehouse, did she?"

"Yeah, because those women weren't y/n, a very important informant."

My feet kick up onto the desk as I lean back in the chair. "Have you finished with your lecture, Murphy? We need to make sure nobody becomes a rat for y/n's dad and tells him where we live. I think that's a lot more important than who I'm fucking."

He throws his hands up with a laugh. "Hey, I'm not judging you." Steve leans forward, looking over Harry's file. "What if we made him a rat for us?"

"Pshh," I scoff, "I doubt he'd ever cooperate."

"What if we give him a deal? He becomes a rat for us, then be sent back to England where he came from."

"What, and no prison time for what he's done?"

Steve shrugs. "We have no proof of anything he's done. We don't know if he's killed people, sold drugs, done drugs. All we know is that he's the right hand man of a very dangerous, very bad person. We know for a fact that y/n's dad's done stuff, but Harry is kind of a question mark. I wouldn't put it past him, but he's clean and we have no proof, so," he sighs, leaning back. "What do you think?"

"I think he should serve some time, at least, but we can try to convince him. Should we go through y/n?"

He nods. "She'd be our best bet. She has her way of—convincing him."

My jaw tightens with envy, picturing her beneath me this morning again as I shake my head. "I won't make her sleep with him if she doesn't want to."

"Neither will I, but she doesn't seem to be forced."

I scoff, inhaling from my cigarette. "When will she go? Tonight?"

"I think that'd be good, yeah. We have to move faster than her dad, don't we?"

"Definitely."

When Steve and I show back up at my apartment, y/n is lounging around in a long t-shirt, sitting on the couch watching tv. Her face lights up when she sees me, the smile faintly diminishing when she notices Steve.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"We need to wire you up and send you off to your dad with a mission," I say slowly. "We want you to ask Harry to be a rat for us."

She stands. "What?! I can't do that."

"You said he wouldn't hurt you, right?" Steve cuts in.

Y/n nods. "Of course he wouldn't."

"Then it won't hurt to ask, will it?

Her eyes meet mine, looking watery and full of emotion. "My dad might think it's weird if I keep coming around."

"Tell him you and Harry are together," I shrug. "It's the best explanation."

"Fine," she answers quietly, her eyes meeting the floor. "Just give me a half an hour to get ready, and then we can go."

Steve and I both nod, taking our places on the couch as y/n disappears into my bedroom, closing the door firmly behind herself.

I feel so fucking guilty for putting her through this, but it's my job, and ultimately hers as well. She wants her dad to go down for what he's done, but we can't get him without her help. She will be able to provide us with endless proof, and hopefully Harry will cooperate and give us even more.

After a while, she emerges from the bedroom donned in a tight red dress that hugs her perfect, feminine figure. Her hair is pulled back elegantly, a few short strands hanging in her lightly makeup-kissed face. I can't help but to stand there dumbly and gawk at her, enamored with every little detail of her.

"Can we just go?" she asks solemnly, my heart twisting in my chest.

"Murphy, can you go get the wire out of my car, please?" I hand him my keys from my back pocket.

He nods and ducks out, my hands instantly connecting to y/n's face as I rest my forehead against hers.

"What if I'm wrong about him and he kills me?" she asks with a shaky voice, her clammy hands covering mine.

"He won't," I say quietly. "I won't let him hurt you, cariño. Remember the safe word?"

"Car," she repeats.

"Yes, good girl," I respond, sending a small smirk to her lips.

Her face tilts up to meet my gaze, her lips gently pressing against mine as her hands weave into my hair. "Javi, promise me you won't listen if things with Harry get—heated."

I scoff, smirking. "It's my job, baby. I'm a big boy, I can handle it," I lie. "I told you that you have to do what you have to do. And if you're going to convince him to be a snitch, you might have to use that pretty mouth of yours for more than talking."

She giggles, biting her lip. "You haven't even felt my mouth around you yet." Her lips brush against my neck. "You think we have time before we go?"

I chuckle lowly, the bump in my throat bobbing up and down as I swallow, feeling her fluffy lips trailing across it. "No, baby." My hands push her away at arm's length, admiring her face, "God, you're fucking beautiful."

Her cheeks turn a light pink, the apartment door opening causing y/n and I to part like the Red Sea.

Steve saunters over to us, handing me the wire and body tape. Y/n slips her arms out of the thin straps of her dress, dropping the top to reveal her bare breasts to me.

"Ohhh—kay," Steve says awkwardly as he turns.

My eyes are on her chest, licking my lips as I rip a small piece of tape off, connecting the bottom of the wire below her sternum. Y/N's mouth twitches with a smirk.

"Sorry, Steve. I forgot you had a wife."

"It's fine," he clears his throat. "Just tell me when you're done."

My hands rip off another piece, flattening another section of the wire between her breasts. The temptation is too intense, my mouth pushing forward to attach itself to her left nipple. I suck quietly, flicking my tongue around the pearled center and y/n's mouth hangs open.

"Almost done," I say quickly before I close my lips around her other nipple, pulling it gently between my teeth.

She sucks her lips in, her eyebrows furrowed together in that beautiful way she does when something pleases her.

I move away, fastening the last bit of the wire to her as I help her slide up her dress, giving her a subtle wink before telling Steve that we're done. Y/n's eyes are on the living room floor, her chest heaving slightly.

"Ready?" Steve asks.

She nods, leaving the apartment before the both of us, my hands covering my hardened cock in my tight black jeans.

Once we're safely tucked away into the trees, Steve and I each put on a pair of wired headphones that are connected to the complimenting device of y/n's wire. We prefer listening with headphones, since it allows us to hear small background noises easier. With the dicey quality of the audio, we need all the help we can get.

"Hello?" y/n calls out in my ears. "Dad?" It's quiet, her voice sounding out again. "Harry?"

"Hey," Harry's accented voice rings out. "What are you doing here?"

There's the slight sound of their lips smacking together, making me shift in my seat.

"I'm here for you," she coos delicately.

He chuckles, whispering yet still audible. "Are your friends listening?"

"Yes," she answers quietly. "Can we go somewhere to talk privately?"

"Sure," Harry replies.

Steve and I look to each other, both of us letting out a nervous exhale. My heart is pounding, not knowing at all how this man is going to react to her proposition.

"I know you said you needed some time to think about things," y/n begins, "but what if I gave you a way out of all of this?"

Harry lets out a low groan, clearly being pleased by y/n in some way. "How, y/n?"

"They've asked me to ask you to be an inside man for them. You'll get either no time at all and a flight back to England, or a lessened sentence," her voice is low; sultry. She's definitely going to get her way if this is the approach she's taking.

"I—" a slight gasp is heard from him, and a hum of contentment from y/n. "What if they find out?" he grunts, his voice a bit shaky. "I'll be dead."

"I won't let anything happen to you," she responds, the sounds coming through the headphones making it very clear that she's giving him a blowjob.

"God, you suck me like a fucking goddess," he moans, making me clench my teeth. "Please don't stop, baby."

"Say yes and I won't," y/n giggles lightly, the sound pissing me off and arousing me at the same time.

"Need to know—more," he breathes. "Need to know what the deal would actually be."

"Then talk to them."

The coughing, sucking, slurping sounds travel through my ears, making me so insanely jealous that I want to chuck the headphones out of the car window and stomp on them. But I know she's only doing it to get him to say yes. I just hate that I know she enjoys it.

Harry cries out after a few minutes of explicit sounds coming from y/n, high-pitched moans repeatedly running through the headphones, y/n's accomplished hum making me tuck my lips in with ire. I pull out a cigarette and light it, rolling the window down to blow the smoke out of it.

"Come out with me to talk to them," she says gently, her voice still laced with seduction. "I promise they won't arrest you."

The wire falls silent, my fingers pressing against the muff on my ear to attempt to hear anything at all.

"Okay," Harry responds gently.

"And if my dad asks, I've been here so much because you and I are seeing each other."

He chuckles, "Well, I mean, aren't we?"

She giggles, the sound of them kissing again making me roll my eyes. "Just tell him if he asks, okay?"

"Mhmm," he agrees. "Take me to these agents of yours."

Steve and I exchange a look, tossing our headphones off from over our ears as we ready our pistols, cocking them to chamber a bullet. We hop out of the jeep, Steve on one side of it and me on the other, both of us ready and prepared for the worst.

Harry and y/n come strolling up hand-in-hand, my eyes instantly squinting to a glare at their intimacy.

"Hand over your gun," Steve says quietly, one hand on his lowered weapon while the other splays out for Harry's.

He keeps one hand up, the other sneaking around to his waistband to present Steve with his gun. "I'm Harry," he says timidly. "I want to hear the deal before I agree to anything."

"If you help us imprison your boss, we'll get you off scott-free," Steve says with his eyes never leaving Harry's. "No time for you."

"And if I say no?"

"Then you walk away and we catch you another time," I say harshly, Steve shooting me a quick look of disapproval.

"What about y/n?" he asks. "What happens to her after her dad goes to prison?"

Steve cocks his head, looking genuinely confused. "Whatever she wants. She's not guilty of anything."

"I want her to have money for her own house," Harry says seriously. "Let me give her some of my money before I lose it."

"Harry, no," y/n protests. "I don't want you giving me anything."

He turns and cups her face exactly as I do, the pain of seeing her with him churning my stomach. "I need to make sure you'll be okay, darling. I can't leave here without knowing you're settled."

"I'll figure it out."

"Okay, and let me help you do that," he kisses her softly.

"All right, pretty boy, enough," I say sharply. "Do we have a deal or not?"

Harry extends his hand to Steve, their hands shaking as he then moves to me. I reluctantly take it, my eyes on his in nearly a glare.

"Deal," he nods.

Steve and I both tuck away our guns, my eyes falling to y/n who won't make eye contact with me. Harry takes her into his arms and kisses her, watching as his tongue connects neatly with hers.

"We'll give you y/n's wire," Steve says as he clears his throat. "Do you know when the next meeting is or if he has a rat to tell him where we live yet?"

Harry's head turns to us, his hands on y/n's ass. "Next meeting is tomorrow evening. I don't know if he has anybody yet. He's been doing a lot without clearing it with me first, and I don't know if he'll clear this with me, either. I can try to subtly ask."

Steve nods in approval. "Do that. Let me write down the phone number to the embassy, and you can call there to let us know when to be here. We'll just give you a wire then."

He lets out a sigh, his body turning towards us. "Let me give y/n money before you guys get me killed."

"Fine," Steve answers quickly. "Just do a wire transfer."

"Harry," she begins to protest, but he stops her by placing his lips against hers.

"Darling, please let me."

Reluctantly, she finally nods in agreement. "I'll write down my bank information."

Back at the apartment, Steve has just left, giving me a private talk about y/n and how I need to be careful when it comes to sleeping with informants. Obviously I shrugged him off, practically shooing him out of my apartment.

Y/n is in the bathroom brushing her teeth, my shoulder leaning against the doorframe as I gaze at her, my arms crossed over my chest.

"So," I begin slowly, trying not to become a jealous mess, "I feel like I have to ask."

She spits into the sink, gazing up at me with worried, glassy eyes. "What?"

"Did you enjoy yourself earlier?"

I watch her body language shift. "Yes."

My jaw tightens. "And do you enjoy him more than me?"

"No!" she answers quickly. "You're both so different, but you—" her eyes soften as she spreads her hands across my chest, her fingers closing around the back of my neck, "you are better."

The praise and reassurance is what I need, but I want more. I need more.

"Tell me how."

Her hand moves to between my legs, but I gently stop her.

"No, with your words, baby."

Y/n smiles softly, "I don't think anybody has wanted me to tell them how good they are without showing them."

I push one of the hanging strands of her hair behind her ear, kissing her softly. "I do."

"You're sweet, Javi," she begins lowly, "and funny, and smart and caring. You're one of the first people to actually give a shit about me in a long time. Yeah, Harry cares about me too, but it's so different with you. You don't have prison time looming over your head, and you make me feel so safe."

"Guns blazing for you, baby, remember?" I chuckle, giving her a gentle kiss. "When Harry said you were together, I guess it just bothered me a little."

"I didn't answer him because we aren't. He's a client that just happens to like me." She gazes up at me with doe eyes, "And you are someone I really like, who also happens to like me too."

My hands move down her back, cupping her perfect ass in my hands. "Very much."

Y/n smirks. "You gonna show me how much? I'm more of a visual learner."

I laugh, feeling my cock twitch in my jeans. "Only if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

"Well, when you ask so nicely," I beam, slowly leaning in to twirl my tongue with hers.

It's insane how fast this woman ignites that passion in me, making me instantly harden within seconds. Her fingers mess with my buckle, the metal clanking to the ground with my pants beneath it. I kick off my shoes, tossing my jeans to the side with a sharp jolt of my right foot.

Y/n's chest heaves against mine, my hands yanking her dress down by the straps, then pushing it off of her body. She steps out of it as I drop to my knees in front of her, running my nose along the wet spot in her panties.

"Never tasted you," I breathe against her. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

She bites her lip as she peers down at me, her hand already gripping the top of my hair as she presses her ass against the lip of the sink. "Javi," she breathes, "I wanna feel your tongue."

I swipe my tongue up the slit of her weeping cunt through the fabric of her panties, making her gasp and lean her head back. "Don't know if you're desperate enough for me."

"Please," she immediately begs, unlike last time. "I'll do anything, Javier."

My fingers drag across the goosebump-riddled skin on her thigh, placing my fingertips against the soaked entrance through the underwear, rubbing her teasingly. "Anything?"

Y/n whimpers. Music to my fucking ears. "Yes," she whines. "Just please."

I move her panties to the side, seeing how much of a mess she is for me. Her arousal has spread to the outside of her swollen lips, my fingers spreading her to see her beautiful, puffy clit.

"Mmm," I hum as I admire her. "Such a pretty little cunt, cariño."

She tugs at my hair, a stinging sensation running across my scalp. "Please!" she cries, desperation evident in her pleading.

Without saying a word, I take my middle and ring finger, slowly easing them inside of her tight, soaking entrance.

"Fuck," she trembles. "Yes, Javi. Thank you, thank you."

I move forward to connect my tongue to her sensitive little bud, her body jumping when I do. Her breasts fall up and down rapidly as I circle my tongue around her clit, using the flat of my tongue to please her.

"Yes!" she cries. "So fucking good."

The taste of her makes me feel dizzy, my head buzzing with a trillion different dirty thoughts, things to say, and ways I want to drive myself into her. Her wetness is audible as I thrust my fingers in and out, curling them to hit her little trigger spot inside.

My chin is wet from her, my mustache also being completely coated, as well as some of my nose. The only thing I can taste, smell, feel and think about is y/n's cunt, and I'd believe you if you told me I died and went to heaven.

I could spend an eternity between her legs, living my every day life simply being buried between this perfect slit of hers.

"I'm so close," she mewls, gripping my hair tighter. "Oh, please," y/n begs me again.

"You want to cum on my face or on my cock, baby? Tell me," I ask hoarsely as I continue to fuck her with my fingers.

"Your cock!" she shouts. "Now!"

My fingers slip out of her, tugging down her panties as I rise from the bathroom floor. I flip her body, making her face the mirror as I get my leaky, reddened cock out of my briefs.

"Want you to watch how pretty you look when you cum on me," I grunt, my eyes briefly staring down at the swell of her ass. "Gonna take all of me, baby?"

"Yes," she whines, her brows ruffled together. "Please fuck me, Javi."

My tip pushes between her folds, finding that tight, dripping entrance as I squeeze my eyes shut. We both let out a relieved coo once I'm in to the hilt, my hands going up to grip her bun at the base, forcing her head up to look in the mirror.

"Don't take your eyes off me," I say harshly, beginning to quickly and roughly bury myself into her.

My right hand rubs her mini bundle of nerves, feeling her walls squeeze against me tightly, making me groan. Our eyes meet in the mirror, a smirk forming on my face as I watch her fucked out expression twist with even more pleasure.

"Javier!" she shouts, her hands gripping the sides of the sink as she bites her lips. "You fuck me so good."

"I fuck you the best," I grunt, giving her an extra hard thrust that makes her knees buckle beneath her. "Say it."

"Nobody could fuck me better," she cries, a tear running down her cheek. "You're so—fucking big," her voice breaks, making me smile at her.

"I know, baby, but you take me so well." A broken moan falls out of my throat, briefly leaning my head back before connecting my eyes back onto hers. "C'mon, cariño, cum on me with this sweet little cunt."

She instantly begins to scream, her body driving forward towards the mirror as she orgasms around me. Her walls squeeze and flutter, making me crash even more roughly into her.

"Fuck," I curse, feeling myself on the brink. "Where do you want my cum, baby? You've fucking earned it."

"In me," she sobs, her voice strained and hoarse. "Want to be full of you."

I release her bun to grip either side of her hips, my own hips jerking forward so quickly, that it sounds like we're being given a round of applause inside the bathroom.

My release begins to spill out of me in long, hot spurts, my body stilling as I let out shattered, desperate cries of satisfaction. Y/n moans lightly with me, feeling her entrance squeeze me one more time, making me shake and coo.

"So good," I praise her. "So sweet, baby."

She chuckles bashfully, biting her lip at me in the mirror as I reluctantly withdraw from inside of her. My cum leaks out a bit, my thumb swiping up her folds to gather some of it onto the tip. I wrap my hand around her face, watching her reflection greedily suck on my thumb after I stick it between her gorgeous lips.

My cock twitches, but instantly tells me to fuck off. I can't go again. This woman fucking drains me, but I can't get enough of her.

I spin her around and pull her in for a deep, tongue-filled kiss, smearing her sweet and tangy wetness on her face with my own, groaning from the memory of being between her legs.

"You are the most incredible woman," I say between kisses, resulting in a lazy giggle from her.

"The most incredible woman has been gifted with the most incredible man," she coos, making me chuckle with her.

Later in my bed, y/n is laid beside me wearing a long shirt and some panties beneath it, her breathing steady and even as she sleeps peacefully on my chest. My hand rubs at her clothed back in slow, long pulls, feeling my own eyes beginning to flutter closed.

A creaking noise causes me to perk my ear up, my body immediately sitting up out of bed. I turn to my nightstand to grab my pistol, looking back to y/n who hasn't woken up from her serene slumber.

My head pokes out of the cracked open bedroom door, peering into the empty hallway. I lower my pistol, knowing that I'm just being over dramatic and paranoid. As I step away from the doorframe, the distinct sound of a bullet blasts through my living room, making me jump and immediately dive over onto the bed on top of y/n.

"What the fuck is going on?!" she shouts suddenly, her heart pounding against my chest.

"Get on the ground!" I yell as I roll off of her, watching her scurry to the floor beside my bed. "You're making a fucking mistake, whoever you are!"

The hall light gets flicked on, sweat beginning to form at my hairline as I watch two figures approaching the bedroom. Confidently, and without a falter in their steps, strides in Harry and y/n's dad.

"Harry?" she asks shakily from beside the bed? "What are you doing?"

He scoffs, looking to me. "Surprise, I found you."

Y/n's dad has his gun pointed at her, while Harry's is pointed at me. "Why am I not surprised to find you here, y/n? You really just fuck anybody," her dad scoffs. "And you've been a rat this whole time?"

"Please," she says quietly. "You can do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt him."

"How about we kill you both and call it even?" Harry asks with a devilish smirk, causing me to shake my head.

"You're a fucking bastard!" y/n yells. "How could you?"

He gives me a subtle nod towards my gun, gesturing his head over to my bed. "Get rid of it."

"Not a chance in hell, pretty boy."

Harry widens his eyes eagerly, silently mouthing, "Just trust me."

I flick my eyes to y/n's dad who's focused on his sobbing, trembling daughter, his finger resting on the trigger. There's no way in hell that I'd ever risk y/n getting shot, but for some reason in this moment, I actually trust Harry.

"I won't tell you again, Agent," he says firmly, pulling the hammer back on his pistol. "Get rid of your fucking gun."

"Fine," I respond flatly, tossing my pistol onto my mattress.

Y/n's father's eyes turn to mine, his body turning towards me, too. "I want you to tell me everything the DEA has on me."

With my hands raised up to my head, I chuckle. "Everything."

He shakes his head, looking to Harry. "You wanna take y/n while I get more out of this piece of shit?"

Harry responds with a laugh, sauntering towards y/n. "Definitely. I'd love to have more of that perfect ass."

"I don't care what you do, just make sure you kill her afterwards," her dad shakes his head. "Come on, Agent Peña, we have things to discuss."

He gestures me out of the room with his raised gun, and I lock eyes with y/n who is quaking as Harry gets closer to her. She cowers down to the floor, ducking her head to hold herself. I truly think Harry is playing along, and that he's not going to hurt y/n. If I hear any negative noise come from her though, I won't hesitate to kill him.

In the living room, y/n's father shoves me to the floor, putting his foot onto my neck as my cheek stays pressed against the carpet.

"The less detailed you are, the more fingers you lose. Now, tell me," he spits. "Tell me before I kill you."

"No habla inglés," I say, smirking.

He pushes his foot further into my neck, leaning down to press his pistol against the back of my head. "You arrogant fucking bastard," he says angrily.

My eyes squeeze from the pain, still laughing all the same. "One of my many charming qualities."

A shot is fired, making me jump slightly, wondering if I have actually died and am currently entering the spirit world.

Y/n's father falls beside me, a clear bullet wound in his head, the blood dripping down onto the carpet. I leap up, turning to see y/n holding the smoking pistol.

My face falls as I watch her go pale, Harry standing behind her with a forlorn expression on his face. She drops the gun, a muffled clatter bouncing onto carpet as she begins to fall.

"Hey!" I shout, running to her as Harry and I both catch her.

He gives me a small nod, releasing her into my arms. "Once she trusted I was telling the truth, she made the decision to kill him."

"Fuck," I curse. "You didn't try to talk her out of it?"

Harry shrugs. "She wasn't interested in anything I had to say."

Y/n gasps slightly, reaching up to grab my face as her eyes flick open. "Javi, are you okay? Where's Harry?" her head turns to see him. "Are you okay?" she asks quickly.

He chuckles. "I'm fine, y/n."

"Y/n, I have to call this in. Let me get you back into bed." My lips press to her forehead.

She nods, walking with shaky legs back into the bedroom. "He's dead, right?"

Harry follows us. "You're one hell of a shot, so, yeah."

"Good," she spits. "I hope he's in hell."

"Come on, cariño. Lay down. I'm gonna call Murphy."

Police and the DEA flood my apartment, Harry being restrained in cuffs until I explain the extent of our situation.

"He's your informant?" Ambassador Noonan asks with her usual shrewd tone and distaste for me.

"Yes," I say quickly, "and y/n is as well."

"The only reason why I'll keep the fact that you're fucking y/n out of the report, is because she's been through enough. She killed her own father to protect you, and if that doesn't scream that you're fucking her, I don't know what does." Her wrinkled mouth purses. "That was one down, and we still have to catch Escobar."

"We will," Murphy says firmly from beside me. "This was a win. I don't give a shit that he's dead."

"Nobody does," Noonan scoffs. "Maybe except for Peña's female informant."

"I want her in the states away from all of this," I tell her firmly. "This isn't a request."

"You don't get to make demands, Agent Peña," Noonan says harshly, glaring at me. "I'll see what I can do for her, and don't ever talk to me like that again."

I shift, nodding my head. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now, I have a shit ton of paperwork to go over, a drug dealer informant to send back to England for his help, and it's not even five in the morning yet, so, good day, agents."

Murphy and I nod, watching as the ambassador and her body guards leave the apartment. My eyes travel around the room, landing my gaze on Colonel Carrillo who is talking to a blank-faced y/n.

She's given several statements to multiple different people, retelling the story of how she shot her father in self defense. Truthfully, I wish I was the one to kill the bastard, or at the very least, arrest him. We could've potentially gotten a fuck ton of information out of him, but I think y/n wouldn't have felt satisfied with that ending.

"Hey," I saunter over to her, nodding to Carrillo. "A moment, Colonel?"

"Of course," he nods back, walking over to the dead body on my living room floor.

"Are you disappointed in me?" she asks with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, baby, come here," I say softly as I escort her into my bedroom, closing the door behind us.

My arms wrap around her midsection, pulling her close as she sobs into my chest.

"I'm sorry," she wails, "I'm so sorry, Javi."

"Baby, why? You didn't do anything wrong."

Her head leans away, her eyes meeting mine. "I'm sorry that I put your life in danger. My dad could've killed you, so I—"

My gaze softens. "Y/n, you saved my life. You made the decision you thought was best. Own it, baby."

"I hated him so fucking much," she breathes in choppy breaths. "And when I knew he was out there hurting you, I couldn't stand it. I've seen him kill people without my own eyes, and I couldn't even cry. But knowing that you might die tonight, it fucking broke me."

My eyes turn bleary as I lean down and kiss her passionately, our tongues tangling like the perfect salsa dance.

"Y/n," I breathe out, "I asked Noonan to get you back to the states as soon as possible."

She pulls away, her brows scrunched together. "No," she shakes her head. "If you're staying in Colombia, so am I."

"It's too dangerous here, cariño. Especially now that your father's dead, people will come looking for you for information." I shake my head. "You're not staying."

"I'm staying, Javi," she kisses me deeply. "You'll keep me safe and I know you will."

I sigh, taking in her beautiful face and admiring every single detail about it. How can I say no to her? She's perfect.

"We'll keep each other safe," I smile, cupping her face to pull her in for a delicate, deep kiss.

****

#pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #smut #yn fanfic #pedro pascal #narcos smut #javier pena smut #javier peña #narcos

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lokischocolatefountain · 2 years ago

Note

omg say no to me and salvation have me gagging… pretty please write more, i need hubby javi 🥵 ur amazing

I love that you liked hubby Javi! I like him a lot too. So, a little warning: I wrote this out sleep deprived and in a hurry so it’s going to be full of mistakes. 🙈 but I hope you like it. Wrote a little birthday themed thing for Javier Peña and his wife from this married Javi universe because it’s Pedrito’s birthday. Happy birthday to him and tbh fuck him (respectfully) for making me thirst over a fucking cop (on top of a merge mansion ad character I hate him).

Switch It Up

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3.8k words

Summary: Javier Peña and his wife switch roles for his birthday

Javier Peña was a grown man. He was a federal agent working for the DEA in Columbia, he saw several horrors a day and had a goddamn gun tucked in the back of his jeans. He was a grown man with a whole wife to show for his age and maturity.

He should not be so bummed about a lonely birthday.

It was her fault really. Before her, he didn’t really do birthdays. His friends usually got him presents— the best whiskey they could afford and a trip to the strip club and paid for prostitutes. It was more for their sake than his own (though he couldn’t deny that he had fun). When it got serious with his now wife, he opted to forego the stripclub and the prostitutes because he had decided that it was no longer fun to sabotage the one good thing in his life. He’d exchanged the bachelor life fun for a perfect day off with her.

Every year brought something different; she was innovative that way. The first year, she woke him up at midnight with her lips around his dick and brought him the cake she baked from scratch. She blew him and he blew the candles. He hadn’t cut a cake in years. The last time was when his Ma was still alive. They ate the cake together, saved some for Steve and Connie and he ate her to thank her for being the perfect girlfriend.

Last year, she took him for an all expense paid trip to Medellín for a whole week. It was the most time he’d gotten away from work and the only time he spent in Medellín without chasing after pieces of shit. She had arranged for some mountain climbing shit because of his love for physical exertion. He chose instead to love her all week long for physical exertion. She complained about having brought her climbing gear for no reason, but that didn’t last long. It was a little hard to complain when you had a dick in your mouth.

He’d been thoroughly spoiled as a husband.

This year, he was all alone with a whiskey bottle from Steve and Connie, sloppy cheek kisses from little Olivia and a whole cake from his wife. He’d kept a sizable slice for himself and placed the rest in the break room for everyone to enjoy. Cake wasn’t as delicious with nobody to share it with.

Javi didn’t mean to be ungrateful. He knew she would’ve stayed behind if she could have. But her parents really needed her to help with the sale of her childhood home and he wasn’t going to act like a kid and ask her to stay because it was his birthday. It would’ve been silly.

“Jav! They found the guys. Carillo needs you in this address right fucking now,” said Steve, barelling into their office with a piece of paper in hand.

“Fucking finally,” he muttered, taking the paper with a scribbled address. He’d sat idly at work all day tackling their paperwork backlog while Steve was out there doing some real work.

The location was…strange. It was oddly quiet and there was no Carillo, no CNP guys. He had a choice to make— he could wait right there and keep an eye on the building and go in when the rest of the guys arrived. Or he could go in by himself. The second was extremely unwise. He would get told off by everyone from Noonan to his wife. If he didn’t get killed first.

Minutes passed by and he chose the latter option. He could handle Noonan. She didn’t approve of his actions, but she always understood. Gun tucked in the back of his jeans, he crept around the building. Once he’d found an open window, he slipped in, praying to the Gods he no longer believed in to keep him safe for another day.

Darkness suffocated his sight as he walked further into the building. The noise from outside the building grew dimmer and dimmer, eventually fading into the background. He crept like a cat, his shoes making nothing but the slightest whispers against the floor of the building. It had looked like a commercial building from the outside and if he remembered right, this place had once been a stripclub. Not one of the good ones for sure. It had to have shut down for a reason.

The place was littered with cardboard boxes, the contents of which he would explore had he not a mission in mind. Three of the most elusive hit men on Escobar’s payroll were hiding out somewhere in the building. The location was a bit too unusual for the men who had a record of gravitating towards luxury, but it wasn’t too out of place for them to have chosen a former strip club.

He spun in place when he heard a clatter behind him, his gun pointed in the direction of the sound and his heart beginning to beat faster. He took a few steps towards the source of the sound, wandering further into the building.

Click, click, click

High heels against wood? No, can’t be…

Nevertheless, he followed the sound.

Ahem

What the fuck…

Lights went up suddenly, illuminating the dark hall. The room had been swept clean with nothing but a chair in front of the stage. Under the bright lights above the stage glimmering a beautiful silver was a pole.

A voice cleared its throat again. When it finally spoke, it had a sultry tone to it.

“Agente Peña…”

No… It can’t be.

Click, click, click, click, click….

He saw the impractically high high heels first. Click, click, click against floors that were probably designed to amplify these sounds. The red of the shoes stopped to give way to white socks stretched tight around legs he would kill to throw over his shoulders. The socks mercifully, or mercilessly, stopped under bruised knees to expose full thighs he wanted to sink his nails into.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, earning the laughter of the woman on the stage.

“Your friends told me it was your birthday, Agente…”

“It is,” he said, tucking his gun away. Hands on his waist, he took slow steps towards her. He needed to see her up close, confirm that his mind wasn’t conjuring up the most salacious thoughts after having had to go without a good fuck for an entire week.

“Your friends seem annoyed, Agente… They say they miss the fun single Javi who they could take to strip clubs. Now, I’ve never met this fun Javi before, but god if you look like this when you’re not fun,” she said, using her index finger to point at him, “you must look hot as fuck when you’re fun.”

“This your way of telling me I’m usually boring, sweetheart?” He asked, taking a seat on the chair she’d set out for him in front of the stage. He made sure to spread his legs and lean back comfortably in his seat before he folded his arms behind his head.

She smiled her sweet shy smile that he was sure was responsible for landing him in this exact moment in his life. She bit down on her brightly painted lips and wrapped his hand around the pole before swinging around. Her hair was out of the tight pony she put it up in for work. As she twirled around the pole, her hair swung free, caressing the wind before resting on her shoulder and cascading down the crimson shirt she’d stolen from his cupboard.

“You’re going to do as I say if you want a good night, Agente…”

“Ah… That’s how it is?” He taunted, letting condescension slip into his voice. “Alright. As you command, sweet thing.”

“Good boy,” she purred, the sound going straight to his cock. Calm the fuck down, Peña. She hasn’t even begun yet.

“Hands behind your back,” she ordered, looking down at him imposingly from where she stood.

“Sorry, what?” He asked, blinking rapidly and tilting his head to take a good look at her. Habituated to her shy smiles and pleas to be taken and fucked throughout their time together, it wasn’t an understatement to say that he was shaken by her sudden assumption of the commanding role.

Her fingers glided up and down the pole and for the first time he noticed that her nails were done up all pretty with the brightest red nail polish there was. Fuck, she’d gone all out. “You fuckin’ heard me, Peña,” she snapped and took a few steps forward before dropping to her ass, gently like a caress against the surface. He didn’t even know she could move like that. She hopped off the stage and his heart caught in his throat as she got closer to him and he caught a whiff of her perfume in the air. She stopped when she was over him, her legs spread out on either side of him. Oh how he’d missed the scent enveloping him as he buried himself in her and threw her into a world of ecstasy. The soft moan that escaped his lips surprised even him.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he breathed out, tracing a hand up her thigh only to be swatted away rudely. She grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks and digging her nails into his skin just enough to give him a taste of how she’d be piercing the skin on his back as he fucked her later that night. He’d make her keep those shoes on for sure.

“Jesus!” She swore, the scorching heat of her gaze beginning to burn him. “No manners. Is this how you treat dancers, Agent? Fuckin American, touching everything, acting entitled to every goddamn thing, not following a single rule… It’s about time someone taught you a lesson.”

“Well darling, if there’s one thing I’m entitled to, it’s you,” he teased, hoping to rile her up and make her look all adorable and hot with rage. The next thing he knew was a stinging pain on his cheek.

“Once more.”

She raised an eyebrow at him as she caressed the cheek she slapped. He swallowed, looked up at her and tried again, “Please, Ma’am. Once more.”

“Good boy,” she purred, her lips curling up in a smirk of satisfaction. Was this what she saw in him when she laid under him and took all that he had to give her for the night? Seeing her so confident in herself, feeling the sting of her authority on his cheek and sitting underneath her, he felt like he finally understood why liked this so much.

He had a feeling that as the night matured, he would only get a better understanding.

“Hands behind your back.”

Eyes still set on her, he moved his hands behind his back. Just like she’d ordered. She took a step back and he immediately missed her closeness, missed how she crowded over him and put him down in his place with just a stare. She slipped a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out the leather pouch with the handcuffs. Once she retrieved what she’d wanted, she tossed the pouch over her shoulder. She circled him, their eyes still joined in the heated gaze of expectations. He leaned back on his chair, praying to the lord that he didn’t look absurd doing that. The last thing he wanted to do was make her laugh.

The cold metal of his cuffs nipped at his wrists and he attempted to pull his wrists in opposite directions, enjoying his own failure at achieving the freedoms he only half-heartedly sought. She placed her hands on his shoulders from her place behind him and descended lazily down to his eye-level.

“Feliz cumpleaños, mi amor. Disfruta del espectáculo,” she whispered before giving him a peck on the cheek. He attempted futilely to grab her so that he could kiss her properly, so that he could devour her lips and thank her for showing up for him.

There was music. It didn’t appear magically. She pressed a button on the cassette player he recognized from home before she walked up the stairs to the stage. Everything seemed torturously slow. Even the way she walked away from him looked to be designed as slow poison for him.

She descended gracefully to the floor and sat herself on her side, her back curved as she leaned back, her high-heel clad legs together with her left leg covering her right. She pushed her ass and tits out. She swept her leg out in a circle around herself, lifting it in the air as her right leg followed suit to make a semi circle. He caught a sparkle of something under his shirt that she wore as she exposed herself to him for a few seconds before she bent her knees and brought her legs back to where they started.

Javi drew in a sharp breath as she quickly got to her knees and twirled around again. This time, she let her right knee support her as she let the left kiss the smooth floors with the platforms of her shoes, back and forth, back and forth as his cock twitched in his pants. He would never forgive himself if he ended up jizzing in his pants seconds into her dance that she’d clearly put a lot of effort into.

Next thing he knew, she was upside down— fuckin’ hell— and spreading her legs, giving him a view of the little skirt and thongs she wore underneath as his shirt gave way to gravity and revealed her for him. She snapped her legs shut, as though punishing him for staring before she slid her legs over the floor and laid herself out flat, her delicious behind bouncing from her momentum. Spreading her knees apart, she rose from her position and let her hair flip around before she got up— how the fuck did she get up from that position??

Fuck!

He realized he’d said that out loud when she looked behind her shoulder and laughed before holding the pole, her fingers wrapping around it one by one. She stroked the goddamn thing up and down like she would his cock and fuck he’d be proud if he wasn’t so mad about being locked up with nothing to do but watch, to be a passive participant in her erotic torture of him.

She twirled and twirled a little more around the pole in many different ways. She moved effortlessly, dancing around the thing like it was no big deal. But he knew the strength it took to swing around a pole like that and look sexy as hell while at it. He knew how strong she was from the way she bent one leg around the pole and spun as she let the other draw a circle around her.

His thoughts, as scarce as they were with the sight in front of him, went off to a dreamland where he took advantage of all the flexibility she was displaying to bend her in every which way he wanted, to take her in all the ways he imagined. Sexier was the thought of her practicing this routine. Just for his sake. Just to do something special for him.

When she stepped away from the pole for a few seconds, Javi thought that was it. He was a fool. She stopped at the edge of the stage and looked down at him before she snapped the button of the shirt off, exposing just a bit of her cleavage. Eyes trained on his to derive sick joy from his torment, she snapped the buttons open one by one.

She was a sight.

Back to the pole, she held it like it was a part of her, letting the metal assist her as she closed her eyes and put herself on artistic display for him. He was one lucky man. He’d always known, but it bore repeating. He was lucky as fuck. She shed the shirt and he moaned as the action gave him more of her to see. He would never tire of seeing her body no matter how many times she took her clothes off for him be it to seduce him or simply take a shower.

Behind him, he struggled against his handcuffs, the metal digging into his skin and leaving marks for him to cover up the next morning.

He gasped as she climbed the thing like it was no big deal and wrapped herself around it. His heart jumped right out as her back arched backwards and he thought for a moment that she would fall. But she didn’t. Her legs were holding her in place around the pole. She brought herself back down, landing her shoes on the ground and pinning him with her gaze. She then took the strings wrapped around her waist and tugged, letting the barely-there skirt unfurl from around her.

His mouth was wide open in awe when she threw the sparkly black fabric at him. It covered his eyes for a fraction of a second as it hit him in the face before dropping down to his lap. He growled her name and cursed as his hips rose up from the chair in a desperate search for contact. Any contact. God, he’d even fuck his fist if she’d let him. But she ignored his plight, letting her starving husband continue starving as she moved torturously both on the pole and the floor in front of it.

When her bra came off—tossed in his direction again— he whimpered like a pathetic creature that was kicked by something much bigger and more powerful than he was. He was helpless and horny as fuck and enjoying it.

Perhaps because she’d decided to have mercy on him or just because her dance had ended, she hopped off the stage and stalked towards him like she was a hungry beast and he her latest game that she could wait to tear into.

“Please, Ma’am,” the honorific slipped out without him meaning to. “I need…please,” he begged, his voice shaky as he struggled to articulate what it was that he needed. He let out little mewls of desperation as he struggled to form words that weren’t ‘please or Ma’am’.

She bit down on her lip and tilted her head as she considered him. “Aww baby, it’s alright.”

“P-please,” he muttered, his worldly coming out airy.

She palmed him through his jeans and stroked him, her eyes twinkling as she regarded him in his struggle. His breaths grew fast with just the first touch. He pleaded repeatedly, calling her every sweet name in the dictionary- in two dictionaries of two languages, but she didn’t seem to want to free him. She was enjoying his helplessness too much.

She laughed and bent at the waist to look him eye-to-eye, “I got you so hard just dancing for you huh, Javier?”

He was no longer in control of any part of his body. It was all hers from the hairs on his head to the tips of his toes. They all danced to her beat, worshiped at her altar, awaited her command with bated breath and followed her to his own destruction. His lips, now hers, begged “Y-yes Ma’am. I w-want— please! Want to touch you. Tan bonita... Quiero que tú… Por favor, patróna—”

“You want to touch me?” She asked, raising a cruel eyebrow at him. “Really? What makes you think you deserve that, baby? What have you done to deserve me?”

“I’ll do anything. Anyth— any— fuck!” He whimpered as the world disappeared around him, leaving only a hazy vision of her leaning in front of him, her hand around him. He felt his underwear get wet from his embarrassingly quick release as he muttered a curse in regret.

She tipped his head back and pressed her lips to his, their tongues dancing around each other and their lips taking in as much as they could of the other. The few days of separation had really gotten to him and he was pleased to know that he wasn’t alone with the way she pushed for more from their kiss.

“‘M so sorry, baby. That was…I lasted longer as a teenager, believe me,” he explained himself, wanting to hide himself away yet willing to show her all of him. All his embarrassment and sexual failures and his genuine feeling of regret over the way he ended the night.

She laughed softly, not in mockery but with her love. He could always feel her love.

“It’s okay, mi amor. Nothing to apologize for. You’ve made me cum with less, I swear,” she said, draping herself across his lap and cradling his face in her hand. She kissed him on the cheek and then the other and then his forehead. “Happy birthday, Javi.”

He smiled, no grinned, at her as he felt his heart fill up with gratitude for her. “I can’t believe you came back from stateside just for this.”

“About that…” she trailed, her index finger reaching out and playing with his mustache. “I never left.”

“What!?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling sheepishly.

“You’ve been gone for three days!”

“I was at my friend’s.”

“Your parents called and said you reached home safely!” He exclaimed. How deep was this plot!? Who were all in on it? And what kind of a fool was he to not notice a thing. He should’ve asked her parents to give her the phone! He should’ve checked and caught them in the lie.

“I asked them—”

“You asked them to lie for you to give me a sex present for my birthday?”

“Nooo! Well, not like that! I didn’t call them and ask them to lie to you because I wanted to give you a fucking pole dance- strip show thing for your birthday. I just made something up. My god, Javi!” She huffed, shoving at his chest lightly.

“Wait! And Steve. FUCKIN STEVE! What did you tell HIM?”

“Don’t worry, your dignity is safe with me. Didn’t tell him I was gonna restrain you and make you call me Ma’am and oh, what else was it? Patróna?” She teased, smiling as she played with his hair.

“Si, Patróna,” he retorted right back, making her smile transform into a gasp and her eyes turn wide.

“Shut up,” she mumbled as she got off his lap and reached behind him. She uncuffed him and he was immediately upon her. She yelped as he pulled her into his lap, giggling as he pressed kisses all over her face.

“Javi, stooop!” She whined but leaned in closer and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Gonna take you back home, baby. Need to do this right,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Oh? Do it right? You gonna hold me down and fuck me hard, Agente Peña?” She asked as he took his leather jacket off of himself. Finding her clothes would take too much time and he was not willing to spend his previous time with her after being deceived into separation.

“Pfft, no! You, my darling wife, are going to hold me down and take what you want,” he declared, excited to lean back and let her do the work for that night. And perhaps other nights when he needed her to take over and take guide him though it. It wasn’t something he thought he would like, but with her, every day was a surprise and he discovered new things about himself even after so many years alive.

Wrapped up in his jacket, she let him carry her to his jeep and he drove her home, a happy and grateful man.

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