Ah! This Was So Good!

Ah! This was so good! 😍😍😍

Sangria (javier peña x fem!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

javier peña x hotel managerf!reader

Word Count: 12k (she’s long, but please still read this…) 😅 Rating: E

Summary: Your friendship with Javier Peña over the years during the trenches of the Colombian drug war and his hunt for Pablo Escobar.

or simply…

'she fell first, he fell harder' kind of trope

Warning: friends to lovers, slow fucking burn, flirting, fluff, mutual pining (idiots in love), pet names (your javi’s ‘hermosa’) jealousy/insecurity, sexual tension, yearning, mentions of infidelity, lots of angst (im sorry), language, alcohol use, drunk javi, mentions of torture and sexual assault (violence against women), mentions of prostitution, violence (bombs and explosions), reader is injured, fucking softness, sexual innuendos, fade to black implied smut (rules are rules, this challenge requested no smut)

A/N: I joined the fandom for Javier and so I’m so scared to be writing for him since he’s a complex character very near and dear to my heart and I hope I did it justice. This is a story I’ve slowly been writing for months and have been too scared to post and decided to submit for @jolapeno & @goodwithcheese's fall challenge: Javi P + Bonfire and kill two birds with one stone. Thank you @morallyinept and @almostfoxglove for your kindness when I brain-dumped with you. To my biggest supporter @nicksolemnlyswears who I basically forced to watch Narcos and who beta’d the Spanish for me. Gracias, my wifey <3

xx

Fall 1989

The smell of smoke and roasted marshmallows hung thick in the air as laughter echoed around the bonfire as you nestled into a circle with your friends. You sat cross-legged on a weathered blanket, cradling a cup of what was possibly the world's worst Sangria.

As a gust of wind picked up, you leaned in closer, hoping to cut through the chill of the Colombian night. Just as you poured another splash of the overly fruity concoction, someone plopped down next to you, sending you jolting forward. The drink in your hand took flight, a cascade of red sloshing all over a man’s crisp white shirt.

“Lo siento mucho!” you exclaimed, your cheeks warming. I’m so sorry.

The man turned to face you, arching an eyebrow, his expression stuck between surprise and irritation. “Mierda,” he muttered, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Shit.

You quickly reached for napkins that were far from sufficient for the mess you’d made.

Without thinking you spoke in English; it was probably because you were already tipsy, and your Spanish always became worse the more you drank. “Here, let me help,” you insisted, dabbing at his shirt.

“I don’t know if you’re helping or just making it worse,” he teased. “But it’s not like I was planning on winning any fashion awards tonight.

An American accent. You felt less embarrassed now for using your English.

“Touché,” you conceded, glancing down at the damp fabric. “But, I think it looks better this way,” you teased.

And it really did look better this way because as you continued to dab at the damp fabric, your gaze inadvertently drifted upward, taking in the man who had just been the unfortunate recipient of your clumsiness. He had tousled dark hair and a mustache that gave him a slightly rugged yet charming appearance. A few strands of hair fell rebelliously across his forehead, accentuating his chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones.

His tan skin seemed to glow against the backdrop of the night, but what truly caught your attention was the way the wet shirt clung to his torso, hinting at a well-defined physique. His shoulders were broad and strong, tapering down to a lean yet muscular build. You could see the lines of muscle beneath the fabric, and for a moment, you found it hard to concentrate on anything else.

You were acutely aware of your own heartbeat, quickening under the gaze of those deep-set, penetrating brown eyes. He watched your face, clearly amused at your lingering stare. Those eyes—intense, with a hint of something playful—seemed to pull you in, and an unexpected flutter rose in your chest.

After a moment, you tore your eyes away, cheeks burning, trying to regain your composure. “I wish I could say I’m usually graceful, but the universe has seen fit to deem me a walking disaster,” you joked, forcing a smile while feeling utterly flustered.

He chuckled. “Well, if I’m the casualty of your coordination tonight, I think I can live with it,” He waved his hand over his shirt, inspecting the damage.  “I’ve had worse—at least you didn’t drop the entire bowl on my lap,” he joked.

“So, what’s your name, ‘casualty’?” you asked the utterly fuckable man.

“Javier,” he replied, extending a hand “But you can call me Javi. And you?”

As you said your name, you felt the smoothness of his hand against yours and felt something. “Encantado de conocerte, Javi.” Nice to meet you, Javi

“¿Y ese acento, de donde es?” he asked you.  And that accent, where’s it from?

You quickly told him where you were from.

He leaned back slightly, his brow furrowing like he was trying to place your face. “I think I’ve seen you around. Are you friends with Rosa?”

You nodded, taken aback by his memory seeming to link to your small circle. “Yeah. She’s hosting this little shindig. You know her well?”

“Enough to crash a bonfire,” he replied, glancing toward the flickering flames. “I’m her neighbor,”

Suddenly, you could almost hear Rosa’s warning echoing in your mind. Javier. Her new American neighbor from Texas. You remember her telling you: Ese hombre es guapísimo. That man is ridiculously handsome.

She wasn’t fucking wrong.

The name clicked like a key turning in a lock, and suddenly the stories Rosa had shared bubbled to the surface. A man who was a certified flirt. Charm dripping all over the place. A notorious womanizer who worked for the DEA. Your stomach tightened.

“I see,” you replied softly.

“You know, Hermosa… we could steal away to a quieter spot, away from... all of this,” he continued, gesturing to the bustling bonfire.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. He was already trying to use a petname on you. Beautiful. Your hand instinctively tightened around your cup, rebelling against his effortless charm. “And what exactly do you think will happen in this quieter spot?”

He leaned in closer. “A chance to get to know the gorgeous girl who nearly branded me with Sangria.”

“Ah, here it comes,” you shook your head as you didn’t want to be just another conquest. You had dealt with enough assholes in Bogotá, you weren’t trying to deal with another one. “A smooth talker, huh?"

“Only when the moment calls for it,” he countered, leaning back, unabashed. "And this moment definitely calls for it.”

With a cheeky grin, he leaned closer as if he were sharing a secret “What do you say we skip the small talk and just get to the best part?”

You raised an eyebrow, slightly amused but mostly unfazed. “And what makes you think I’m interested in the best part?”

“Because I’m sitting here, drenched in your drink and still smiling,” he said, a glint of challenge in his eyes, “Clearly, I find you intriguing.”

“Or clearly, you’re just thirsty.” you smirked. “Look, I’m not looking for anything tonight—especially not with a guy who looks like he’s just walked off the set of a telenovela.”

He grinned, that playful smirk exposing a dimple in one cheek, and your breath caught momentarily as it deepened. “So, you’re saying I’m too pretty for my own good?”

“Pretty much,” you replied, feigning a serious tone. “So, I’ll stick with my less complicated plans for tonight.”

“Less complicated, huh?” He leaned back on his hands, feigning deep thought. He was watching the flames dance, a slight scowl on his lips. He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face before he took a long drag and released the smoke into the night air.

You found your gaze fixated on the way he handled the cigarette with a certain nonchalance. He raised it to his lips, and part of you knew it was an unhealthy habit, but the sight of him—those strong fingers capturing the cigarette, in his relaxed demeanor—was sexy.

He noticed your gaze, as he puffed the smoke slowly. “Want one?” he asked, holding the pack of cigarettes out toward you with a casual flick of his wrist.

You shook your head, your lips curving into a playful grin. “No thanks, those cancer sticks will definitely kill you,” you teased, watching as he took another slow drag.

“Oh please,” he chuckled, rolling his eyes. “These will kill me? Trust me, my job will kill me first. I think I’ll take my chances with the nicotine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite the mention of something more serious nestled in his joke. You turned your attention back to the fire, unaware that this meeting would kickstart your friendship with Javier Peña.

Spring 1990

Javier glanced at the clock on his dashboard as he maneuvered through the streets. It was ten past seven, and he was already late for his self-imposed “Twin Peaks” night with you. Damn. He’d gotten caught up at work, chasing down leads on a particularly slippery cartel operative. Adjusting his tie, the polished fabric stark against the chaos of his life, he took a deep breath and lit a cigarette, the smoke mingling with the cool night air.

Once he finished, he flicked the cigarette out of the window, watching it tumble away into the darkness outside your apartment complex. Even though you had never explicitly said anything about his smoking since the first night he met you, he knew deep down that you hated it. Out of respect, he always made sure not to light one up inside your apartment.

With one last check of his reflection in the rearview mirror, he strode up to your apartment complex, a skip in his step fueled by the thought of seeing you. He could already envision you sprawled out on the couch, snacks at hand, ready for another oddball episode of your new favorite show. The way you lit up over the strange yet addictive plotline always amused him, and he loved indulging your quirks—especially since you were, in his opinion, one of the most captivating people he’d met in Bogotá.

The weight of his job slung over his shoulders. Each day, Javier walked a tightrope between duty and the horrors that came with it—informants who didn't show up, leads that led nowhere, threats that loomed close. It was exhausting, and the burden of the violent realities he had seen rested heavily on him. But you were his escape.

He thought back to that night at the bonfire—the first time he met you all because of an accidental splash of Sangria. He remembered the ease with which you had brushed off his flirtations, never letting it sway you the way it did for so many other women. It was refreshing.

You were both foreigners navigating life in Bogotá and you had talked about your time in hospitality school and your path to getting a job opportunity managing the Sofitel Bogotá Victoria Regia which was one of the most luxurious hotels in Colombia, while he recounted the oddities of undercover work and the horrors he’d seen.

He entered your building and climbed the stairs and knocked on your door. But when you opened the door, the sight that met him was anything but what he expected. The light from the living room cast a soft glow around you, but it did little to disguise the tears tracing down your cheeks. He frowned, immediately concerned.

“Hey, ¿qué pasó?” he asked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. Hey, what happened?

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, attempting a weak smile. “It’s nothing, really. Just… I found out that the guy I was seeing is fucking someone else,”

Javier’s heart sank. He had to suppress an instinctual urge to charge through the streets hunting down whoever had dared to hurt you.

“Puto malparido,” He shook his head, eyes narrowing with displeasure. Son of a bitch.

“It’s fine,” you said, your voice wavering but trying to convey a sense of indifference. “I should’ve known better than to get involved with someone who thinks wearing socks with sandals is okay,” you sniffed, managing a small laugh despite the tears. “Honestly, if his wardrobe choices are anything to go by, I should have seen this bullshit coming from a mile away.”

Javier couldn't help but chuckle lightly at your humor, even though he hated seeing you so sad. “Look at it this way, at least now you don’t have to pretend to enjoy his fucking cooking,” he replied, his expression softening as he stepped closer, his gaze searching yours for every flicker of emotion.

You let out a genuine laugh. “I never did understand how he thought putting pineapple on a steak was a good idea. What the fuck was that?"

Javier felt a flicker of relief at the way you grasped for humor. You always did, it was what made you… you.

You crossed your arms defensively, trying to mask the vulnerability that had slipped through with your tears, and started navigating yourself into the kitchen to grab drinks. “I saved you the good stuff,” you said as you returned to the living room with some whiskey.

As you collapsed onto the couch, you reached for the remote, and the anticipation of another episode filled the air. Javier's heart swelled at this little ritual; this was his safe space.

He took a seat beside you, still dressed in that fitted DEA suit, the navy-blue fabric now slightly rumpled, the cushions sinking under his weight, and grabbed the drink you handed him.

“Seriously, don’t let that fucking asshole get to you,” he said, trying to keep his tone light despite the heavy weight of concern settling in his chest. “You deserve better, Hermosa.”

You glanced at him. “I know. I just…” You sighed, shaking your head. “I just thought he was different, but I was wrong. I just feel so stupid,” you confessed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit of yours when you were emotional.

How could this fucking idiot you had been dating not see the incredible woman that you were? You were radiant, even in this moment of vulnerability. Your hair, often styled with effortless perfection, was falling slightly out of place, giving you a natural beauty he found utterly captivating. The way the light caught the curve of your cheek when you turned your head made him wish he could capture that moment forever.

With a smirk, Javier quipped, “If he's the worst decision you’ve made, I’d say you’re doing just fine. Seriously, don’t beat yourself up over it,” Javier replied softly. He paused, his mind racing with thoughts not entirely appropriate for the moment, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of you with someone else gnawed at him, despite the circumstances.

You gave a slight nod and looked down for a moment. “Thanks, Javi. That means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he said, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. The gesture shocked him, but he couldn’t help himself. You needed comfort, and he was there, ready and willing to provide it.

“And what’s crazy is I’m crying over this guy… but… you know, I was just so caught up in the moment with him that I just tried to convince myself it was good,” you said, sipping your drink. “But honestly? It wasn’t,”

He thought you were talking about the relationship but then you surprised him with your next statement.

You took a sip of your whiskey, a frown playing on your lips. “Let’s just say, if there’s a guidebook for how to be awful in bed, he must’ve had it memorized. It was like a poorly choreographed dance. You just… you could tell he thought he was doing the right moves, but his rhythm was off.”

Javier raised an eyebrow, a cheeky grin threatening to spill across his face.

“Oh, my fucking god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you whined, as you buried your face in your hands, an adorable blend of exasperation and embarrassment washed over you. Javier couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Damn, you really are a lightweight, aren’t you?” he teased, leaning back on the couch and taking a sip of his whiskey, struggling to stifle his laughter.

A muffled sound escaped your hands. “You’re right. I’m clearly already drunk,” you said between muffled giggles.

You lowered your hands from your face, clearly still embarrassed but Javier thought you looked beautiful.

"Honestly," you said biting your bottom lip, glancing sideways at him, "I think all I really need right now is... some quality time alone. You know, taking care of myself.”

You wiggled your eyebrows with a teasing smirk, the implication hanging in the air like a delicious secret. The corners of Javier's mouth twitched, and for a moment, he was taken aback, his eyes widening in surprise, and he suddenly felt the heat creeping up his neck.

“I mean, who needs a guy when a girl can have a good time all by herself, right?” you finished, wrapping up your drink.

Javier chuckled nervously, the grin plastered on his face revealing that he was trying to keep his composure. "Oh, is that so?" he replied, raising an eyebrow, but there was a flustered edge to his voice.

He shifted on the couch and was going to say more and then you shrieked, “Oh fuck, it’s starting, let me bring the popcorn,”

You quickly hopped off the couch, rushing into the kitchen, leaving Javier in a state of amused bewilderment. He leaned back, taking a moment to collect himself and stop imagining what you had just said.

The theme song for "Twin Peaks" began to play, and your excited voice echoed as you returned, popcorn spilling from the large bowl you held.

As the opening credits rolled, part of him still remained alert, scrutinizing the world outside your window like a soldier on edge. The relentless pursuit of Escobar loomed large in his mind, a massive shadow that seemed to darken every corner of his life. The pressure from his superiors at the DEA had ramped up recently, each briefing filled with urgency and frustration. Despite his considerable experience and dedication, Javier couldn’t shake the feeling that they were getting nowhere, that every lead they followed slipped through their fingers like sand.

“Are you okay gruñon?” you asked, that genuine softness forming your voice. Grumpy man.

He smiled, attempting to mask the turmoil within. “Yeah,”

You studied him for a moment, the look on your face suggesting you could sense his internal battle. You leaned in, a gentle touch on his arm, grounding him in reality. “Javi, you can talk to me, you know.”

How he wished he could—how he wished he could be honest about the nightmares, the pressure, the fear that gripped him when he thought of the lives at stake. But saying it out loud meant inviting you into a darkness where he feared you wouldn’t want to wander.

He was on a dangerous journey, one that required him to be tough, and emotionally detached. He’d seen too much, lost too many, and he knew better than to let anyone in.

“Right now, I just want to enjoy this,” he said feigning nonchalance. “What do you think of Agent Cooper?” he asked pointing at your television instead.

You chuckled lightly, obviously sensing his attempt to shift the focus. “He’s a bit intense, don’t you think? But I like his style. Always gets things done his way.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” Javi replied, his voice laced with an underlying tension. “Sometimes it feels like he’s more interested in the outcome than the people involved.”

You nodded thoughtfully, the weight of his words not lost on you. “True, but I think that’s part of the appeal. He’s driven by something deeper—like he’s reaching for a bigger purpose.”

“Or maybe he’s just running from his own demons,” Javi murmured, his gaze drifting back outside. The shadows were lengthening, and he felt the familiar tightening in his chest.

“¿Seguro que estás bien?" you asked again, concern etched in your features. Are you sure you’re okay?

Your accent was a delightful blend of your own roots and your newly adopted Colombian home. Whenever you spoke, your words often carried a melodic cadence, peppered with slight mispronunciations that made you sound both endearing and approachable. You told Javi you felt self-conscious about your Spanish, but he always thought you sounded absolutely adorable. And it wasn’t just him, all the guests at your hotel loved you. Everyone just fucking loved you. How could they not?

He turned back to you, his lips twisting into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not… but I will be, Hermosa,” he admitted finally.

Your expression softened further, and he could see the questions behind your kind eyes—but you let it go, allowing him the space to decide how deep the conversation would go. He appreciated that you weren’t pushing it.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand. He turned his palm upward, fingers intertwining gently with yours, and squeezed, a subtle reassurance that spoke volumes without the need for words. It was a simple gesture—nothing extravagant or overly sentimental—but in it, he communicated a thank you, and quickly pulled his hand away.

For now, he was content to just let the world fade into the background as he enjoyed these simple moments with you.

Summer 1991

As the warmth of the sun streamed through your kitchen window, you were busy preparing lunch for your usual Sunday get-together with Connie. Javier had gotten a new partner named Steve Murphy to help with the hunt for Escobar and his wife, Connie, had also moved to Colombia to join him. The aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air, mingling effortlessly with the early afternoon light that reflected off the tiled countertops. Connie was your confidante, someone who understood the complexities of navigating a foreign city and she would vent to you about the unique challenges that came with being married to a DEA agent. Over the past few months, a solid friendship had blossomed between the two of you, often sprinkled with laughter, shared meals, and details about your lives that built a comforting bond in the tumultuous backdrop of Colombian drug wars.

Connie leaned against the counter, her brow slightly furrowed, a hint of concern dancing across her features. “I just came from home where Steve mentioned something about Javi,”

Your heart sank. You knew all too well the toll that Javier's work, mixed with the intense emotional strain of the cases he dealt with, could take on him. “What’s going on?” you asked, concern lacing your tone.

Connie hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Look, I don’t want to say too much without Steve’s permission, but he told me that Javier has been involved with this informant named Helena. Steve said… she’s had a really rough time lately.”

“Rough time?” you echoed, feeling a chill creep into your bones.

“Yeah, it turns out she was tortured and raped by Gacha’s men during an interrogation,” Connie continued, her voice lowering as if the very words weighed her down. “Steve said Javi is seriously torn up about it. Apparently, he keeps replaying the details in his head… the things she went through. He feels like he could’ve done something more. He feels like what happened to her is his fault.”

You frowned, trying to process what you were hearing. You thought back to all the late-night conversations you’d had with Javier—the way he spoke openly about his wish to protect the innocent, his anger at the way women were often used as pawns in the drug trade. It didn’t surprise you that he would want to be there for Helena, yet the thought of him getting too close made you restless.

As you mixed the pasta in the pot, the steam rising from the boiling water mirrored your thoughts. Javier had always been charming, always had a way with women. It was part of what drew you to him, that magnetic energy that could light up a room. When you first met him, you felt that irresistible pull. However, his frequent flings—those short-lived romances that seemed to sprout up like weeds now and then—had always left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You had always felt a gap between you and the women Javier usually gravitated toward—they exuded a magnetic confidence, and they were gorgeous – something that you just felt you weren’t. Their clothes were always daring and playful, each outfit meticulously designed to highlight their best features and leaving little to the imagination. They were the kind of women that made heads turn—not just because of their incredible looks, but because of the confidence with which they carried themselves. They reveled in the attention captivating everyone around them, including Javier. You couldn’t shake the notion that these stunning women with their incredible physiques and sexy personalities were a glaring contrast to your own sense of self.

You watched him juggle one woman after another, often with an easy nonchalance that made it difficult for you to take him seriously. Yet, Helena was different. She had slipped into his life quietly, weaving through the chaos of his job, and somehow managed to find a consistent place in his bed. He had told you about her, but he had left out the part about her being an escort and informant… and now you knew why.

Could it be that he had developed real feelings for her? It was a creeping sensation of jealousy that you couldn’t quite shake off.

“Do you think Javi is in love with her?” you asked, the question slipping from your lips before you could think to filter it. Connie’s glance told you the answer. The way she dropped her gaze, and the hesitation before she spoke— pointed to him having deep feelings for his informant.

“Would it matter if he was?”

The question hung in the air, and you felt a rush of conflicting emotions collide in your chest.

Would it matter?

The phone rang sharply, thankfully saving you from having to answer her. You glanced at Connie, who raised an eyebrow as you answered the call, recognizing the familiar voice. It was your favorite bartender from your go-to bar.

“Hey, it’s Carlos. You need to come now. Javi’s here, and he’s had a bit too much to drink,” he said, the worry in his tone unmistakable. “I thought he’d be fine, but he’s talking nonsense and it’s, uh—well, it’s not pretty.”

You glanced at the clock—it was just past 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Something bad was happening if he was already fucked up this early in the day.  

“Is he okay?” you asked, already slipping on your shoes and grabbing your keys from the countertop.

“Creo que solo necesita un amigo que lo lleve a casa,” Carlos admitted, the faint sounds of a bar bustling in the background. I think he just needs a friend to get him home

“Estoy en camino,” you assured him, adrenaline spiking. I’m on my way.

You turned to Connie, who was watching you intently, and waved you off to leave when she realized it was about Javi.

The drive to the bar felt like an eternity, the streets slipping by in a blur of vibrant colors and the urgency of your thoughts.

When you finally arrived, the bar was dimly lit, with laughter and music layering the atmosphere. You spotted Carlos behind the bar, pouring drinks while stealing glances toward a rather loud corner of the establishment.

“Over there,” Carlos gestured discreetly.

You made your way over, and your heart dropped at the sight of Javier. He was at the back hunched over the bar, a half-empty glass cradled in one hand and a cigarette smoking in the other. His dark hair fell in disarray over his forehead, and his usually bright eyes looked weary as he took a long drag.  His dark hair fell in disarray over his forehead, and his usually bright eyes looked far too weary.

“Hey,” you said, gently placing a hand on Javi's shoulder. He looked up, blinking slowly as if trying to focus.

"Hey, Hermosa," he mumbled, his voice thick with alcohol and smoke.

You knelt beside him, matching his eye level. “You look like you could use some water,” you replied softly, glancing at the cigarette between his fingers.

Javier let out a hollow laugh, bitter and self-deprecating, before tossing the cigarette into a nearby ashtray. He swayed slightly, and you instinctively grabbed his arm to steady him. “Come on, Javi. Let’s get you home.” You wrapped one of his arms around your shoulder as you began the slow journey out of the bar.

Once you reached your car, you gently helped him into the passenger seat. The ride home was quiet, filled with the hum of the engine and Javier’s heavy breathing. You glanced over to see him staring vacantly out of the window, lost in thoughts only he could understand. Each moment of silence was deafening, punctuated only by the occasional hitch in his breath.

When you finally pulled up to his apartment, you helped him out of the car, feeling the weight of his body against you as you guided him to the front door.

“Dame la llave,” you requested. Give me the key.

With effort, you managed to get Javier through the door once he handed you his key and you got him into the familiar space of his apartment. The dim light illuminated the mess he often left when he was deep into work—files scattered on the coffee table, clothes draped across chairs, and the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air. You walked him towards his bedroom, shifting his weight as he leaned against you for support.

Once inside, you guided him to the edge of his bed. “Sit,” you instructed softly, and he complied, sinking onto the edge with a barely-there sigh. You stepped back for a moment to assess him. There was a part of you that wanted to scream, to shake him and demand he talk to you, but now was not the right time.

You moved closer again, kneeling beside him, and started to unbutton his shirt. The fabric slid away easily, revealing his sculpted chest. As the shirt fell to the floor, you avoided making eye contact, focused instead on the task at hand.

“Hold still,” you murmured as you began to remove his belt. He swayed slightly, but you steadied him, your hands brushing against his skin. As the belt slipped through the loops and dropped with a faint thud.

“Controladora,” he said looking at you with a mix of confusion and trust, as if he knew you were here to take care of him, to ensure he wasn’t alone. Controlling woman.   

Next, you started on his pants, gently working to slide them down over his hips. He lifted his feet when prompted, and you eased them off him, leaving him in just his boxers.

Once he was settled in his boxers, you pulled a light blanket over him, tucking it around his waist. You brushed a hand through his hair, trying to offer some comfort.

“Go to sleep, Javi,” you whispered softly.

You fetched him a glass of water to help with the hangover that was sure to come. He accepted it absently, staring blankly at a point beyond you. When you sat beside him, a comfortable but tense silence settled around the two of you.

“Javi,” you eventually said, “I’m going to head home. Get some rest.”

His eyes flickered back to you, momentarily clouded by the haze of alcohol and exhaustion. The moment hung thick in the air, and you noticed the way his brow furrowed with unease. “No… don’t go,” he replied, his voice cracking slightly. “Te puedes quedar,” You can stay.

Your heart ached at the sound. “It’s okay,” you assured him, your hand instinctively reaching out to squeeze his reassuringly. “I don’t want to be in the way. You need to sleep.”

But the panic in his eyes deepened. “Please,” he murmured, his voice rasping out the word like a plea. “I… I need you to stay. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Caught off guard, you felt your stomach twist with conflicting emotions.

“Please,” he repeated, a note of desperation in his tone, “I need you, Hermosa. Just promise you’ll stay.”

A lump formed in your throat. “Okay, I’ll stay,” you finally said, deciding to stay a little longer to ease his anxiety, at least until he nestled into a deeper sleep.

Time passed slowly, the room filled with the soft sound of his breathing, which grew heavier as he inched closer to sleep. As he began to drift, his expression relaxed, but the words that escaped his lips caught you off guard.

“I should have done more. I was supposed to protect her, but…” he murmured. “I failed.”

He shifted slightly, the unmistakable signs of sleep tugging at him.

You leaned in closer, brushing the hair from his forehead, careful not to disturb the sleep that was creeping up on him.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “You didn’t fail, Javi. You did everything that you could. You did your best.” you continued, knowing he might not hear you, but hoping that the sentiment would linger in his subconscious.

Fall 1992

The hum of the office felt suffocating, a growing weight pressing down on Javier as he sat at his desk, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his lips. The smoke curled lazily around him, mixing with the chaos of paperwork that buried him. His usually sharp focus was dulled, his mind wandering dangerously, trapped in thoughts of you and the oppressive silence that had stretched between you for three long weeks. He had never gone this long without seeing or speaking to you since he had met you all those years ago—maybe a week at most, if duty called him away. Steve sat across from him, flipping through files, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside Javier.

“Earth to Peña,” Steve finally said, breaking through the haze. “You with me?” There was humor in his tone, but Javier couldn’t muster a smile in response.

“Yeah, just—thinking about the Medellín briefing,” he replied, forcing an edge of normalcy into his voice as he took a drag from the cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs but doing little to ease the tightness in his chest.

The silence between you both had grown, and he hadn’t even realized the length of time that had passed until the loneliness settled like a thick fog in his chest.

He could still see the scene from a few weeks ago—the moment when Carillo had pulled the trigger, killing a kid without a second thought. It had sent shockwaves through him. Overwhelmed by his own rage and despair, he'd sought solace in the arms of Gabriela that night, burying himself and his sadness inside of her.

But the act only left him feeling emptier; it didn’t erase the darkness flickering at the edges of his mind. As she had left his apartment, he couldn't shake the guilt that followed. Javier knew he wasn’t being fair to himself, as he didn’t truly care for Gabriela the way he cared for you. But at the end of the day, Javi was a man with needs and sometimes he turned to hook-ups. It was just sex without the weight of expectation. Gabriela had been a distraction, a quick relief from the chaos of his current existence.

“Hey, man,” Steve’s voice broke through once again, shaking him further from his thoughts. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction. All he could think about was the anger you had directed at him, how you had stormed out of his apartment after he treated you like a fucking asshole. His memory drifted toward that horrible confrontation, and he felt his gut twist uncomfortably.

The air in Javier's apartment was thick with tension, the silence between you two so loud it felt suffocating. You had tried to reach out, to pull him back from whatever dark place he’d retreated to, but every attempt seemed to push him further away.

“Javi, please, just talk to me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling slightly. "You’ve been off for weeks now, and I’m really worried about you.”

He snapped back, “What makes you think it’s any of your business?”

“Maybe it’s not,” you replied, feeling defiant. “But you seem to be walking around with this gigantic weight on your shoulders, and I’ve got two ears—perfect for listening.”

He scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. “You’re being fucking annoying, you know that?” he shot back, frustration spilling over as he dropped his cigarette into an ashtray. “Stop trying to play therapist. I don’t want to fucking talk.”

You recoiled at his words, hurt flashing across your face. “So, what, you’d rather shut me out completely?” you fired back.

“Why do you care? You’re not my fucking girlfriend,” he snapped, his voice rising.

“Maybe I care because I can’t just stand by and watch my friend self-destruct,” you said softly, trying to regain your composure.

He noticed you didn’t respond to the other part, and he hated himself for wondering why. Why hadn't you reacted to that statement? Surely, it deserved some kind of response or fucking acknowledgment. Here you were seemingly unbothered by the title he had carelessly dismissed you with. Or perhaps you were bothered, but you just hadn't said anything.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m just fine.” he finally said.

“Fine? You call this fine?” you shot back, your voice breaking. “You’re sleeping with prostitutes left and right, and you can’t even have a conversation with me? You can’t bring me into your life, but you can bring random women into your bed?”

Your accusation stung, and he flinched, the bitterness pooling in his gut. “I can get more out of a quick fuck than I can from hearing you fucking nag and nag and nag,” he spat out, letting the cruel edge of his words slice deeply. He didn’t want the look on your face to affect him, but it did. Tears he didn’t want to see formed in your eyes, a sight that twisted something inside of him.

“Is that what I am to you?” you asked, voice breaking under the weight of his words. “Just a nag?”

Javier faltered momentarily. But he couldn’t let it show. The life he led, the choices he made, they were sharp and dangerous. In his line of work, a romantic partner was a target. They became leverage, a vulnerability to be exploited. The stakes would never be just his; they’d be yours too, and he couldn’t bear the thought of you ever being dragged into his world.

He took a shaky breath, willing himself to remain unreachable, but the pain swirling in your eyes were weighing him down.

Tears flowed freely from you now, and he watched, helplessly, as you wiped at your cheeks with frustration, trying to hold onto something—your composure, perhaps. “I can’t do this,” you finally managed, your voice wavering as you stood up. “I can’t watch this job kill you anymore,”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked out of his apartment, his heart aching with each step you took. The door clicked shut behind you, a finality that echoed in the silence of his apartment.

The truth was, he’d always known why he never hit on you again after meeting you at the bonfire all those years ago. He respected you too much and his life was too chaotic for a relationship. Being away so much for work left him with little time to nurture a genuine relationship with anybody. He thought of all the moments he had held back with you, the conversations left hanging in the air, the glances that lingered just a beat too long. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into a world where you could be safe, but his every instinct screamed against it. Because right now… it wasn’t safe.

He knew you deserved more than what he could offer. Javier couldn’t shake the feeling that he was tainted somehow. He wasn’t good enough for you. He wasn’t a good man. So, Javier locked away his desire and pushed you away, hoping that by doing so, he was protecting you from the very man he feared he was.

Javier's mind was suddenly yanked back to the present by the shrill sound of the office TV blaring to life. Steve had picked up the remote, flicking through channels until he found a live broadcast from a major news station that was translating into English.

“Man, check this out,” Steve said, his nonchalant tone tinged with concern as he gestured toward the screen.

Javier reluctantly turned his attention away from his paperwork and blinked at the images unfolding before him. The screen displayed a chaotic scene, thick clouds of smoke billowing against the backdrop of a once-elegant structure—your hotel, the Sofitel Bogotá Victoria Regia. A massive explosion had ripped through the façade, leaving a gaping hole where windows had been, glass fragments scattered like confetti across the cobblestone street below. Emergency sirens wailed, blending into the shouts of frantic onlookers gathered outside.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, but Javier barely heard him. His heart plummeted into his stomach at the sight of the devastation.

“Shit,” Javier whispered, his voice barely audible as dread crept into his veins like poison. He leaned in closer to the screen, eyes darting across the chaos.

The news anchor appeared on screen, a somber expression etched across her face as she reported, “We have breaking news from Bogotá, where an explosion has rocked the Sofitel, one of the city’s premier hotels. Authorities have confirmed that there are numerous casualties, with emergency responders still assessing the situation.”

Javier's blood ran cold. Anxiety morphed into panic as he thought about the last conversation you had had, the argument that still hung heavily in his mind.

The anchor continued, voice urgent and steady, “Witnesses report seeing several injured individuals being carried away from the scene. Eyewitness accounts suggest that an explosive device was planted in the restaurant area—”

“No! No!” Javier urged under his breath, shaking his head violently as snippets of doubt looped through his mind. Images of you laughing, preparing meals, dancing, making fun of him, or sprawled out on the couch watching Twin Peaks flashed before him, and each image just heightened the fear gripping his heart.

Steve turned to him, concern flooding his features. “Is she working today or is it her day —”

“Not fucking now, Steve. I have to go,” Javier cut him off, standing abruptly, chair scraping against the floor in his haste. The controlled chaos around him faded into nothingness as he stormed out of the office, the weight of dread perched heavily on his chest.

As he rushed down the street, his mind raced through every possible scenario—what if you were there? What if you had been hurt in the explosion? Each thought pulled like a taut string, the fear threatening to erupt within him.

“Damn it!” he muttered under his breath, weaving through traffic and ignoring the blaring horns that erupted around him. The heavy thud of his heartbeat drowned out everything else.

When he arrived at the hotel, it was chaos. Yellow tape lined the perimeter, and a throng of reporters had gathered, jostling for position as the sharp wails of ambulances echoed through the air. He found your boss Luis among the first responders, and a sinking feeling rooted in his stomach as his eyes scanned the devastation, searching for a familiar face.

“Luis!” Javier called out, drawing his attention. Luis hastily approached, eyes wide.

“¿Qué pasó? ¿Hay alguien—?” Javier cut himself off. What happened? Is anyone—

“Hay heridos… todavía están tratando de sacar a la gente. Es un desastre,” Luis explained, glancing nervously at the scene behind him. There are casualties… they're still trying to get people out. It's a mess.

“¿Dónde está todo el mundo? ¿Dónde está el personal? ¿Qué pasa con—?” Javier interrupted too scared to say your name, feeling the fear mount within him as he moved past Luis, toward the officials trying to make sense of the situation. Where’s everyone? Where are the staff? What about—

“No se. Estoy tratando de obtener información, pero es—” Luis began but Javier was already pushing through the crowds, desperate for any sign of you. I don’t know. I’m trying to get information, but it’s—

In that moment, he felt a crack within him splinter deeper; the thought of you being taken from him… he couldn’t imagine it. He wouldn’t survive it. Each second felt like an eternity as he navigated through chaos, exchanging frantic glances with paramedics and officials alike, searching for any shred of reassurance in their eyes.

“Javi!” Luis called out, but Javier was already losing him in the crowd. He had to find you. He had to know you were alright. As the scene unfolded around him—lights flashing, the distant sound of sirens despair etched into the air—his only focus was on you.

The chaos around him faded into a blur of noise and movement as Javier pushed forward, his heart racing with dread. The scent of smoke mingled with sweat and fear, thickening the air. Hordes of people buzzed about him like bees in a hive, each absorbed in their own mission to make sense of the horror that had erupted at the Sofitel.

And then, as his eyes scanned the chaos, he saw you.

His breath caught in his throat. You were on the ground, being attended to by a paramedic. Blood was trickling from a cut on your forehead, and bruises marred your cheek, swelling already starting to form around your left eye.

He shouted your name, his voice rising as he surged forward, weaving through the crowd of onlookers and emergency personnel.

You turned your head slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in recognition. They glistened with unshed tears, and the moment your gaze locked onto his, his heart sank further.

“Javi!” you cried, voice trembling as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. The paramedic moved to stabilize you, gently urging you to stay still amid the chaos, but determination spurred Javier on, and all he could think about was reaching you, holding you tightly to assure himself that you were real and alive.

The moment he reached your side, the world around him melted away. He dropped to one knee, his hands trembling slightly as he cradled your face, his thumbs brushing against the wetness of your tears, mingling with the blood.

“¡Está bien! It’s okay. I’m here, Hermosa,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent, trying his best to comfort you despite his own rising fear. “You’re going to be okay.”

The paramedic, a young man with a tight jaw and focused demeanor, looked at Javier, assessing the situation. “Está estable, pero necesita ser evaluada más a fondo en el hospital,” he said, keeping his voice even. She’s stable, but she needs to be checked out further, at the hospital

“Javi,” you murmured, your voice trembling as your hands grasped weakly at his shirt, clinging to him “I thought—I thought I was going to fucking die.”

His heart shattered at the fear that trembled in your voice. He wrapped his arms around you, careful of the injuries, and pulled you close against his chest, feeling your warmth seep through the messiness of the moment. “I’ve got you,” he vowed, lips brushing the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere. Just hold on—”

You groaned quietly, shifting against him. “It hurts,” you whispered, and he nodded, knowing the pain was more than just physical.

“I know it does. Just breathe, alright? Breathe with me,” he murmured, guiding you as he took a deep breath in, then out. “Focus on my voice. I’m right here.”

Javier felt the paramedic’s gentle but firm hands on your shoulder, urging you to sit back for a moment, while he attempted to clean your wounds. The paramedic’s voice was calm, his focus entirely on you as he worked.

“Javi…” you whispered again, desperation creeping into your voice. “Por favor, no me dejes.” Please don’t leave me.

“I’m not going anywhere, Hermosa,” he promised, pulling back just a fraction so that he could see your face. “I’m right here, and I’m not leaving without you. Not ever.”

“I’m so fucking scared…” you admitted, tears streaming freely down your bruised cheeks, shaking as he brushed a thumb over the cut on your forehead.

“I know, but you’re safe now. I won't let anything happen to you. I've got you,” he reassured, feeling the weight of each second pressing against his chest.

The paramedic finished wrapping a bandage around your forehead delicately, and while he was still kneeling beside you, Javier drew in a steadying breath. “They need to take you to the hospital,” he said gently, casting a worried glance toward the paramedic.

You nodded. “Will you come with me?” you asked softly, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt tighter.

“No te dejaré,” he promised. I won’t leave you.

As they began to lift you onto the stretcher, Javier pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if that one touch could shield you from this fucking bad day.

As they wheeled you away, anger coursed through him, fueled by the thought of you being hurt because of the chaos and violence surrounding Colombia. It was all his fault because they hadn’t fucking caught that fucking narco-terrorist yet. He knew that he would kill Pablo Escobar himself if he had the chance to be face-to-face with him.

Fuck protocol, he thought, because that motherfucker had fucked with the one thing that Javier cared the most about in the entire world.

Winter 1993

The cold splash of the New York winter air sent a shiver down your spine as you stood by your apartment window, staring out at the fast-paced city life below. It felt surreal, watching pedestrians shuffle along the street, their breath visible in the chilled air, while your mind was half a world away.

After the explosion, you’d been taken to the hospital for your injuries. It was there that Javier had made sure to stay by your side, he apologized about the fight, anxiety etched in every line of his face as he begged for your forgiveness. You apologized too and told him not to worry about it – but he didn’t accept your apology and told you that you had done nothing wrong. The moment he left the hospital was the moment you felt the tension in the air shift. You wouldn't be staying in Bogotá. You were transferred to another Sofitel property in the United States. You didn’t want to leave, but your parents and siblings begged you to leave Colombia. And you didn’t blame them.

Saying goodbye to all of your friends, staff, Steve, Connie, and especially Javi was probably the hardest thing you ever had to do in your entire life.

You could still vividly recall the day you packed your bags, the way he stood in your doorway, sadness radiating from his form. Packing your belongings had felt like a surreal blur, the reality that you were leaving hitting you hard.

You reached for the remote, and switched on the TV. The familiar faces of news anchors greeted you, but the title of the breaking news segment made you gasp: “Pablo Escobar Captured in Colombia.” The images flashed across the screen—a chaotic scene with alarms blaring, authorities celebrating their long-sought victory, and citizens pouring into the streets of Medellín to cheer.

As the news anchor continued to speak, detailing the significant events surrounding the capture of the Escobar, your attention was drawn to a particular image that froze time in that moment. There, amidst the chaos was a rooftop view, littered with police and military presence, and standing prominently in the foreground was Steve.

A sinking feeling settled deep within you as you squinted at the image, searching for any sign of Javier. Typically by Steve's side, Javier was missing. The more you looked, the more unsettled you became.

Picking up your phone, your heart beat faster as you dialed his number. Each ring felt like a small eternity, your mind racing with thoughts of what to say. When the line finally connected, you mouthed to yourself ‘thank fucking god,’

“Peña,” his deep voice greeted you, and it sent a jolt through your body, alongside the sharp pang of missing him. You could picture him, leaning back in his chair, a cigarette poised between his fingers, brow furrowed with concentration.

“Javi,” you breathed out, unable to keep the joy out of your voice. “You caught him! After all this time—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone turning serious. “It’s finally over,”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Miami right now—U.S. Ambassador sent me out here for some leads. So, I wasn’t there when they caught him,”

The moment the words “I’m in Miami right now” left Javier’s lips, a rush of conflicting emotions coursed through you. Miami—he was just a few hours away.

“Javi, necesito verte,” you blurted out before the rational part of your brain could stop you. Javi, I need to see you. “I’ll fly down. Just tell me where you are.”

His silence on the line felt deafening. “No tienes que hacer eso,” he finally replied, his voice cautionary, almost pained. You don't need to do that. “It’s still not safe, and I don’t want you to get involved with this.”

You felt a flicker of frustration. “You don’t understand. I need to see you. I’ve been worried sick about you for months. You barely ever answer your phone. I can’t wait, Javi. I’ll book the flight right now.”

“Por favor,” he insisted. Please. “Just stay put. Just give me a few days, alright?”

But you couldn’t just sit there any longer, no matter how serious he sounded. “I can’t! I need to see you. You can’t do this to me, not after everything we’ve been through. It’s been so long, and...and when I saw the news—” your voice cracked, emotions bubbling to the surface. “You know what...I’m not asking for permission. I’m telling you I’m coming.”

“Goddammit, you’re still so fucking stubborn,” he sighed, and while there was exasperation in his tone, you couldn’t help but smile.

There was a pause on the line, and you could almost feel him weighing the risks. “Okay,” he finally said, his voice lowering to a whisper. “But promise me you’ll be careful. You can’t tell anyone you’re coming, and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“Lo prometo,” you replied, urgency propelling you to book the flight in record time. I promise.

Hours later, the plane landed with a jolt that stirred your adrenaline. As you walked through the airport terminal, your heart raced, a mix of hope and nervousness bubbling inside you. You stepped through the double doors, scanning the crowd until you spotted him leaning against a column, his silhouette unmistakable, even in the throng of travelers.

Time froze for a beat as your eyes locked. Javier took a long drag from his cigarette, but the moment he caught sight of you, he flicked it to the ground, pushed himself off from the leaning post, rushing toward you, and brought you into his arms for a deep hug. You melted against him, the familiar warmth wrapping around you like a blanket.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered against his shoulder, squeezing him tight, drinking in the scent of him, the realness of him. Tears pricked your eyes as you pulled back slightly to look at him. “You’re safe. I was so scared…”

“I’m okay, especially now that you’re here, Hermosa,” he murmured softly, his eyes searching yours. A tear slipped down your cheek, and he gently brushed it away with his thumb. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he breathed in disbelief, his voice tight with emotion.

“I had to see you,” you insisted, still pulling him close, your heart swelling at the sight of him.

Javier chuckled softly, brushing his fingers through your hair, grounding himself in the moment. “God, I’ve missed you.” The tenderness in his voice made your heart flutter.

“Javi,” you began, tilting your head as you glanced at the discarded cigarette at his feet. “I hope you’re not about to tell me you forgot the promise you made. Because I distinctly remember that charming smile of yours saying you’d toss the cancer sticks the moment Pablo was captured.” Your voice dripped with faux seriousness as you gestured toward the ground to remind him of his drunken promise during a karaoke night a few years ago.

Javier shrugged dramatically. “Only if I got to celebrate with a stiff drink. Seemed fair at the time, don’t you think?”

“A stiff drink, huh? So, one more cigarette for good luck before we get fucked up tonight?” You chuckled, nudging him with your shoulder.

Javier took his pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, glanced at the pack, then back at you. With a resigned chuckle, he stepped over to the nearest trash can, peering inside for a moment before tossing in the pack.

“A promise is a promise,” he said, a playful smirk stretching across his face. He turned back to you, “Now, about that stiff drink…I know just the place.”

“Perfect,” you said, biting your lip to hold back your grin.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, eyes darting around, assessing the bustling crowd. He led you through the terminal, his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers as if he couldn’t bear the thought of losing contact. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental after the distance that had accumulated between you both.

As you weaved through the crowded terminal, fingers intertwined, you noticed a flicker of uncertainty cross Javier’s face. He stopped abruptly, pulling you slightly as he glanced down at your hands in wonder.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice taking on an edge of hesitance as he gently loosened his hold. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be disrespectful –”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, stepping closer and meeting his gaze head-on. “Javi, it’s just a hand. I want to hold your hand,”

“What about your boyfriend?” he asked, concern creeping into his tone.

You stopped short, your mind racing as images of the man you had been seeing flashed by—his charming smile, the way he always seemed to know what to say. On paper, he was wonderful. But the truth lingered uncomfortably; you weren’t in love with him.

“That ended two months ago,” you finally confessed.

His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing, searching your face. “It did?” he asked, bewildered. “Why did you—”

“Because it wasn’t working,” you answered swiftly.

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between you, filled only by the bustle of travelers rushing past. He stared at you, processing what you had said, and something shifted in his expression—a kind of relief, or maybe a dawning realization. His eyes softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased, allowing a breath he seemed to have been holding to escape.

“You want me to hold your hand, Hermosa?” He asked cautiously, as if testing the waters.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady. “I’ve always wanted you to hold my hand.”

Slowly, Javier’s fingers found their way back to yours, and a beautiful smile broke across his face —exposing your favorite dimple.

Spring 1994

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the sprawling ranch in Laredo, Texas. The air was thick with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses as the wedding festivities unfolded around you.

Javi had asked you if you wouldn’t mind being his date to this wedding. He told you that he hated how the town now viewed him as a total hero for catching Escobar — he was too jaded by the brutality he’d witnessed back in Colombia. He didn’t want to deal with the fanfare alone, so he bought you a ticket to Laredo and here you were.   Over the last few days, you got to know his family and friends, each moment filled with laughter and warmth. Javier's father, Chucho, was instantly enamored with you, a broad smile plastered across his face. From the moment you met, he enveloped you in a bear hug that felt almost familial, showering you with compliments and affection that made your cheeks warm.

“Javier has never brought home anyone as beautiful as you,” Chucho exclaimed, his pride evident as he patted his son on the back.

“Pops, stop harassing her,” he said, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, a stark contrast to his typically composed demeanor. His brow furrowed slightly as he cast his eyes down, unable to meet your gaze for a moment.

"Gracias," you replied, a smile pulling at your lips as Chucho extended another welcoming grin stretching across his face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said warmly as he shook your hand. His grip was firm, and you could feel the strength behind it.

"The pleasure's all mine. Thank you for inviting me and letting me stay in the guest room in this beautiful house Mr. Peña," you replied genuinely.

“Please call me Chucho, Mija,” he said lovingly. Chucho's eyes danced between you and his son, a knowing smile appearing on his face as he looked back at Javier. "I’m glad you two had each other in Colombia," he remarked, the words layered with a heavy implication.

Javier chuckled awkwardly, and you could see the tips of his ears turn pink as he fidgeted, rubbing the back of his neck while casting a sideways glance your way.

Tucked away near the edge of the gathering, you watched as Javier animatedly conversed with his ex-fiancée, Lorraine. She was stunning, a tall blonde with cascading waves of hair that framed her face, effortlessly charming everyone around her. It was sort of crazy seeing him with her, realizing that he had almost married someone nearly a decade ago.

As if sensing your gaze, Javier looked over at you and flashed a reassuring smile. It did little to ease the flutter of insecurity roiling in your stomach, even as you reminded yourself of the warm, tender moments you had shared in Miami. Three nights wrapped in his arms, secure and happy—yet still, not even a kiss had passed between you two. You wondered if that absence of intimacy had allowed you to convince yourself that you were simply just meant to be friends. Maybe that was all you could ever be.

You found yourself lost in thought, realizing that maybe you just weren’t Javier’s type. He hadn’t hit on you since the first night he met you. The more you observed, the more your insecurities crept in. Lorraine, with her long legs and radiant smile, was the kind of woman that could effortlessly command a room. She was everything you weren't. You glanced down at your outfit—a simple sundress that highlighted your curves but felt far less glamorous compared to the outfits flaunted by the other women — who had been all over Javier tonight.

As Javier approached the table, wiping his palms on his dress pants, you forced a smile, masking the swirl of emotions that had taken hold of you. The laughter from the surrounding guests faded into a distant hum, and all you could focus on was the way his eyes sparkled with unfiltered joy. He looked good—handsome in a way that made your heart race. He was even more handsome now than when you first met him all those years ago.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, leaning closer, his voice low enough to create a bubble around the two of you.

“I know,” you blurted out before you could think better of it. It took a moment for the gravity of your words to settle, but when it did, he looked confused, eyebrows knitting together as he searched your face for clarity.

“Know what, Hermosa?” he asked.

“About you being asked to go back to Colombia to investigate the Cali Cartel,” you clarified, trying to keep your tone light, but it felt heavy with the implications you hadn’t yet articulated clearly. “Connie told me,”

Javier’s expression shifted, the casual demeanor he had worn all night falling away, replaced by a flicker of something deeper. “Oh,” he said, pursing his lips, taking a quick breath. “Jesus Christ, that fucking hillbilly tells his wife everything.”

"Javi," you started, your voice steady but soft, "I don’t think you should go back to Colombia. Not now. Not after everything you’ve been through." His brow furrowed slightly, but you pressed on, your heart racing. "I mean, you’ve done your part. You’ve fought hard, and you caught the most dangerous man in the world. Enjoy the fucking victory. You deserve a chance to breathe, to create some sense of normalcy for yourself. Hang out with your dad, be here… and just be happy,”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you continued before he could speak. “You’ve been through so much. You need time to recover—to find a life that doesn’t revolve around the chaos of violence. Maybe even find someone who makes you smile, who reminds you that life can be good so that you don’t drag yourself back into that darkness.” As the last words slipped from your lips, you searched his eyes for understanding.

“Just fucking stay, Javi,” you finished, voice trembling slightly.

He was silent for a moment, eyes searching yours. “You really think so?” His voice, low and thoughtful.

“Absolutely,” you said. “You have a chance to build something real—somewhere where you don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder. You deserve that.”

As the words hung between you, Javi’s expression shifted. “You’re right,” he finally admitted, though there was an undercurrent of something else in his tone. “But…” He took a breath, a shadow crossing his face. “I’ve already met someone.”

Your heart sank a little, a jolt of jealousy coursing through you. Perhaps the thought of him moving on caused you more pain than you expected. “Oh,” you managed, forcing an air of indifference into your voice. “In Laredo? Oh my gosh is she here tonight?” you shrieked starting to scan the crowd.

He tilted his head slightly, and taken aback by your reaction, he scoffed incredulously. “No. Not here,” he said, his voice firm but still laced with a hint of playfulness. “I’m talking about someone I met back in Colombia,”

Your brow furrowed with confusion, your mind racing to piece the puzzle together. “Wait, what? Which girl from—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, a glimmer of something—was it amusement?—lighting up his features. “This insanely sexy and feisty girl who drenched me in Sangria at a bonfire once." His eyes were locked on yours with a gentle intensity, and suddenly, the world around you faded into a blur. “I’ve been fucking my fist thinking about her ever since.”

The comment was oh so crude and oh so Javi that a giddy warmth surged through you, a mix of disbelief and joy washing over you until you felt dizzy. “But Javi, you didn’t even try anything in Miami,” you insisted, your voice a confused murmur.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I deserve a fucking medal,” he laughed, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “You were hardly wearing anything at all when we would go to sleep. You didn’t exactly make it easy for me, did you? It made me feel like I was on the verge of exploding.”

You couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Exploding? Really?”

“Yeah. Exploding,” he confirmed. His eyes were fixed on you, steady and sincere, and all you could think about were those nights in Miami.

Nights where you’d tossed and turned just inches from him. You had intentionally chosen the skimpiest of pajamas, fully aware of the effect it could have on him. Each night as you slid into bed beside him, clad in nothing more than your tiny shorts and a loose tank top. You had held your breath, waiting for him to finally take the plunge, to close the space between you and make those nights just a little more than friendly. But Javi never had. Despite the unspoken tension that hung in the air, he just chose to wrap an arm around you and pull you close instead. It was maddening and sweet all at once.

“So, you thought about it?”

Javier smirked, that infamous dimple appearing. “Oh, I thought about it, alright. I thought about it a lot. I’ve been thinking about it since 1989.” The way he leaned closer, his breath tickling your cheek, sent shivers dancing down your spine. “But I was trying to be a gentleman,”

“But you’re not a gentleman,” you teased.

Javier leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow as a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “I figured you weren’t the kind of girl who would appreciate that kind of behavior.”

“Maybe you would’ve been surprised,” you shot back.

“Is that so?” he mused, his tone low and provocative. “Maybe I should have tested that theory.”

Your cheeks warmed, uncertainty lacing through you as you bit your lip. “How about just testing that theory now?”

Javier’s gaze intensified, the playful banter shifting into something thicker, something that hung heavy in the air between you. “Are you sure?” he asked, his tone dropping, “Because if we test that theory, it might change everything.”

“Maybe I want it to change everything,” you admitted softly.

A slow smile crept across his face. “You want to take that risk, huh?” he teased, but there was a seriousness underlying his words. “Because once we start this… I don’t know what’ll happen. I might say something crazy like… I’m so in love with you, Hermosa. It scares me,”

You blinked at him, trying to process his words. Words you think you had always wanted to hear. You thought of all the moments he had been there for you these last 5 years. Every laugh, every secret, every heartbeat flashed through your mind.

“Maybe it’s time to say those things… because I love you too, Javi,” you finally breathed.

Javier stood frozen for a moment. Because… the girl of his dreams, the one he had spent countless hours and years thinking about was standing right before him, confessing that she loved him too.

His heart raced, pounding in his chest as he took a steadying breath, trying to process the overwhelming surge of joy that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t fathom that this moment was real—that you felt the same way about him.

Without thinking, he cupped your face in his palm, brushing his thumb softly across your cheek, the action feeling achingly tender. And then he leaned in, his heart thundering as he closed the distance. Your lips met his, and it was everything he had dreamed of and more. The taste of you was intoxicating, and the way you melted into him felt just right.

As he pulled back slightly, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, he found only warmth, the kind of assurance that settled him at his core. “No to merezco,” I don’t deserve you. 

“None of that,” you replied passionately.

“You have no idea how much you matter to me. Being around you, these past few days has made me realize just how much I want to be here—wherever here might be. I’ll move to New York City tomorrow if you want me there,”

“Just like that?” you asked.

Javier smiled, genuine and breathtaking. “Just like that. I talked to Pops, and I already called the New York Division of the DEA, and they said I could start anytime I want,”

“It can’t possibly be that easy, can it?” you breathed out.

“Who says it can’t be?”

He knew that this decision would change everything. And he wanted it. He wanted to be near you. More than that, he needed to be near you.

You were it for him.

He pictured one day proposing to you. He envisioned one day having a home filled with laughter, perhaps colorful drawings scattered across the fridge, memories created day by day. Javier could see it clearly—small feet padding across hardwood floors, chubby little fingers grasping at his own.

“It can be this easy,” he continued. “Because it’s you and me.”

You bit your lip, contemplating, and Javi could see the gears turning in your mind. His heart raced as he watched you process the gravity of what he was proposing. The prospect of leaving Laredo was daunting, but the thought of staying solely for the sake of familiarity felt even emptier now that he had you.

“Javi, I don’t want you to feel rushed. This needs to be what you want... not just for me.”

“Believe me, it is what I want,” he replied with so much sincerity in my voice.

Your eyes softened, a warm glow lighting up your face as you took a step closer, closing the gap between you both. “You make me nervous, you know that?” you whispered, almost shyly.

Javi chuckled, the sound breaking the tension. “Good. I like making you nervous. It means you feel something,” he murmured, his gaze steady and unwavering, wanting you to know he was serious. “I’m nervous too. But trust me, it’s a good kind of nervous. Dirty thoughts and me imagining bending you over this table kind of nervous.”

“Javi!” you scolded, stifling a laugh. “Pórtate bien.” Behave yourself.

“I can’t help it,” he said, smirking against your ear, “this dress is driving me crazy. Eres una seductora, y lo sabes, atrevida.” You’re a seductress, and you know it, naughty girl.

“¿Ah sí?” Is that right?

Every curve, every line, highlighted your body in a way that was utterly intoxicating, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He reached out, letting his fingers graze your waist, drawing you in, and pressed his mouth against yours again, and he could feel and taste your smile.

Holy fucking shit. You were going to ruin him, and he hadn’t even gotten you naked yet.

Your mouth was perfect, especially that tongue of yours…but he needed more; he craved you, and the tight knot of desire in his stomach refused to let him linger any longer.

He glanced around, the faint sounds of celebration barely registering in his mind. “See that barn over there?” he said, his voice dropping low, pointing at the rustic wooden doors. “I think we can have some fun in there,” he teased, nibbling at your earlobe.

Your eyes widened slightly stirring a thrill within him. “Right now?” you questioned, your tone laced with excitement and disbelief.

“Yes, Hermosa, please let me fuck you… right now,” he begged, hinting at the desperate need burning within him.

“Like I said, you’re not a gentleman,” you replied, sprinkling kisses around his neck.

Javier chuckled, a low hum rumbling in his chest. “No, I’m definitely not,” he agreed, his gaze darkening with lust as his hands drifted down to grab your ass. “but… I promise I’ll make you feel good,”

And he did.

xx

What do we think happened in that barn…?

I think I could have easily made this a 6-part series, one for each year but then I got scared so I settled for writing a longer one-shot instead.

xx

Tagging some moots and Javi girlies: @katiexpunk. @sawymredfox. @kiwisbell. @schnarfer. @javierpena-inatacvest. @notjustjavierpena . @gothcsz @whocaresstillthelouvre . @pedrospatch . @guess-my-next-obsession . @mrsmando . @punkshort . @auteurdelabre . @honeyedmiller . @pedgito . @endlessthxxghts . @javier-pena . @survivingandenduring . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @joelsdagger . @alltheirdamn . @mountainsandmayhem . @luxurychristmaspudding . @northernbluess @lokischocolatefountain . @kedsandtubesocks . @mothandpidgeon . @burntheedges . @guiltyasdave . @bitchesuntitled . @mermaidgirl30 , @604to647 . @sanarsi

This is so stinkin’ sweeeeeeet 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Goodnight Kiss

joel miller x f!reader

Joel’s a good dad. You try to remind him.

warnings/tags: MDNI. pre/no-outbreak!joel miller. babysitter!reader. joel is in his 30s but sarah is a toddler because i said so. reader is in her last year of college; do with that what you will. sickening fluff. some borderline impure thoughts. self-depreciation. praise/comfort. intimacy. single girl dad!joel. overworked man finds solace in a sweet girl. not beta'd & hardly proofread. wc: 1.5k

main masterlist

His keys jingle in the door lock an hour after your shift was intended to end.

You don’t mind. You’re used to this routine by now. He still has the courtesy to text you that he’ll be running late, and he always pays a little extra for the additional hours. You’re only here for the summer, and every penny helps grow the savings fund you’ve been eagerly building before entering the less-than-reliable job market next year.

There is also the matter of your employer himself, and knowing that there are far more deplorable summer jobs than babysitting his sweet daughter.

You’re certain of it, in fact. Because you’ve never known a man quite like Joel Miller.

He’s the most hardworking person you’ve ever met, not only providing for his daughter and himself, but his brother. You’ve only seen Tommy a handful of times, and despite his flaws, Joel remains hopeful that his intervention will prompt a turnaround.

He signs Sarah up for anything and everything she’s willing to try, and somehow, finds a way to get her there on time. He fixes the panels on his elderly neighbor's roof before they’ve even noticed one is loose. Sometimes, he’ll snatch your keys off the counter when he gets home at a reasonable time and tells you to stay put while he fills up your tank because gas ain’t an expense you needa worry about right now.

He’s overworked, underpaid, and still finds it in himself to be kind.

You tuck your bookmark into the pages sprawled out across your lap, rising from the couch to greet him. Sarah’s been in bed since seven, and while Joel has made it clear you’re welcome to the fridge or the TV, you always hesitate to overstep.

You grab your tote off the armrest, slinging it over your shoulder and sliding your book inside before pattering towards the front hallway.

“Hey,” you call softly. He’s toeing off his boots and tossing his keys into the bowl by the door. He gives you a tired, apologetic smile.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough from a long day's work. The low vibration sends goosebumps up your arms which you nonchalantly rub away, hoping he won’t notice.

Joel Miller is also impeccably handsome. Another fine quality you’re certain he fails to notice.

“M’so sorry. I know it’s not fair of me to keep doin’ this to ya. The plumbing guys are not cooperatin’, so I—”

“Joel, it’s fine.” You take another step toward him, the golden porch light illuminating his features through the front window. You tilt your head at him, shrugging your shoulders. “I’ve got nowhere else to be. And besides, I love Sarah. She's such a good kid.”

You watch the rigidity in his shoulders fall, if only a little. He’s looking you over as if he’s the child, and he’s just been caught doing something he’s not supposed to. He shakes his head, muttering something discouraging under his breath. You have the great urge to soothe him.

The feeling is not new nor unfamiliar, but you’re tentative with the actions it threatens to elicit. A million grey lines begging to be crossed.

“Was hopin’ to be back in time to tuck her in,” he sighs, placing a hand on his hip while the other rubs at the tension in his brow. “Been too long since I have.”

You can’t help but smile. Not at the berating of himself or his clear display of stress, but because it’s endearing how much he cares. How blatant his love for his daughter is, whether she’s in the room or not.

“Well, I made sure to give her an extra kiss goodnight to make up for it.”

When he looks at you again, it’s with that same sort of sad, guilt-ridden smile. His appreciation for you cannot make up for the condemnation of himself, and while this would not be the first time Joel Miller confided in you about his shortcomings, you can sense tonight weighs heavier than most.

“Just feel like m’not… doin’ enough, I dunno.” His shoulders rise and fall defeatedly, and he’s shaking his head as if to further scold himself. “Worried she’s gonna grow up to resent me or somethin.’”

That strikes a nerve. You suffocate the strap of your bag with your grip, an attempt to redirect some of the outrage that fills you.

How could he even think such a thing? You know Joel’s a smart man, he can’t possibly be so blind to the things other children lack from their parents—none of which he ever falters on.

Your brows knit low over your eyes, serious. “She will not resent you, Joel. She adores you.” You make a point of emphasis; you want him to hear you, loud and clear. Know that there are things you see from the outside that he doesn’t, that a four-year-old may be far more perceptive than he gives her credit for.

“She talks about you all day,” you continue, and that seems to get his attention. Your heart aches at the tired, hopeful look in his eyes. You wish you could alleviate some of the exhaustion. “Everything we do is can’t wait to show Papa this, or we gotta tell Papa that.”

He chuckles a little, likely somewhat due to your poor impression of the toddler's voice, but you still aren’t convinced your words have sunk in.

You do something a bit uncharacteristic, then. You reach out, take another step forward, and place an honest hand on his forearm. The muscle below your touch is firm and warm, but his eyes that follow the path of your fingers are wildly more intense.

“You’re a good dad,” you tell him, voice dropping to a whisper. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

He blinks, and when he peers at you now, there’s a glint of something different. You’ve seen it before maybe a handful of times, but it’s always fleeting. A shared understanding that whatever it is, there’s never been any time to acknowledge it.

But this time, it lingers. It festers between your bodies that, only now, do you notice how close they have drifted in the already cramped entryway. Who shifted first, or when, matters very little with Joel’s eyes on you, gentle and focused. You see them flicker, once to your hand that still rests upon his skin, another to your eyes, and then your lips. There’s the sound of crickets in the night. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and dust. The sight of his face, all sharp edges and scattered freckles and a furrowed brow, but his eyes. In all the time you’ve know him, they’ve always remained kind.

Your breath catches in your throat when he finally leans in.

He doesn’t reach for you. Instead, he flushes his chest against yours and lets the weight of his lips drive the kiss. Your fingers dig into his forearm for purchase. You can’t say you’re caught off guard, though pleasantly surprised.

There’s an innocence to it, tender and sweet. He lingers for a few long beats, never pushing further than the plush of his lips delicately upon yours, and then releases.

You don’t open your eyes right away, selfishly idling in the newfound thrill a beat longer. You can still taste him—coffee, mint, something sweet. He remains close; you still feel the brush of his lips, the tip of his nose bumping yours, the fanning of his breath.

“M’sorry…” he starts to mutter, and you can tell he’s retracting. Your eyes fly open and your grip on him tightens.

“No, don’t be.”

You have difficulty finding any trace of guilt in his expression, a fact that turns your stomach. An anxious thrill, the precipice of something.

His tongue traces his bottom lip as if he’s trying to salvage another drop of you. A somewhat devious grin breaks out at the corners.

“Had to put it somewhere, I guess.”

You’re all soft chuckles and sheepish smiles after that, and you feel your cheeks heat up with an array of excitement and nervousness. It was one thing to endure Joel Miller and his charm without the prospect of more, but now?

You aren’t sure how you can possibly contain yourself.

A million questions rattle through your mind as you stare at one another, but you notice the time on the wall clock behind him. You’re no stranger to the bags under his eyes, the paleness on his cheeks after a long day, so you set your selfishness aside. After all, you’ll be back in this very spot in a handful of hours.

You swallow hard, slowly releasing his forearm, though your palm aches to remain.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He isn’t subtle about his hesitation. His eyes do an elongated once over of you before he shakes his head, and bites at his lower lip to prevent another laugh from escaping. You have half the mind to yank him back to you by the t-shirt, but digress when he steps around and opens the door for you.

You’re slow in your exit, doing a full one-eighty once your feet are planted on the porch to flash him one more dazzling smile.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You see the dimples cave in his cheek before he quietly closes the door.

“Night, darlin’.”

You can’t seem to fall asleep fast enough.

follow @cavillscurlsupdates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I update!

---

Ahhhh!!!!

This was so fucking good!!!!

Feral Frankie and then sweet Frankie?! YES PLEASE! 😍🫠🥰

A Little Longer

Summary: Frankie promises to give you what you ask for... but only if you can play by the rules of his game

Word Count: 2.4K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, established relationship)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), this is literally porn with no plot WHOOPS, cockwarming, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), cum eating, breeding kink (just really wanting to cum inside- no implications of wanting to get pregnant but use your imagination if you so choose because you know I will🙂 edging, overstimulation (if u squint), praise kink, size kink, feral Frankie, but also sweet soft baby boy Frankie 😭🥺

A/N: Ovulation demons are at it again!!! 🤠 Idk what to tell y'all, this came to me (quite literally whoops) and I couldn't rest until my thots were written down! I know Joel won the voting poll for this one, but honestly it just screams Frankie 😩 Everyone clap for Madeline as she writes something that isn't an explicit pregnancy breeding kink!!!!

Frankie was never the type of guy to spend his Sundays glued to the TV, watching whatever NFL game was on just for the sake of staying up to date on the sports world.

So when you found him in the living room, lounged and sprawled out across your couch with football on in the background, you were sure that now was just as good of a time as any to suggest you spend the rest of your lazy afternoon in a much more enjoyable way for the both of you.

"How much longer until the game is done?" You cooed, crawling into Frankie's lap, straddling your legs across his hips and tracing your fingers up and down the worn cotton of his t-shirt.

"'Bout halfway. Why?" Frankie smirked, the half hard bulge growing in his sweatpants revealing he knew damn well why you had asked.

"Because, I have a game I'd rather play that's much better than football." You teased, leaning down to trail soft kisses along his neck and jaw, subtly grinding your hips down into his.

"Yeah? and what game would that be, quierda?" Frankie's smirk only grew wider, lust pooling in the warmth of his brown eyes as his hands roamed to grope your ass, kneading the plump flesh in his grasp.

"My favorite game. The game where you put your dick inside me."

The two of you couldn't help but giggle despite the palpable tension brewing between you, a desperate and hungry need filling the air as Frankie's grip tightened, feeling you sink your weight over the full blown erection tenting his pants.

"That is a good game," Frankie chuckled, looking up at you with a concentrated furrow in his brow, seeing the gears turn in his mind as his eyes locked with yours. "I'll play. But-"

"But what, Frankie?" You asked, titling your head in confusion at his pause.

"But... We get to play by my rules."

At this point, Frankie's subtle smirk had shifted to a full blown devilish grin, leaving you wondering what kind of ideas he had managed to concoct in regards to your proposal.

"And what rules would those be, Franke?" You mewled, playing along as you traced your fingers along the edge of his waistband, tugging it down just enough to expose the happy trail running down the lower half of his stomach.

"I'll put my dick in you... But I'm not fucking you until the game is done."

You froze in your tracks, the unsure scrunch of your face acting as a silent ask to figure out if Frankie was being serious or not. The sudden shift in the tone of his voice now humming deep in his chest with a hungry desire, made it very clear that his suggestion was more than sure.

"If you want me to fuck you, rules are that you keep me inside you until the game is finished. But you can't move, can't touch yourself, and can't cum 'till I say."

You could already feel the slick starting to pool in the cotton of your underwear from anticipation and excitement, heart pulsing in your chest and cunt at the prospects of Frankie's idea. Because if there was one think Frankie knew about you, it was that you'd never turn down a challenge. And more importantly, you hated losing. So who would you be to deny him a chance to challenge him at his own game?

"You're on, Morales."

It had started off easy- sweet, even- Frankie spooning behind you, gently sliding his cock into your pussy, ass resting against his hips as your bodies melded together, snuggling on the couch.

He had even eased you into it, taking the first part of the 3rd quarter after half time had finished to stretch you out slowly, starting with just the tip notching between your folds and into your heat, sinking himself deeper inside you every few minutes to let you adjust to his size.

Even with how worked up you were, with half of Frankie's length now resting inside you, your confidence in making it another quarter and a half still abiding by Frankie's rules didn't seem too far out of reach.

But then again, you weren't expecting Frankie to play dirty, either.

Suddenly, Frankie was foregoing his subtle pace, trailing hot, wet kisses along your neck as he pushed himself fully inside you, filling you to the brim as his tip nestled against your cervix. A pathetic whimper escaped from your parted lips, catching your breath while your pussy pulsed around his length, feeling Frankie's smug grin pressed against your shoulder between his kisses.

"Oh f-fuck, Frankie!" You moaned, the sweet sting of his stretch already making your eyes roll to the back of your head, trying with everything in you to keep yourself composed.

"There ya go, princesa. Tight little pussy always takes me so well, doesn't she?" Frankie cooed almost mockingly, the hot breath of his words dancing against your skin between sucking at your pulse point. "Gotta relax, baby girl. Still have a ways to go before the game's over."

You took a long inhale in, glancing at the game clock in the bottom corner of the TV frame, finding the small box that read "3rd Quarter- 6:37" and doing some quick calculations in your head.

6 minutes left of this quarter and 15 minutes in the next. Plus game breaks and commercials? You could pull yourself together enough to make it through that without falling apart? Can't be that much longer, right?

For the average person watching football, you were right.

But to you, with Frankie's cock buried in your pussy, painstakingly teasing you to the point of near tears, you were convinced that you were watching the longest football game ever played in the history of mankind.

After sinking his full length to your hilt, Frankie had become relentless. It started off just like he had before, the intensity of his teasing amping up little by little with each minute that passed.

It began with the kisses on your neck, slowing trailing up and down your warm skin, whispering sweet praises into your ear. The tickle of the scratchy hairs from his beard making you shiver in delight, wishing it was buried between your legs, scratching the inside of your thighs as he ate you out instead of your neck.

Next, came his hands, palms that were once innocently splayed across your stomach now reaching under your shirt to palm at your breasts, kneading the soft flesh in his grasp, fingertips gently rolling your pebbled nipples, tweaking the hard buds with just enough pressure that his other hand was holding your hips firmly in place to keep you from grinding against him and taking any more than he gave you.

If both of those weren't enough, the final straw was when the hand lazily groping at your breasts snaked down your front, finding its way to your clit, puffy and aching from its time spent untouched while Frankie's cock lay stiff and full inside you.

At this point, you were absolutely soaked, every inch of your bottom half drenched in your arousal as you leaked around Frankie's length, the pads of his fingers sliding over your sensitive and slippery bundle of nerves with unspeakable ease. Even though he had barley but any pressure over your clit, just the ghosting of his fingertips was enough to make you sob, desperate to chase your high after what felt like hours of Frankie teasing you with his cock.

"Oh my god, F-frankie, fuck- please, baby. P-please touch me." You begged, pathetically whimpering as his fingers traced through your drenched folds, his strong grip holding your hips in place to keep you from pushing your ass deeper into his hips for some sort of relief.

"Shhhhhh, I know, baby. But you can't cum yet, remember? If I touch you, you gotta be a good girl and follow the rules of the game." Frankie smirked, teasing you as his fingers lazily collected your slick, purposefully circling them everywhere but your clit.

"I won't, I promise, p-please, Frankie. P-please."

Giving into your plea, Frankie dragged his fingers up your cunt, making you cry out as he finally began to rub slow circles against your throbbing bundle of nerves, the mix of temporary relief and painful ache to cum making you clamp down around Frankie's cock, wetness gushing from your core.

It was taking everything in you to fight the urge to collapse, biting down so hard on your lip you were convinced it might bleed as you felt the pleasure begin to build in you. Unfortunately for you, Frankie had spent enough time memorizing every twitch and tug of your body beneath his that he knew your tell tale signs, pulling his fingers away to the sounds of your ragged moans.

"Frankie, n-no, fuck- please, baby. I need more, pleasepleaseplease."

"Fuck, you're so pretty when you beg. I know, quierda, but not yet. There's still 4 minutes left in the game. 4 minutes left and then I'll fuck you. Fuck you with my tounge, my cock, I'll make you cum so many times you won't be able to walk straight. But not until this tight little pussy is so wet and ready for me that she can take everything I have to give."

With the way Frankie's filthy mouth was spewing, he might as well be fucking into you at full force, his words shooting straight to your core, fingers digging into your couch cushions for any sort of relief you could get.

"F-Frankieeeee-" His name was the only thing your mind could comprehend enough to get out, practically panting as the sheen of sweat began to dampen your forehead.

"You're doing so good for me, baby girl. I know you can take it." Frankie praised, scooping his hand under your jaw to turn your face towards him, cradling your cheeks in his grasp to force your lips to his, colliding mouths muffling the moans escaping from you.

You were practically drunk off pleasure at this point, trying your best to fight off a dizzying high as you watched the clock wind down at a painstaking pace, your heart skipping a beat as you saw the clock shift to count down from only one minute left.

"Less than a minute left, Hermosa. Think you can make it?" Frankie cooed, his fingers creeping back down to circle your clit, sending a jolt through your body as he rubbed at the slippery and soaked bundle of nerves.

The best you could do was nod your head, too far gone for any words as your cunt clamped tighter and tighter around him, so wet that you were more than positive you'd be cleaning stains of your puddles of slick out of your couch tomorrow.

Looking back at the TV, you were down to 12 seconds left, the winning team already celebrating their inevitable victory, hoping that it would be enough for Frankie to give in and finally fuck you.

"F-fuck me, Fransisco, please. Please, baby, wanna cum around your cock so bad." You whined at a pathetic pitch, pleading with Frankie to give you what you had been so desperate for.

You could hear the sigh of relief as the game clock finally wound down to :00, sensing an immediate shift in Frankie's demeanor as the game came to a close.

"Oh thank fuck this game is done." Frankie groaned, flipping you over onto your back and caging his body over yours, colliding your mouths in a messy dance of tongues and teeth.

While he may not have said it, Frankie was just as wound up as you, the warm and wet walls of your cunt soaking him for the better part of an hour driving him absolutely feral, using every ounce of self-restraint to keep from accepting defeat at his own game.

"Wanted to fuck you so bad, quierda. Do you know how hard it was not to give into you, baby? Not to hear those pretty moans and not fuck this perfect pussy. You did so good for me, so good that I'm gonna fuck you until you're begging me to stop. Gonna fill you up so full of me, I'll be dripping out of you for days."

Frankie sat back, throwing your legs over the width of his broad shoulders, leaning into you so that your thighs pressed against your stomach, stretching you open even further than you thought you could as he began to punch into you at a punishing pace.

His cock rammed against your g-spot, the sounds wet squelching from his length dragging in and out of your soaking heat, balls slapping against your ass and lewd moans had your living room sounding like it was straight out of a porn scene

"Fuckfuckfuck- Frankie- don't stop, baby. Don't stop." You sobbed, Frankie barley 10 strokes in before you could feel the coil in your belly beginning to tighten, so worked up from waiting for this moment that you were about to cum embarrassingly fast.

"Not gonna stop, hermosa. Lemme feel it, baby. Did so good for me. Cum all over my cock. Wanna feel you soak me. Wanna feel you before I fuck myself so deep inside of you."

“Ohmygod- oh Frankie, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It only took a few more strokes and the curly hairs at the base of his shaft rubbing against your clit to send you over the edge, your pent up orgasm crashing through you so hard, you were conviced that you were levitating in pure ecstasy. Every inch of your body was trembling with pleasure, gushing around Frankie’s cock as you came, your velvety walls choking his length as he relentlessly continued to fuck into you, ready to chase his own high.

“That’s my good girl. Let go, baby. Cum all over me. Fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good.” Frankie groaned, admiring you as you rode out your orgasm, jaw slack and mouth hanging open in a perfect “O”, your glossed over eyes and blissed out expression finding a way to drive him even more wild.

Reaching between your legs, Frankie’s fingers found your clit, making you cry out from how sensitive you still were, barely finished cumming before he was already on his way to doing it again.

“Frankie, it’s too- fuck- too much. Oh my god, shit-“ you sobbed, wrapping your fingers around his biceps, his muscles flexing in your grasp as you tried to brace yourself.

“I know you can take it, Hermosa. Need to give you one more. Please, let me give you one more.”

“I- fuck- I c-can’t.” But despite your half hearted protest, you and Frankie both knew that you were already half way to reaching your high again, coil in your stomach tightening with each punch against your g-spot and rub of his fingers on your throbbing bundle of nerves.

"You can, baby girl, I know you can. Can feel how close you are again- so fucking wet and tight, fuck- Give me one more and I'm gonna fill you so fucking full of me- watch my cum leak out of your tight little pussy 'till I can fuck it back into you again, keep you inside me for days." Frankie moaned, his pace now becoming more frantic and sloppy with each thrust, fighting with everything in him to keep from finishing before you did once more.

The combination of the feral thoughts that Frankie found himself spewing, along with the overwhelming and all consuming pleasure was all you needed to tip you over the edge again, this orgasm even more intense than the last. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, sobbing and crying out Frankie's name like a broken prayer, body practically going limp as pure bliss overtook you.

"Oh shit- Fuck, you're so good to me, quierda. Feels so fucking good. Fuck, I'm gonna cum too- mierda- give you everything I have, gonna-ahhhhh! Fuck!"

Just like that, Frankie was spilling inside you, hips stuttering with one final thrust as he painted your walls with hot, thick ropes of his spend, balls drawing up into his stomach while he milked himself of every last drop he had to give.

Through heavy breaths and gritted teeth, Frankie carefully pulled out his softening cock, sitting back on his heels to watch the mix of your spend begin to drip out of your hole, awestruck but the wet and shiny mess between your thighs, pussy puffy, swollen and leaking with him.

But for just as animalistic as it made Frankie to watch his cum seep out of your spent cunt, there was an even more primitive part of him that need to make sure that you stayed full of him, to mark his territory inside of you.

Shifting to lay on his stomach, Frankie kept your legs slung over his shoulders, pushing your thighs to your chest to spread you open, watching more of his seed dribble out of your pussy. With a satisfied groan rumbling deep in his chest, Frankie stuck out his tongue, swiping it up to collect the warm mixture of your arousal before pushing it back into your heat, gently fucking you with his mouth as you whined and writhed beneath him.

Once he was satisfied with his cum stuffed back inside you, Frankie couldn't help but look up at you with the most satisfied smirk spread across his face, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up to trap your body beneath his, resting his weight on top of you with his head nestled between your breasts, big brown puppy dog eyes staring up at you.

"Are you okay, baby?" He cooed, reaching up to gently stroke your cheek, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin. "It wasn't too much, was it?"

"No, it was amazing, Frankie." You smiled, reaching down to run your fingers through the messy curls of his sweat-ridden hair, heart swelling with how quickly Frankie had flipped the switch from assertive to soft and sweet. "We should watch football like that more often."

"Baby, if this is how you wanna watch football, I won't let us miss another fucking game the rest of this season."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

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@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

---

Yep. Yep. Yep. I wouldn’t be able to resist him

🤯🫠

What red flags?!

jealous possessive javi?

💖

tags: f!reader, smut, javi cheats on you, unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction but be safe irl), fingering, angst, jealous and possessive javi, unbeta'd, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx. ~ 5.1k w/c / gif cred

a/n: toxic!javi stans, this is for us 🙂‍↕️ kat keep your writings short challenge (FAILED) hope you like this my sweet anon 🖤

You’ve been broken up for ten weeks now. Two months and ten agonizing days. Every minute since has felt like a slow burn, as if each breath without him is a reminder of the emptiness he left behind. You thought you’d have been over him by now— Javier Peña wasn’t supposed to have this kind of hold on you, not after everything he did.

Not after you walked into his office that night, a surprise dinner in hand, only to find him fucking his secretary. The image still sears behind your eyes— the slick, desperate way they moved together while you stood frozen in the doorway, a witness to your own heartbreak.

The signs had always been there, even from the first date. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on the waitress or how he’d get that restless look in his eyes when you weren’t around. But damn, he had a way of making you feel like you were the only one.

Like every glance, every touch, was meant for you and you alone. He had a gift for making you feel special, all while hiding his cock’s insatiable appetite behind a charming smile.

Now, you feel raw, like maybe it was your fault. Maybe you weren’t enough to keep him satisfied. Maybe you didn’t do enough in bed, didn’t keep his interest, didn’t hold onto him like you should have. The betrayal made you feel small, made you question every moment, every kiss, every whispered promise. It should’ve made walking away easier, catching him like that. It should’ve been enough to erase him from your mind. But it wasn’t.

And it’s taken this long— two months and ten days— of wallowing, of replaying the betrayal, to finally push you out of your haze. Tonight, something shifts. Your friend set you up with someone from her work, and after much prodding, you said yes.

Tonight, you’ve decided to put yourself back out there. Maybe if you let someone else touch you, if you let someone else in, you’ll finally be able to push Javier out of your mind for good.

It’s been radio silence ever since. After you caught him in his office, the scene unfolded like something out of a bad movie. His face went from shock to panic in a split second, scrambling to pull up his pants, stumbling over excuses. “She meant nothing,” he stammered, running after you with that flustered, desperate look. “It was a mistake!” But you didn’t stop, didn’t even give him a second glance. You barely held back the tears as you hurled the containers of food at him, the dinner you’d lovingly prepared splattering down the hallway, leaving a messy trail as you stormed toward the stairwell. No way in hell were you waiting for the elevator. Six flights of stairs felt like nothing compared to the pit in your stomach, and the thought of giving him even one more second to sweet talk you back into his web made you sick.

You blocked him on everything the minute you got home. Packed a bag with the essentials and bolted to your cousin’s place, where you spent weeks crying yourself to sleep on her couch. Not a single call. Not a text. Not that he could, since you blocked him on every possible avenue. But even then, he didn’t try. Not a knock on the door, not a surprise visit. You realized in those sleepless nights that he’d never really bothered to get close to anyone in your life. Another red flag you had stupidly painted green, thinking he was the man of your dreams.

So when you finally pull yourself together, forcing yourself out of that dark pit of misery and agreeing to this blind date at the bar, you’re in higher spirits. You’re ready to move on— or at least try. But of course, life has a twisted sense of humor. Because the last person you expect to see sitting at the bar, laughing with another woman like nothing happened, is Javier fucking Peña.

You’d recognize that broad, infuriatingly beautiful frame anywhere. He stands out like a sore thumb, even in the dim lighting. Broad shoulders, lean muscles, and the biggest mistake of your life. The shittiest man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. And yet, the sight of him still makes your chest tighten, reminding you just how much you let him get away with.

You almost suggest to your date that you should hit up a different bar, something far across town, anywhere but here. But no, you catch yourself. You’re done letting your ex dictate your life, done letting him take up space in your head. You’ve shed too many tears over that man, and tonight isn’t going to be another chapter in the same pathetic story.

At first, he doesn’t even notice you. Of course, his attention is fully on the woman he’s with— some gorgeous thing with legs for days and a face that belongs on a magazine cover. It stings, that familiar twinge of jealousy creeping in. You can’t help it, especially when you know he’s always going to have a pretty girl on his arm.

It’s not until your date excuses himself to use the restroom that Javier’s dark, smoldering eyes finally land on you. And what does he do when your gazes meet? He fucking smirks. That slow, deliberate smirk that used to make your knees weak. He throws in a wink for good measure, casually bringing his short glass up to his lips, taking his time with a sip as if he hasn’t just shattered your evening. His eyes linger on you, tracing every inch of your body, undressing you from across the room without so much as a word.

You shift in your seat, heart pounding in your chest as you quickly turn away, forcing your focus on some random sports game playing on the big screen nearby. But even with your eyes elsewhere, you can feel it— the weight of his stare crawling down your neck, tracing the line of your plunging neckline. Of course he’s looking. Tonight is the night you pulled out the dress— the one kept tucked away for special occasions, the revenge dress.

Every girl has one. The one that hugs in all the right places, the one you save for when you need to remind the world, and yourself, exactly what you’re made of.

And while your date had all but drooled when you stepped out in it, there’s no denying the heat in Javier’s gaze from across the bar. You don’t have to look at him to know what he’s thinking— he’s already imagining that dress crumpled on his bedroom floor.

Your date returns from the restroom, noticeably tipsier and much more handsy than when he left. His touch is bold, his fingers possessive, and you revel in it.

You lean into the attention, letting him pull you closer, putting on a little show for the audience you know is watching. Javier might think he’s the only one who knows how to have fun, but you’re going to make sure he sees just how wrong he is.

Your date’s hands wander over your body— grabbing at your ass, pulling you into him by your hips. He leans in, hot breath against your ear, whispering all the filthy things he’s planning to do to you in the back of his car.

He doesn’t even want to wait until you’re back at your place. He’s desperate, and though you hesitate for a second— things are moving a lot faster than you planned— you can feel Javier’s eyes burning into the back of your skull. His relentless glare pushes you forward, stirring something reckless inside of you.

So, you let it happen. You let this guy press his body into yours, his hands traveling, voice dripping with lust, promising you things he probably won’t even remember tomorrow. But in the heat of the moment, you don’t care. It’s not about him, really. It’s about you. About knowing that Javier’s watching every second of this, hating every second of this, and that’s enough to fuel you.

The next thing you know, you’re outside in the alley behind the bar, lips locked like horny teenagers. His mouth is on your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot that makes your knees weak, and despite yourself, you let out a soft moan.

His fingers slip beneath your panties, fumbling as they rub at your clit, off-rhythm and sloppy. But right now, that doesn’t even matter. What matters is that someone else is touching you. Someone else is making you feel something other than loneliness and anger.

Suddenly, he’s ripped off you, and the cool air rushes in where his body had been pressed against yours. Your eyes snap open, and there he is—Javier, seething with rage, his hand gripping your date by the collar. The force with which he slams him into the brick wall makes your heart lurch.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout, the shock sobering you up fast as you yank down the hem of your dress, covering yourself as best as you can. Anger surges through you, hot and wild. Your hands tremble as you take in the scene— Javier’s knuckles white against your date’s shirt, his face a mask of pure fury.

Javier’s voice is low, dangerous, a growl vibrating from his chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are, touching what’s mine?”

The laugh that bursts out of you is involuntary, bitter, filled with disbelief. His?! Your mind spins. After everything he’s done, after the way he broke you, he still has the audacity to act like you belong to him? Like you’re some possession he can claim when it suits him?

“She didn’t tell me she was seeing anyone,” your date stammers, already backing down, and you want to scream. Men used to go to war. Now, they cower when a bigger man steps in.

You feel an irrational surge of anger, not just at Javier but at this pathetic display of submission.

“Because I’m not,” you spit, stomping over to where Javier has your date pinned against the wall. You shove at Javier’s arm, trying to break his grip, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. You forgot how strong he is, how solid. His presence alone feels suffocating, like a storm rolling in and swallowing all the air around you.

Javier’s eyes flick toward you for a split second before turning back to the man trembling in his grasp. “You come near her again, and I’ll shoot your fucking knees out. You hear me? She doesn’t need a limp dick motherfucker like you putting your filthy fucking hands on her.” His words are a snarl, dripping with venom, and you can see the terror in your date’s eyes, his resolve crumbling as fast as it appeared.

It’s brief, but, you think your date might actually muster the courage to stand his ground. However, Javier’s patience snaps, and before you can react, he drives his knee into the guy’s groin with brutal precision. The man lets out a strangled whimper, doubling over in pain, and Javier finally releases him.

You gasp, hand flying to your mouth, watching in disbelief.

“Understood?” Javier’s voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

Your date nods frantically, both hands clutching his crotch as he stumbles away, all but sprinting out of the alley like a scared animal. The sound of his hurried footsteps fades, leaving you and Javier alone in the dim light.

Your fury boils over, fists clenching at your sides. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Peña,” you snap, marching up to him and shoving at his chest with every ounce of strength you can summon. But he doesn’t budge. He stands there, unshakable, like the damn tower of arrogance he’s always been.

“Ruining my date, acting like you have some claim over me. I’m not yours anymore!”

Javier’s dark eyes are locked on you, tracing your every movement, burning a path from your heaving chest to your flushed cheeks. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze alone sends a shiver down your spine.

It’s not just anger in those eyes. It’s something else, something that has always made your pulse quicken. The intensity of it makes your breath hitch, even though you’re trying your hardest to stay mad, to stay strong.

You push him again, but it feels like pushing against stone. “You think you can just show up, intimidate some guy, and suddenly I’m yours again? That’s not how this works you asshole.”

He says nothing, his chest rising and falling as he watches you, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he leans in, his voice low and rough. “So I’m just supposed to hang back and watch you practically fuck that guy in front of everyone?”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, the way his voice drops to that familiar, dangerous rumble that used to make your knees weak. But you force yourself to stand firm, to remind yourself that you’re mad— furious, even.

You won’t let him have this kind of power over you again. You can’t.

“Go to hell, Javier,” you snap, shoving him one last time before stepping back, your heart hammering in your chest.

But even as you say it, you feel the pull, that magnetic force that’s always existed between the two of you. And as much as you want to hate him, you can’t deny that part of you still burns for him, still aches for the way he used to make you feel.

“Chiquita,” he drawls, sending shivers down your spine. “You can’t talk to me all angry like that, looking this fucking good, and expect me not to want to push you up against that wall and fuck you like you need.”

Your jaw drops, your brain scrambling for a response, but nothing comes out. His words hit you like a slap, bold and filthy, and despite yourself, heat shoots straight to your cunt. You curse under your breath, hating how your body betrays you.

“Y-You—” you stammer, but you can’t even string a sentence together. And that’s all it takes for him to smirk, that infuriating, knowing smirk that tells you he still has that effect on you.

“You’ve got that girl in there,” you snap, voice trembling even as you try to hold your ground. “Your secretary, and probably half the goddamn city, waiting to spread their legs for you. Not me. Not anymore.”

But even as you say it, your voice falters. The truth you’re trying to convince yourself of feels thin, weak in the face of his presence. He takes a step closer, and instinctively, you take a step back.

“Still hung up on that?” He shakes his head, almost amused. “C’mon, baby, I told you. She was a mistake. She came onto me.”

Another step forward. Another step back.

You can’t believe he’s really doing this— feeding you the same tired excuses. But then again, you can. This is exactly what men like Javier Peña do.

They lie, they cheat, and they make you feel like you’re the one being unreasonable.

“Bullshit someone else, Peña,” your voice shakes again, betraying you. “I’m done with you.”

But he keeps advancing, every step pushing you back until your spine hits the cold, rough brick of the alley wall. You curse under your breath, ready to slip past him, to get out of here before he does something you can’t walk away from. But he moves faster, caging you in with his hands planted on either side of your head.

“I’m not bullshitting,” he murmurs as he leans in close. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, and despite every ounce of willpower, your body reacts.

His dark brown eyes burn into you, their intensity pulling you under. “She meant nothing. Pussy wasn’t even half as good as yours. Couldn’t even compare.” His nose brushes the side of your face, and you know he’s inhaling the scent of your perfume— the one he always loved.

“Javier…” you try to protest, but your resolve crumbles with each passing second. His hand finds your waist, slowly trailing up the length of your body, fingertips grazing your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. Your breath hitches, and you hate yourself for it.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, his voice softer now. His palm comes up to cup your breast, kneading it gently, and your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the familiar touch that your body still craves, even if your mind is screaming at you to stop.

“You’re a liar,” you breathe, barely managing to get the words out as his fingers tease your hardened nipple through the fabric of your dress.

Before you can react, his other hand moves with lightning speed, wrapping firmly around your throat. He squeezes just enough to tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes is undeniable.

“Don’t say that,” he growls. His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make your pulse quicken under his palm. “Do you know how much it fucking hurt to see another man touching you the way I did? Huh?” He leans in, his lips hovering near your ear as his breath tickles your skin. “You can be so inconsiderate sometimes, cariño.”

Your heart races in your chest, caught between anger and arousal. You should push him away, should scream at him, but the way he’s looking at you— like you’re the only thing that matters in the world— makes it impossible to move.

You open your mouth to speak, but his grip around your throat tightens just enough to rob you of breath, silencing whatever retort you had.

“Letting him put his hands on you like that…” he scoffs, his dark eyes scanning your face as if daring you to deny it. “Touching up on my pretty pussy like he had the fucking right. Like he could handle what’s mine. Even if you had fucked him, we both know he wouldn’t have left you all sore and throbbing the way I do. Wouldn’t have made you wet enough to take his small cock. You’d have to fake it. And for what? To try and make me jealous?”

His words are cutting, sinful, and despite your anger, you feel the way your arousal smears against the fabric of your underwear.

The twisted satisfaction in his voice, the way his grip tightens then loosens just enough for you to breathe— he knows exactly how to break you down, how to remind you that no one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“It seems like it worked,” you manage to gasp out, your voice a rasp as you gulp in air. “You came out here all pissed at the thought that someone else could make me feel better than you ever did.”

That’s what does it. His control snaps.

In an instant, his lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss. It’s rough, possessive, and desperate. His tongue invades your mouth, demanding and unapologetic, as if he’s punishing you for even thinking someone else could replace him.

His hand, the one that had been so firmly on your throat, moves to grope your breast, squeezing you roughly. You moan against his mouth, your body reacting on instinct, traitorous in its desire for him.

“Esos ruidos tan bonitos. Solo para mí.” He murmurs when he pulls back just enough to speak, a string of spit still connecting your mouths. His voice is low, vibrating with dark satisfaction. “Si alguien está mintiendo aquí, eres tú, chiquita.”

His words swirl in your head as you gasp for breath, but before you can form a coherent thought, his hand is already sliding down your body. His fingers trail down your waist, lingering at the hem of your dress before slipping underneath. You let out a sharp gasp, biting down on your lip as his fingers find your soaked panties.

It all happens so fast after that. The hunger between you ignites like a flame catching gasoline. The intensity of the kiss deepens, all teeth and tongues. His possessive touch makes you writhe beneath him, your body yielding even as your mind fights to hold on to some shred of dignity.

“Look at you,” he breathes against your lips, his voice dripping with desire. “Moaning for me. You always do, don’t you?”

“Javier…” You try to protest, but your words are swallowed by another moan as his fingers slip inside your panties, brushing against your throbbing clit.

“Shh, baby. Let me remind you what you’ve been missing,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers begin to stroke you. His movements are deliberate, knowing exactly how to play your body, how to coax those helpless little noises from your throat. “God, you’re so fucking wet. All for me. Always for me.”

You gasp his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as his fingers slide inside you, curling just right. The tension in your body melts, replaced with a rush of heat that pools between your thighs. Your mind blanks, lost in the feel of him— his hand working you over, his mouth pressing hot kisses to your neck.

“You mean everything to me,” he whispers into your ear, his voice ragged as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the slick sound filling the alley. “This tight little pussy? She was made for me. Feels like heaven around my fingers. Imagine how good she’ll feel wrapped around my cock, huh?”

Your body trembles, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pressure inside you builds with each thrust of his fingers. You know you shouldn’t be here, pinned against a wall, letting this man who shattered your heart pull you apart like this.

But God, his touch is addictive. His possessive words ignite every part of you.

“Say it,” he growls, his fingers curling deeper, hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Javier…” Your voice is barely a whisper, your resolve crumbling with each passing second as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

“Say it baby,” he demands, his breath hot against your skin as his thumb presses against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. “Tell me I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.”

“No,” you gasp, using every ounce of willpower to bring your hand down, gripping his wrist, halting the delicious rhythm of his fingers inside you.

His fingers still, his breath heavy against your skin as you lock eyes with him, summoning every shred of confidence through the haze of lust clouding your mind. “You tell me that. Tell me I’m the only one who drives you this crazy.”

The tension crackles between you, thick and electric. Your chest heaves, heart racing as his dark eyes search yours.

He groans, leaning in, his lips brushing yours with a desperate hunger. “You are,” he breathes, but it’s not enough.

You can’t help but smirk, your pussy clenching around his fingers just to tease him, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Say it like you mean it, Javier,” you demand, fueled by the fire burning between your thighs. “You broke my fucking heart, and if you think you’re going to fuck me tonight, you’re going to admit it. Tell me I did everything right. That you are the one who’s hurting. Tell me how much you miss this pussy. How you crave her on your tongue, how you miss fucking her in your bed.”

His eyes drown in lust at your command. His fingers twitch inside you, but he doesn’t move yet. Instead, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze head-on, staring straight into your soul, his breath ragged and uneven.

It’s a battle of wills, and for a second, you think you’ve won.

“I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he purrs, and finally, his fingers begin to move again, slow and deliberate, a tantalizing rhythm that sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. “Sorry for hurting you so bad you felt the need to find another dick to hop on.” His thumb presses against your clit, making your hips buck involuntarily as you gasp at the sensation. “I fucked up. You deserve better.”

His words are laced with apology, but his actions? Pure, selfish desire. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your toes curl. Your head falls back against the brick wall, eyes fluttering closed as a ragged moan escapes your lips.

“But I’m too selfish to let you go,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and husky. “I need you, baby. Miss how sweet you taste, how tight you feel.”

Javier’s mouth is on your neck then, his tongue darting out to lick at the damp skin, tasting the salt of your sweat as his fingers continue their relentless assault. Each stroke brings you closer to the edge, and it’s intoxicating— how easily he can unravel you, how effortlessly he pulls you apart.

Your body feels weightless, high on him, and with each praise, each filthy promise that falls from his lips, you’re hurtling toward your release. His thumb circles your clit faster now, his fingers curling deeper, and you can’t hold it back any longer.

“Javier!” you cry out, your walls clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you, making your body tremble. Your moans fill the alleyway, breathless and raw, and as you come undone, his mouth crashes into yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

He swallows your moans as he undoes his belt with one hand, his fingers never leaving you until the last possible second. Before you even have time to catch your breath, he’s lifting you off the ground, and instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist.

You barely have time to gasp before he’s thrusting inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, brutal motion.

“Oh fuck!” you exclaim, your arms flying around his neck as he starts to pound into you, his thrusts deep and punishing. The sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping against skin, echoes in the narrow alley. Every thrust pushes you further up the wall, and you clutch onto him for dear life as he fucks you hard, like a man possessed.

“Feels so good, baby,” he growls into your ear, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you relentlessly. “Only I can fuck you like this. Only I can make you scream.”

And you do scream, pleasure and frustration mixing together as you meet his punishing thrusts, your body moving on instinct, chasing the high that only Javier can give you.

“You feel that, pretty girl?” His voice is a low rasp in your ear, thick with need, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your core. “This—this is how I fuck what’s mine. No one else can make you feel like this. Admit it.”

His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he drives into you, deeper, rougher. It’s brutal how good he feels, how perfectly his cock stretches and fills you, like your body was made for him.

You hate him, hate that he can still make you feel this fucking good, but your body betrays you, responding to his every touch, clenching around him as if to hold him there forever.

“I—” you stutter, breathless, eyes crossing as the sensations drown out your thoughts. His cock is relentless, pushing you toward the edge again, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips. “I—God, I hate you…”

But it sounds hollow, even to your own ears. The truth is you can’t resist him, never could. He knows exactly how to break you apart, and you despise how much you crave him, how much you need this despite the pain he’s brought you.

Javier chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your neck. “No, you don’t. You love this. You love the way I make you feel.” His lips brush the shell of your ear, biting down on your lobe. “And I love the way you fall apart for me. Just me.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out as he thrusts harder, faster. You can feel the pressure building inside you again, tightening with every stroke, every whispered promise of what he’ll do to you.

It’s almost too much, the way he claims you, body and soul. And the worst part? You’re letting him. You want him to.

“Say it,” he demands, his pace quickening, hips slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll feel it for days. His lips find yours again, his kiss angry and claiming. “Say you’re mine.”

You shake your head, gasping, fighting against the overwhelming pleasure threatening to consume you. “Javier—”

“Say it,” he growls, his voice rough and insistent as he reaches between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. He circles it with precision, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body, pushing you closer to the brink.

“Fuck!” You cry out, the intensity of his touch stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body is on fire, trembling, and you know you’re about to shatter beneath him. “I—I’m yours…”

The words tumble from your lips in a desperate whisper, and the moment they do, it’s like something snaps inside him. His thrusts become brutal, animalistic, and your world narrows down to the feel of him— his cock, his hands, his lips, all of it overwhelming you, driving you toward that final, devastating release.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now come for me.”

And with that, you do. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, crashing through your body with a force that leaves you breathless. Your walls clench tight around him, your moans loud and unrestrained as you come undone in his arms, shaking and trembling.

Javier groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he follows you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a low, primal grunt. His body shudders against yours, his grip on you tightening as he rides out his release.

The world is still. All you can hear is the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your heart as you both come down from the high. You’re pressed against him, his forehead resting against yours, the intensity of the moment hanging in the air between you.

But as the haze of pleasure fades, reality starts creeping back in.

You push him away, your palms flat against his chest, but he doesn’t move, if anything, he tightens his hold on you.

His brown eyes still linger on yours, filled with the same possessiveness that’s always been there.

“I told you,” he murmurs, voice low, as if this moment has proven everything he wanted to. “You’re mine.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @bitchesuntitled . @angiewatson .

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

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EVERY. DAMN. TIME.

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Nothing like getting to your psychiatrist appointment 5 minutes late then having a breakdown at the beginning of your appointment.

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