Narcos Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

Anything For You

Click here for my masterlist.

Click here to add yourself to my taglist.

Prompts -  “Shh. Stay here and don’t make a sound no matter what you hear. I’ll come back for you when it’s over.” & “You shoot anyone who walks through that door who isn’t me, you hear?”  

Javier knew it wasn’t a good idea to bring you along. He should have just waited for Steve, or better yet he should have kept his mouth shut and followed his lead himself. Instead he had been ordered to bring you along, he knew damn well it was to keep him in line, he was known to play fast and loose with the rules, it was the main reason you had been assigned to the case with him and Steve.

It wasn’t even that he didn’t like you, he did, he really did and wasn’t that part of the problem. You were the first person he’d met down here that made him want to give up his life of lonely nights and prostitutes, the first person he’d actually let in. Nothing had happened between the two of you much as Javier wished it would but he knew he liked you, he cared about you and wanted to do everything he could to keep you safe.

So having you walk into one of Escobar’s apparent abandoned safe houses wasn’t exactly filling him with joy. It set him on edge and he felt like he couldn’t focus properly, ever since you’d walked through the door he’d had one eye on the room and one eye on you. It made it damn near impossible to look for anything useful.

“Are you sure this place is abandoned?” You asked as you lifted up a newspaper and frowned down at it.

“My source seemed pretty sure.” He told you but frowned with you, trusting you and your senses more than any of his informants. “Why?”

“This is yesterday’s paper.” You said, holding it up to him so he could read the date on it. “Your source tell you exactly when they left?”

“He seemed to think they left in a hurry but no, no he didn’t say when.” Javier said and his frown deepened as he looked around the room.

“Something about this place doesn’t feel abandoned.” You told him and he nodded without looking at you, knowing that as bad as he wanted to keep you safe he had a job to do.

The two of you made your way through the safe house, frowns firmly in place as more and more evidence piled up to suggest that the place wasn’t as abandoned as you’d been led to believe. You questioned just how trustworthy Javier’s informant was and he swore to you their information was usually good, it had never been wrong before.

“Maybe Escobar figured there was a rat.” You suggested and Javier’s eyebrows knitted together, his guy wasn’t too close to Escobar but he was close enough that Escobar knew who he was.

Just as Javier was about to say something the roar of more than one engine could be heard from outside and you and Javier’s head shot around to face each other, your wide eyes staring back at him as he desperately tried to come up with a plan but he couldn’t see any way out.

You were stuck in here.

“Fuck.” Javier cursed as the engines cut off and seconds later the door you and Javier had come through opened and shut.

“Javi,” You started but cut yourself off as he stepped closer to you and cupped your cheek, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours.

“You trust me?” He asked and you didn’t even need a second to think before you nodded against him, murmuring a soft yes that had Javier’s lips pulling into a smile despite the situation. “Good girl, stay here, I’ll be back soon.”

“Javi, no-” You protested in a whisper but Javier had already made his mind up. His job was to protect you, his purpose was to make sure you were safe. What happened to him didn’t matter, not when your life was in danger.

“Shh. Stay here and don’t make a sound no matter what you hear. I’ll come back for you when it’s over.” He told you and looked into your wide, watery eyes as you shook your head. “Hey, you gotta trust me baby.”

Javier watched as you took a deep, steadying breath and even as your bottom lip trembled you nodded and he kept his smile in place, trying to be brave for the both of you even as the place was filled with God only knew how many of Escobar’s men.

“That’s my girl.” Javier said and watched your lips twitch upwards slightly.

He pulled away far enough so that he could place a soft kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger against you for a few seconds longer, savouring the feeling of you against him and hoping like hell he had the chance to see you again.

When he pulled away his hand went down to his gun, taking the safety off as he made his way to the door. You watched as he moved to leave, a tear sliding down your cheek as every part of you wanted to follow him out of the room.

“You shoot anyone who walks through that door who isn’t me, you hear?” Javier ordered and you took another steadying breath and nodded, pulling your own gun out. “That’s it, baby. Keep quiet and stay in here, yeah?” Again you nodded and with that Javier left the room, shutting the door silently behind him.

The house was painfully silent for a long couple of moments, your chest hurting as you practically stopped breathing to listen out for Javier. You flinched violently when you heard gunshots ringing out, too many to count and every part of you screamed to go out there and help Javier.

You couldn’t though, he had told you to stay hidden and you just needed to trust that he had this, that he could get the upper hand. Your stomach churned as you waited though, knowing that, whilst Javier wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in them especially when your safety was at risk, Escobar’s men were ruthless.

You just had to trust Javier. He was good with the gun, he knew what he was doing.

He would be ok.

The sound of gunshots seemed to last for hours when really it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before the house filled with silence. You held your breath again, waiting for any sign of life but when the house stayed silent you took a step towards the door with a feeling of dread.

Then you heard a thud before footsteps started to make their way towards the door. You took two steps back and held your gun tighter in your hands, hoping like hell it was Javier on the other side.

The seconds between hearing somebody grab the door knob and the door opening were tense and you let out a sharp breath of relief as Javier practically fell through the door. You noticed the blood covering him and ran over to him just in time to catch him, struggling to keep his weight up as you tried to find a wound.

“I’m alright,” Javier tried to assure you through gritted teeth and you just shook your head. “S’not all mine.”

“C’mon,” you said as you wrapped your arms around him more securely and practically dragged him out of the room, knowing you needed to get out of here. “We gotta get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Javier protested, stopping abruptly causing you to stumble and Javier to nearly fall to the ground, letting out a pained curse as he did. “No hospital.”

You didn’t argue with him, knew there was no time for that, so instead you nodded and repositioned your arms so you could help him to the car. It took longer than you would have liked but eventually you were driving away from the safehouse before any more of Escobar’s men had the chance to show up.

Javier had you drive to the apartment complex, he knew he couldn’t risk the two of you walking into a hospital, if Escobar was looking for the two of you then the staff under him wouldn’t hesitate to report two Americans walking in.

He gritted his teeth and leaned most of his weight onto you as the pair of you struggled up the stairs and into his apartment before you helped him onto the couch where he dropped onto it none too gently, letting out a hiss of pain as he did.

“Let me see.” You demanded, trying to keep your voice from shaking but Javier knew you better than anyone and could see how scared you were no matter how well you tried to hide it.

“I’m alright, baby.” Javier tried to reassure you again, his tone breathy as he tried to push the pain down.

You shook your head and knelt down in front of him, a sight Javier would have drank down any other time but right now his side ached in pain and it was taking all his strength to keep calm in front of you. Your hands came up to his blood stained shirt and pulled it up, murmuring a soft, distracted apology as he winced.

Your eyes immediately went to the wound on his side, a bullet had skimmed his skin, deep enough that he would definitely need stitches but thankfully the bullet had gone clean across his skin so there was no need to deal with it lodged in him.

“You need a hospital, Javi.” You told him, this time you weren’t able to stop the shake in your voice as you looked up at him and saw his head tilted to the side like he no longer had the strength to hold it up and his eyes drooped closed. “Hey! Don’t even think about sleeping.”

“No hospital, baby, can’t protect you right now.” Javier slurred out and you felt your own panic rise as you thought through your options. No hospital, Steve wasn’t in his apartment and Javier wouldn’t trust anyone in his right now.

You were going to have to patch him up yourself, a great idea if you actually knew what you were doing.

“Ok, ok, no hospital but you have to work with me, Javi, ok? You can’t sleep, I’ll be right back but you gotta stay awake for me.” You told him, moving to stand up and get Javier’s first aid kit, knowing it would be fully stocked with everything you needed.

“Do anything for you, baby.” Javier breathed out and despite yourself you couldn’t help but smile before moving around his apartment.

It didn’t take you long to come back to Javier’s side with everything you thought you needed and frowned at Javier’s closed eyes.

“Hey, you gotta wake up.” You told him whilst you gently shook his shoulder, watching as a lazy smile spread across his face and he forced his eyes open to look over at you.

“M’awake baby.” He promised you and you smiled back as you picked the soaked rag up and gently wiped over the wound, apologising as Javier winced and moaned. Once the wound was cleaned you rooted through the first aid kit and quickly found a needle and thread, wincing yourself as you pierced his skin to patch him up.

Your stomach turned at the sight but you knew you had to do this, so after taking a steadying breath you continued to make your way up the wound, finding it easier to breathe when the blood stopped coming out dangerously fast. Your hands were shaking as you tied the thread off after piercing the needle through the wound one last time before you sat back on your heels with a deep sigh.

“That’s my girl.” Javier said and you let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob really, Javier’s hand coming up to slowly rest on your cheek to pull you closer to him.

You went willingly until your head rested against his shoulder and he moved his forehead to rest against yours, his thumb brushing across your cheek bone. You leaned into the touch, suddenly feeling as exhausted as Javier looked and Javier shifted slightly to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead that had your eyes filling with tears.

He was ok.

“You did good, you’re alright.” Javier assured, feeling your tears on his hand and you pulled away from him slightly, just far enough to look at him properly. “Hey, you’re alright, you’re safe.”

“Javi, you were shot.” You told him, he had been shot and here he was still making sure you were ok. “You were shot and you should have let me help you.”

“You did help me, you fixed me up-” Javier started but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“You should have let me help you back in the house.” You protested and watched as Javier's face softened as he looked at you. “You got shot because you wanted to keep me safe but what if I was with-”

“Baby, if you were out there with me,” Javier interrupted you, pausing to wince as he sat up and you helped him into a sitting position. “If you were out there with me I promise you I’d be worse off.”

“But I could have protected you.” You told him and a smile spread across his face.

“Y/N, there were four guys with huge guns who didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger and I got away with a little scratch. If you were out there with me it would have been worse because I’d have been so focused on you I wouldn’t have been able to protect you properly.”

You were silent after that and Javier watched you process his words, he never wanted you to think he didn’t think you weren’t capable, he’d seen you out in the field and knew you could handle yourself but in a situation where you were outnumbered by, at the time, who knew how many men, Javier had to make a decision and he was always going to choose to put himself in danger before he let anything happened to you.

“Hey,” he said softly as he nudged your knee with his, “it’s been a shit day, let’s just go to bed.”

He watched as your eyebrows knitted together before you looked from him to his bedroom door and seemed to melt as the tension fell from you and you nodded, standing first so you could help Javier up.

Javier winced at the pain in his side but it was bearable enough that he could also focus on how good it felt to have you pressed up against him. It didn’t take long before you got to the bedroom and you set Javier down gently before he told you that you could wear one of his shirts.

You didn’t hesitate to grab one you knew well, it wasn’t anything special just a simple dark green shirt but it was well worn and smelt like Javier, it felt like being enveloped by the man. You left the bathroom and watched as Javier’s face shifted from a wince of pain into a soft smile that spread across his face and you couldn’t stop yourself smiling back.

This was how it was supposed to be, you and Javier coming home together, climbing into bed with each other where Javier could wrap his arms around and pull you into his chest. The two of you should have this and now that Javier had had a taste of you pressed up against him he knew he was done for, he knew there were no more excuses about why he couldn’t ask you out, knew he couldn’t go back to nights filled with prostitutes to mask the loneliness he felt.

This was how it was meant to be, you and him together, with hopefully less blood and needles, but the two of you together in a home that was your own.

__________

Javier Peña Taglist (Click the link in my bio to add yourself!) -

@mandomover​​, @paintlavillered​​, @myguiltypleasures21​​, @alexxavicry​​, @sirachaee​​, @bubsonnobx​​, @punkpirate82​​, @bookfrog242​​, @shadowheads-shitshow​​, @pedritoswife​​, @little-diable​​, @nashja​​, @avengersfan25​ 

Thank you so much for reading!❤️‍🔥

Learning to Live Masterlist

| Main Masterlist | Crossposted on AO3 |

summery: While grocery shopping, you happen across a handsome man confused by some produce. Coming to his aid leads to an invitation for drinks, and next thing you know, you’re falling head over heels for Javier Peña—a good man who has trouble believing he is.

Sparks fly when you meet and ignite an insatiable need that you both try to fight for the sake of taking things slow; Javi determined to do things right by you. The problem is, the two of you only have so much self-control.

Post-Colombia and Narcos S3, Story Starts in June 1998.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

warnings: Smut (18+!! in almost every chapter), Soft Javier Peña (it’s still Javi, so when he fucks, he fucks), no y/n, most chapters alternating pov, meet-cute, first dates, language, fluff, Javi is tired and trying his best, feelings, sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, Javier being a consent king, Javier being really into getting his partner off, Javier getting the love and happiness he deserves, whirlwind romance, romantic comedy. each part will have its own warnings.

Updated: July 3, 2023

Smut marked with **

Main Story:

Part 1: You Met in a Grocery Store**

Part 2: Dinner at His Favorite Restaurant

Part 3: His Past Haunts Him**

Part 4: Finally****

Part 5: Holding You in His Arms**

Part 6: The Night Has to End**

Part 7: An Interlude: A Relaxing Morning**

Part 8: Going to the Farmers Market**

Part 9: Let’s Go to the Mall**

Part 10: He Missed You**

Part 11: I’ve Got You**

Part 12: An Interlude: Waking Up Before Him**

Part 13: To the Ranch**

Part 14: (Almost) Naked in the Hayloft**

Part 15: Memory**

Part 16: He Loves You**

Part 17: Home is Whenever He's With You**

Part 18: The Domesticity**

Part 19: He's So Pretty**

Part 20: La Familia de Él Te Adora (His Family Adores You)**

Part 21: He's Taking You to Paradise (Metaphorically)**

Part 22: Día de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead)**

Part 23: Colombia (Part One)**

Part 24**

Part 25**

Part 26**

Part 27**

Part 28**

Part 29**

Part 30**

Epilogue

My outline contains 20 parts + an epilogue. There’s a possibility the chapter count may increase to keep them reasonable lengths. The current number is an estimate for what’s remaining.

One Shots:

(In chronological order)

Anything - Period Sex**

Interruption**

Cows in the Kitchen

Needy**

Massage**

Birthday**

Concerned**

Holiday Card

Christmas Sweater

All I Want For Christmas Is You**

Cow Scare

Priorities**

Baby Names

Anniversary**

Puppy Dog Eyes

Extras:

Learning to Live Spotify Playlist

(If you have any song suggestions let me know!)

Side Characters Location Layouts

Moodboard by @muffinengineer86

Whatta Man Music Video by @enjoyourlattebitch

Javier & Cielito Commissioned Art by @miranhas-art

Dancing in the Kitchen by @bunnelbie

Drink Inspired by Cielito created by @iamskyereads

Ch. 15 Scene Gifs by @pedropascalsx

Ch. 1 Fanart Javi w/tomato by @cremarcvds

Asks:

Timeline Chapters 1-23

Headcanons

Javi’s Horrible Sex Experiences HCs

Domestic Javi Headcanons

Why Javier is NOT a womanizer

Cielito’s Nursing Background

Javier’s First Late Night Confession

Are They Religious?

Yours for the Weekend. {Javier Pena x F! Reader}

Summary: Javier returns to Laredo for a Long Weekend after being informed by HR he must use up his paid time off.

Warnings: A little angst, age-gap dynamic, kissing, nothing sexual in this chapter but marked explicit for future chapters. Reader has no physical descriptions.

Word Count: 3.2k

Chapter: 1 of 3.

A/N: Had this idea yesterday and wasn’t able to put it down. A huge thank you to the amazing @frannyzooey​​ for editing, making the most helpful suggestions and being an incredible cheerleader. I am super grateful for you!

Keep reading

More Than Just Friends (Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Just Friends

Summary: When your date goes south and you call Javi to the rescue, you have no choice but to come to terms with how you really feel about him—how you feel about each other.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18 + Only Minors DNI. Reader is bilingual, but no race or ethnicity is mentioned. There is also a moment she gets carried by Javi, I apologize but it just fit the scene. I know, but I promise there are no specific descriptions of appearance, minus that she is femme. Attempted sexual assault on reader, but she saves herself, brief scenes of violence (reader doesn’t get hurt, she does the hurting). Angst. SMUT. Oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up folks) pet names both in English and Spanish, praise, reader asks Javi to finish inside of her (not sorry). Fluff, some comedic moments too. There’s a lot, so apologies if I missed anything. Translations at the end. I apologize, this was a lot more Spanish heavy than I intended!

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: This only took me like two months? lmao. Idk the first part did so unexpectedly well that I kept on psyching myself out for this second part. But you know what, everyone has been so kind about wanting a second part, and not to mention very patient with me. I wanted to pay a lot of homage to the first part while also making this it’s own thing and diving deeper for these two? Idk. That made more sense in my brain. I hope everyone who read Just Friends likes the conclusion! 🤍

You ended up choosing the scarlet red minidress.

The one that Javier had said he’d liked the best.

That was the dress you’d decided to wear out for a date with another man—another man that you still planned on sleeping with tonight.

Another man who wasn’t Javier Peña.

You stood in front of the full length mirror running both of your hands down the front of your dress to smooth out a couple of wrinkles that you’d missed while going over the fabric with the hand steamer; however, with the amount of skin peeking through the diamond shaped cutouts in the sides, chances of anyone even noticing a wrinkle or two were slim to none. After checking your hair and make up one last time, you slipped on a pair of nude pumps and reached for the gold clutch on your dresser—you’d only managed to cram the essentials into it. Pesos for the cab there and back, along with extra bills in case of an emergency, a tube of cherry scented lip gloss, a compact mirror, a pack of mint gum and a set of keys to the apartment, copies that Javi sent out to have made when you’d first moved in.

“Oh, I forgot earrings,” You mumbled. Putting your clutch back down, you rummaged around through a tangled mess of jewelry until you found your pair of small gold hoops. You slipped them on and then turned around to face the mirror again for one last glance before it was time to head out. Your fingers fussed with your hair, smoothing down a couple of stubborn strands that refused to stay in place. You tried, almost painfully, to ignore the heavy, sinking feeling that had been lingering in your chest, but it only intensified, worsening with every second that ticked on by and the time to head out drew closer.

You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.

Javier’s voice echoed in your mind, causing you to exhale sharply, as if someone’s fist had driven into your stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs.

For as much as you had tried to erase the memory of what happened earlier, it was impossible. It was all that you could think about, even as you readied and dolled yourself up in preparation to fuck some other man whose name you couldn’t even seem to remember anymore—Daniel? Or was it David?

You didn’t know. And you didn’t care to know.

Javier Peña was all that you could think about.

How his lips molded so perfectly to your own.

How your body seemed to fit right in his hands.

How every part of you ached for more of him.

So, so much more of him.

It was as if the two of you had been made for each other. Being in Javier’s arms had felt so natural, as natural as the air you breathed.

“Get a fucking grip,” You muttered to yourself. The logical side of you struggled to keep you grounded in reality, the thread it held you by was far too thin, so breakable that you were just one single thought away from canceling the date and marching out of your bedroom to find Javi to finish what he’d gone off and started with his stupid lesson.

You’d had a taste and that taste had been lethal.

You wanted him more than anything, but it was far too risky. 

Javier Peña was your work partner.

More important than that, he was your friend. 

The two of you were just friends. 

Then again, friends weren’t supposed to know the way each other’s kisses tasted and friends weren’t supposed to make you soak and ruin your panties, either. Friends didn’t leave you longing to be filled up, your tight walls begging to be streched.

“I see you took my opinion into consideration.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of Javier standing in the doorway with a glass of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in his opposite hand, pinched in between his fingers.

Lifting your chin, you replied in the steadiest voice you could possibly muster. “I did.” You paused and crossed your arms over your chest. “Peña, can you please not smoke in my bedroom? I’ve worked too damn hard to keep it from smelling like an ashtray like the rest of the apartment.”

Javi took a long, slow drag and exhaled the smoke through parted lips, purposefully blowing it over in your direction. “I’m not in your bedroom—I’m over here by the door. Besides, last time I checked, this was my apartment and I can smoke where I damn well please.” He took another drag, his dark brown eyes slowly tracing over the curves of your body in a once over. It stung him a little, knowing you were wearing that dress out on a date. The thought of it ending up on the floor of some twat lawyer’s hotel room by the end of the night only made it sting so much harder than he cared to admit. He exhaled a second cloud of smoke over his shoulder and then brought his bourbon to his lips, taking a sip before he murmured the compliment out over the rim of his glass. “Te ves tan hermosa, mi muñequita.”

Heat burned at the back of your neck. “Thank you, Peña,” You mumbled in response.

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

“You’re not really going to put me on a permanent last name basis again, are you?” Javi couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you shift from one heel to the other, squirming under his gaze. “It took me six fucking months just to move off of it when you and I first started working together on the job.” He drained the rest of his liquor in one swallow before flicking the last bit of his cigarette into his glass. It made a soft sizzling sound as the lit end touched a cube of half melted ice at the bottom. “What did I do to warrant such a harsh punishment?”

You glared at him. “Don’t act stupid, Javier.”

He feigned innocence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cariño.”

Your knees wobbled slightly as Javi walked further into your bedroom. He came up to you and placed his glass on the dresser right next to your clutch.

“If something’s on your mind—”

You were quick, too quick, to cut him off.

“That can’t happen ever again, Javier. Alright?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Nothing happened.”

“We kissed each other, Peña. You made me co—”

You stopped abruptly, your face growing hot.

Javi raised an eyebrow. “I made you what?”

You made me come.

Averting your eyes, they fell down to the floor. But Javier was having none of it. He hooked one of his index fingers underneath your chin and tilted it up gingerly, coaxing your gaze to meet his. “What did I make you do?” he asked, his breath fanning right over your slightly parted lips. “Hmm?”

Your knees threatened to buckle. “You know.”

His finger lightly trailed along your jawline.

“I want to hear you say it out loud, baby girl. I need to hear you say it. What did I make you do?”

Javi snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and momentarily rendering you speechless.

“Well?” he prompted after a minute.

“Javi, please,” You breathed out. “Don’t do this.”

His nose skimmed your cheek. “Don’t do what?”

He had to feel how hard your heart was pounding.

“I don’t know what sick, twisted, little game you’re playing at right now but it needs to stop—”

Javier softly kissed the corner of your mouth. “I’m confused, who said anything about playing games here?” His fingers grazed along a patch of smooth skin through one of the cutouts in your dress. “I’m just waiting for you to answer my question. That’s all. What did I make you do?”

“How much scotch have you had to drink, Peña?”

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re implying.”

You placed both hands lightly on his hard chest. “I need you to let me go,” You managed to tell him. It was the opposite of what you really wanted, but at least one of you needed to keep a level head and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. He might have been telling the truth about not being drunk, but it was obvious he was impaired to an extent, enough to lead him into making a huge mistake. “I have to leave, the cab I called should be pulling up soon. It might even be outside already.” You pushed Javier back gently, but firmly, prompting him to hold you even tighter against him. “What are you doing?”

“No te vayas. No te vayas con el.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“You heard me. Don’t go.”

“Javier. Please, you have to let go of me—”

“Quedate conmigo.”

His request was tempting, much too tempting.

“I want you and you want me,” Javi reasoned. “We shouldn’t fight it—we don’t have to fight this.”

Sighing, you fiddled with one of the buttons on his khaki colored shirt. “Think about it,” You said, your own desires becoming harder to suppress. “Really think about it, Peña. With your head, not with your dick. Is fucking me worth risking losing this job? If Messina finds out, she’ll reassign one of us and we both know whose ass she’s going to send packing. It sure as hell won’t be mine. Is that risk worth it to you?” You challenged him. “After all that work that you’ve put into catching Escobar, and dismantling the most dangerous cartel in South America?”

He didn’t even miss a beat. “Yes.”

You frowned at him. “Seriously, Javier?”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Messina won’t know! She hasn’t even figured out that we have been living together for the last eight or nine months,” he reminded you, grinning. “So it might be safe to say we know how to keep secrets from our boss, hermosa.” He drew you even closer to him, his biceps flexing against the short sleeves of his shirt. “No one is getting reassigned, okay?”

“Okay. Well let me ask you something else, then.”

He dropped his head, pressing a kiss to your neck, followed by another and then another. “What?” He hummed, the word vibrating over your pulse point.

You ignored the heat growing in your lower belly.

“Is fucking me worth risking our friendship?”

Javier froze for split second, then dropped his arm from around your waist and stepped back, looking at you with an equal mixture of guilt and shame. It was a simple, fair question but somehow it felt like you’d just slapped him across the face—it sobered him up quicker than a cold shower ever could. Javi took another step or two backwards, touching one of his large hands to the back of his burning neck.

“No,” he answered, his voice strained. “It isn’t.”

Your expression softened slightly. “Javi—”

He held up his other hand to stop you. “No. Don’t.”

You tried again. “I just said that to make a point.”

“Well, you made it,” Javier remarked, quietly.

He almost sounded wounded. And his eyes?

Glazed over with dejection like you’d never seen.

“Peña,” You groaned. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. “Like what?”

“Like you’re a puppy whose tail I just stepped on!”

Outside, you heard the gravel crunching under the tires of an approaching car and you hoped it was a neighbor pulling up and not the cab you’d called.

You couldn’t leave, not without patching things up with Javi first.

He was far more important than some date.

Javier smiled wryly. “I just feel like a fucking dick. I don’t want you to think I’m willing to throw out our friendship for a piece of ass,” he admitted. “I know I don’t have the best track record with the way I’ve treated women before. But you? You’re not like the girls that I’m always bringing home. You’re not like them at all and you need to know that.”

You almost laughed. “Because I’m not a whore?”

“Because I actually feel something for you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Stomach dropping into your panties, you stared at him almost as if you were waiting for a punchline.

There had to be a punchline.

Javier Peña didn’t do feelings.

Right?

The sound of loud honking outside shattered right through the silence that had fallen over the two of you.

He peeked outside the window, his jaw clenching.

“There’s that cab you called to come pick you up.”

You swallowed harshly. “Javi—” You stopped as he strode up to you. Your throat bobbed again. “Javi.”

Javier leaned down, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Have a good time, muñeca. And don’t worry.” He paused for a second then added, “I won’t wait up.”

The bitterness in his tone was subtle, but present.

Before you could say anything, he spun around on the heel of his boot and left your bedroom.

For the second time that day, he left you there in a state of complete shock.

Diego.

That was his name.

Fortunately, you’d remembered it by the time he’d greeted you in the dimly lit bar of the upscale, four star hotel his firm had set him up with in Bogotá.

He was nice enough.

Handsome. Charming. Successful.

He was the whole package and judging by the way several other women sitting in the bar were ogling, it was apparent that they thought so too.

Diego seemed to be the perfect man, the kind you would consider dating if it hadn’t been for the fact that he would only be in the country for a few days for business. Well, there was that and the fact that you had another man on the brain, a man who had been consuming your thoughts all evening—Peña.

Javier Peña.

His confession continued to bounce around inside of your skull, echoing over and over again.

Because I actually feel something for you.

“Are you alright?”

You blinked, lightly shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, did you just say something to me?”

Diego laughed. “I asked if you were alright.” He sat beside you in the booth, the scent of his expensive designer cologne filling your senses as he slid over to be closer to you. “You seem a bit distracted.”

You glanced down into your lemon drop martini.

“I’m so sorry,” You apologized, sheepishly.

“Is everything alright?”

“I just have work on my mind,” You fibbed. “What I do, it can be hard to leave at the door, you know?”

“Oh, trust me. I know that all too well.” Diego put a hand on your thigh, his fingers tugging playfully at the hem of your minidress. “I think I know a way to get your mind off of things. How’s about we go up to my suite, sweetheart?”

That was the last thing you fucking wanted.

“Sure,” You squeaked out without thinking.

Grinning, Diego stood up and held out his hand.

You took it, allowing him to lead you out of the bar and into the lobby towards the elevators. The both of you boarded one with another couple—but they got off on the third floor. You squinted to see what floor Diego had punched into the number panel.

Your stomach churned. He was on the tenth floor.

Diego turned to you. “Can I have a little kiss?”

“Mhm,” You forced out in reply.

He leaned down, pressing his mouth against yours as his hands found your waist to pull you close. He was a little bit rougher than you had anticipated. It felt off. It felt wrong.

Cold. Passionless. Suffocating.

It was nothing like Javier’s kiss.

The elevator came to a stop at the tenth floor, the doors pulling open with a soft dinging sound.

Diego grabbed your hand, nearly dragging you out of the elevator. He pulled you down the long, quiet hallway towards the door of his executive suite. He produced a single key from the pocket of his black suit jacket with his opposite hand, using it to open the door. Before you could even think, he’d shoved you inside, practically throwing you up against the door as soon as he closed it. He ripped your clutch out of your hand, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Diego, wait a minute—”

He crashed his mouth onto yours, cutting you off.

His hands immediately went around you, fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

“Diego,” You mumbled, your heart pounding as he just about swallowed your face whole. You planted your hands on his chest, trying to push him off. He tore his mouth away from yours, moving it to your neck. “Diego, wait. Stop—”

“God, you’re the most beautiful fucking woman.”

His hands were everywhere you didn’t want them.

Your hips, your breasts, your ass.

Yanking, palming, grabbing.

“Diego, please! Can you just stop for a minute?”

He pinned you against the door. “Don’t be coy!”

“I said stop—”

You gasped, feeling him slide his hand underneath the hem of your dress and between your legs. You felt him cup you through your panties and brought one of your six inch heels down, stomping his foot so hard it almost went through his dress shoe. You took advantage the minute he stepped backwards and brought back a curled first, connecting it with the side of his jaw so hard that you busted his lip.

Diego staggered back further. “What the fuck!” he growled, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “What’s the matter with you, you stupid little bitch?”

“I said stop and you didn’t.” Your voice trembled in a mix of anger and fear. “I’m leaving now.”

Drawing himself back up to full height, he reached for your arm. “You’re not going anywhere!” he said as he slammed you against the door again. “What, do you think I’m fucking afraid of you just because you’re some glorified cop?” He sneered at you. He held you up by the throat with one hand, while the other hand tore off the straps of your dress. “Here, let me show you exactly why women don’t fucking belong in law enforcement.” He pulled up the hem of your dress and then went for his belt buckle.

You clawed at his hand around your throat, sinking your nails into his wrist hard enough to break skin.

Somehow, with enough thrashing and wriggling in his grasp, you managed slide out from underneath him—he’d been caught so off guard he didn’t even have time to think about what was coming next.

Grabbing two fistfuls of his suit jacket, you yanked him down so he was bending over.

Simultaneously, you brought one of your knees up and drove it into Diego’s nose with such force that the sickening sound of it shattering filled the suite. He fell to the floor, clutching his face as he cried in agony.

Whirling around, your shaking hands fumbled with the brass door knob until you managed to throw it open. You ran out and down the long hallway—not wanting to wait around for the elevator, you chose to take the stairwell instead. Kicking off your heels and leaving them behind, you flew down the metal stairs taking two steps at a time. There was a door at the bottom of the stairwell that you assumed to be the door that led to the hotel lobby. Instead the door led to the street behind the hotel.

At least now you didn’t have to explain to the hotel owner that you had broken the nose of one of their guests.

You ran down the street, going as fast as your legs could carry you towards a familiar bodega you and Murphy had visited before a handful of times—the owner, Mateo, kept the shop open late and he had gotten to know you and Murphy whenever the two of you were in need of late night, stakeout coffee.

“Mateo!” You cried out, zooming through the door of the bodega. Rushing up to the counter, you saw the older man sitting behind the register watching one of his usual evening telenovelas.

He looked up at you, jumping to his feet.

“Señorita! Qué le pasó? Estás bien?”

“Puedo usar su teléfono, por favor?”

“Por supuesto que sí.”

Mateo pulled his phone from under the counter.

“Gracias.” You dialed the apartment’s landline into the base and picked up the handset, bringing it up to your ear as the line started to ring. “Please Javi, be home. Please be home. Please be home. Please be home—”

“Hello?” Javier answered on the fifth ring.

He sounded confused and you didn’t blame him.

It was the middle of the night, after all.

“Peña, it’s me.” Your voice wavered. “I need you.”

You could practically feel the way he’d stiffened on the other end of the line.

“What did the fuck did he do?” he demanded.

“Peña, please. Can you just come and get me?”

Javier didn’t even hesitate.

“Tell me where you are and I’ll be right there.”

Javier jumped out of his Jeep Wrangler, his hands clenched into fists as he stormed into the bodega.

He looked around the shop frantically.

“Mateo, dónde está?” he questioned the owner.

“Los pasteles.” He pointed towards an aisle closer to the back of the shop near the ice cream freezer.

He nodded and followed his direction.

“Muñeca,” Javier breathed out in relief the second that he saw you standing there in the aisle with an array of packaged Marinela pastries in your hands. He rushed up to you and took your face gingerly in between his large palms, taking a look at you. Javi managed to keep a calm and collected composure for the sake of not making things any worse, but it would be short lived and he knew that—he felt the anger boiling underneath his skin, bubbling hot in his veins when he realized just how poor of a state you were in. The straps of your dress were torn off, your high heels were missing and so was your bag. Your eyes were bright red, brimming with tears he could see you trying your hardest to hold back. He let his hands fall from your face and shrugged out of his tan colored jacket, quickly draping it around your shoulders as he asked, “Estás lastimada?”

You shook your head. “No, Peña. I’m not hurt.”

He had never heard you speak in a voice so small.

Javier stepped back. “Tell me where he’s staying,” he demanded, furiously. “Tell me right now! Which hotel is this motherfucker staying at?”

“That’s not necessary. I handled him myself.”

“Tell me which fucking hotel so I can kill him—”

Finally, a tear slipped down the side of your face.

It nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He had never seen you cry before, either.

“Javi, please,” You pleaded in a whisper. “Please. It isn’t even worth it, alright? I just want to buy these cakes and then I want you to take me home where I can put on my pajamas and eat them in peace. Is that too much to fucking ask for?”

Javier immediately softened. “Of course not. Here give me those.” He took the cakes from you in one hand and grabbed your hand with his other, lacing your fingers together as he led the way over to the counter. As soon as Mateo finished ringing up and bagging the pasties, Javi dropped a twenty on the counter; he had pulled out the bill from the pocket of his jeans. “Quédese con el cambio.”

Mateo reached underneath the counter and pulled out a small paper bag, sliding it across the counter to Javier. “Para la señorita,” he stated with a small and subtle nod of his head. “Para sus nervios.”

“Gracias, jefe.” Javier thanked him and placed the paper bag into the plastic one before picking it up, sliding the handles over his forearm. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Let’s get you home, querida.”

He led you outside to his Wrangler, opening up the passenger door. Javier gave you a slight boost and helped you into the slightly lifted vehicle. After you were all buckled in, he shut the door and made his way around to the driver’s side, climbing in.

Putting the plastic bag in the backseat, Javi pulled out his keys but made no move to start the Jeep.

“Cariño—”

“Peña. Please. Don’t.” You choked out the words.

He’d already seen you shed one tear.

You would be damned if you let him see another.

Javier sighed out in defeat. “Alright. I won’t.”

He slid the key into the ignition, turning it until the engine roared to life.

The first thing you had done was take a shower.

Long and scalding hot.

You emerged from the bathroom in nothing but an oversized Def Leppard tee shirt and parked it right on the couch where you immediately dove into the plastic bag of pastries, eating one after the other.

Meanwhile, Javier was in the kitchen, fussing with something boiling in a pot on the stove. Just when you were about to ask him what he was making at almost three in the morning, he walked over with a steaming mug in his hand. “Here.”

“What is that?” You mumbled through a mouthful of pineapple flavored sweet bread. “Coffee?”

“I think it’s some kind of tea. Mateo gave it to me,” he gave a careful shrug of his shoulder. “He said it would help ease the nerves.” He sniffed it. “Smells like it might have some lavender in it.”

You wrinkled your nose at it. “I don’t like tea.”

“Hermosa, por favor. You could be in shock—”

“Shock?” Scoffing, you shook your head at him, in disbelief more than anything. “I’m an agent for the DEA and I have worked undercover. Do you realize that I’ve been felt up by Pablo Escobar’s men a lot more often than not? That they’ve groped me, and some of them have tried to—” You stopped as Javi sucked in a sharp breath. Of course he did. He had put the cuffs on the scumbags himself. “I’m not in shock, alright?”

Javier sighed. “Please, for the sake of my sanity, it would make me feel a lot better if you drank some. At least a couple of sips?”

“Fine,” You reluctantly agreed, accepting the mug.

“I added a little honey for taste.”

Murmuring thanks, you took a few careful sips. As you leaned over to set the half full mug down onto the glass table beside the couch, Javi reached out and grabbed it from you.

“Here, let me do that,” he offered, putting the mug down for you.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to fucking baby me, Peña.”

Dropping to one knee in front of you, Javi placed a hand on your bare thigh, his thumb tracing a small circular pattern into your soft, smooth skin. “Must you make this such a battle? Why can’t you just let me take care of you?”

“Because I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Then why did you call me saying you needed me, hm? Or did you forget about that part already?”

“I needed you because I needed a ride home.”

He tossed you an annoyed, frustrated glare.

“For once in your fucking life, spare me that damn tough girl act. Please, just let me fucking take care of you.”

Swallowing thickly, you brought your eyes to meet his. “Javi,” You croaked out his name softly, feeling an emotional lump rise in the back of your throat.

“What happened?” Javier asked you gently.

You exhaled a shaky sigh.

“We met at the bar in his hotel. We had a couple of drinks and he asked if I wanted to go upstairs. And I didn’t even think about it, I just said yes.” Despite knowing that your initial acceptance did not mean you’d deserved nearly being assaulted, part of you still couldn’t help but blame yourself. “We went to his room. He shoved me inside. He started kissing me and touching me—he was being kind of rough and I didn’t like it. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t want it, so I tried telling him to stop and he didn’t stop.”

Anger flashed in Javi’s dark eyes, but he remained calm and composed. “And then what happened?”

“I busted his lip and broke his nose.”

He couldn’t help but let out an amused huff.

“Sounds to me like you let him off easy.”

“I can’t wait to explain to Valeria why her brother’s going to show up to court and present a case with a swollen lip and a cast on his nose,” You chuckled in spite of yourself. “Messina’s going to be pissed. I can almost tase the week of assigned desk duty.”

There was a short, comfortable silence.

“Javi?”

“Dígame, cariño.”

“Did you mean what said you said to me earlier?”

His throat bobbed. “What did I say earlier?”

You knew he knew what you were referring to.

“You said you actually feel something for me.” You paused, peering at him. “Did you mean that?”

“I did. I know you might not believe me but—”

“I believe you.”

Javier pulled back slightly, looking surprised.

Shocked, almost.

For once it was him and not you caught off guard.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The entire night, all I could do was think about what you had said. It just kept replaying in my mind over and over again like a song on loop,” You confessed to him. “I don’t think I even tried to stop thinking about you, Javi.”

“Muñeca—”

“I didn’t want to be with another man. Even if he’d turned out to be a great guy, I wouldn’t have had it in me to go through with it. I want to be with you. I want you, Peña.” It all came spilling out. There was no stopping it now. “I want you, Javier. So bad.”

His fingers dug into your leg at the admission.

You leaned forward. “Javi?”

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Can I kiss you?”

His nod was so subtle you’d barely caught it.

Delicately, you took his face between your hands as you brought your mouth down to meet his.

Your lips moved together with his slowly, sensually and deeply. Your heart was pounding in a hard but steady rhythm inside your chest. Dropping both of your hands from his face, you reached for his shirt and fisted the polyester fabric, pulling him closer.

Javi’s hands smoothed up and down your thighs.

“Baby,” he mumbled into the embrace.

You broke away slightly.

“Don’t talk, just touch me. Please.”

His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head and discarding it behind him.

“Fuck,” the word tore from Javier’s throat in groan so guttural it sent a shiver up your spine.

All you’d been wearing underneath were panties, a pink pair with white polka dots—the same ones he had poked fun at before.

Javier Peña found himself eating his own words.

Somehow, those polka dot panties were about a hundred times sexier than any lace lingerie could ever be.

His cock hardened, straining against his zipper as his dark eyed gaze dragged over your body.

“Tócame,” You whispered, lustfully. “Tócame. Por favor, Javier. Toca mi cuerpo.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Javier slipped an arm around your waist. He pulled you to the edge of the couch, bringing your legs to rest on either side of his waist before taking one of your breasts into his mouth. You gasped out, back arching when he rolled his tongue over a hardened nipple. He lifted a hand to the other soft mound of flesh, kneading it in between his fingers.

“Javi,” You whimpered, legs squeezing at his hips as a blazing heat ignited between them. His touch was everything you’d been wanting—needing and craving. Your hands fell to the buttons of his khaki shirt, fumbling with them clumsily. Javier laughed, pulling back from your breasts as he swiftly undid them and tugged his shirt off his shoulders, letting it join yours on the hardwood floor.

Your mouth nearly foamed at the sight of him.

It wasn’t like it was the first time you had seen him without his shirt on. You’d seen him shirtless more times than you could count on both hands—but it was hard not to admire how his smooth skin, gold and sun kissed, stretched over the broad planes of his shoulders and the lean muscles of his chest.

Throat dry, you licked your lips and reached out to pull him back into you.

“How long have you wanted this?” He questioned.

He started licking a line, starting from the delicate spot behind your ear. He drew it slowly, his tongue dragging down and across your collarbone.

“Too long,” You rasped out. “Too fucking long.”

Javier pushed you back against the leather couch, lifting himself slightly off of the floor. He started to nibble and kiss his way down your body, taking his sweet time moving his mouth over your chest and stomach, going lower and lower until he came to a stop at the elastic band of your underwear.

He glanced up at you through his dark lashes, as if silently asking you for permission.

Chest heaving in anticipation, you nodded, almost a little too eagerly. “Yes. Please, keep going.”

Javier hooked his thumbs underneath the band. “I might need some assistance here, hermosa.”

Without hesitation, you lifted your hips up to bring them off of the couch, just enough for him to slide your panties down your legs. He tossed them over his shoulder, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Lay back,” he instructed, his own heart pounding hard, hammering wildly against his sternum.

Cheeks burning with heat, you did as he told you.

Javier’s tongue swiped his bottom lip, hungrily. He had been starving for you for too damn long.

He parted your thighs and nearly salivated. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking beautiful, baby girl.” Javier’s cock had gone rock hard. It twitched, aching to be freed from its constraints as his eyes greedily took in the gorgeous sight before him. You, completely naked, your soaked cunt dripping onto the supple, brown leather of his couch. Javi grinned, using his thumbs to spread your slick folds. His lustful gaze met yours. “This all for me, mi muñequita linda?”

“Yes, Javi,” You breathed out. “It’s all for you.”

Grin widening, Javier lifted one of your legs and he started trailing a line of hot, open mouthed kisses, beginning from the inside of your ankle. Slowly, he kissed his way up your leg, leaving a burning fire in his wake. “I’ve been wanting this for so long,” Javi mumbled against your skin. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid my eyes on you. Remember that day? You walked right into my office and I—”

“You thought I was a new secretary,” You finished, gasping as he nipped at your inner thigh, scraping his teeth along the tender flesh there. “Javier—”

“Little did I know that you were a badass agent for the DEA, my future partner and—” He paused and placed a kiss on your mound. “My best friend. The woman who stole my heart piece by fucking piece until she had the entire thing in her damn hands.”

You shuddered, your head spinning in a daze.

His mouth was so close to where you needed it.

“You were so focused on making a man feel good, baby.” His breath on your blazing core sent shivers shooting throughout your body. So, so close. “But do you want to know what really makes a man feel good? What makes me feel good?”

“What?” You asked, breathlessly.

He draped your leg over his shoulder. “Making you feel good.”

Javier finally dipped his head in between your legs and ran his tongue up the seam of your center, his fantasies of tasting you coming to life.

“Javi,” You moaned, fingernails digging into one of the couch cushions behind you.

“Fuck, your pussy tastes as sweet as it looks,” Javi growled burying his face between your thighs. You moaned again as he moved his tongue, writing his name into you with the most delicious, rhythmic strokes that had you seeing stars.

Your hands abandoned the couch cushion, fingers finding and tangling themselves in his dark brown hair instead. “Fuck, Javi, that feels so good—” You scooted closer to the edge of the couch, your hips bucking forward, desperate for more.

You could feel Javier smirking against you.

“Quieres mas, muñeca?”

“God, yes, please! I want more, I need more—”

Without warning, Javi wrapped his mouth around your clit, his tongue flicking the swollen bundle of nerves and causing you to cry out. He wrapped his arm around your trembling thigh as he sucked and licked, his technique already bringing you so close to the edge. It was happening too fast.

Wanting to draw out the blissful pleasure for just a bit longer, you found yourself squirming away, but Javier had other plans. With one arm still wrapped around your leg on his shoulder, he lifted the other and placed his hand on your hip, pressing down to trap you against the couch as he devoured you.

You cried out his name so loudly, you were certain the tenants upstairs could hear it.

His name spilled from your lips over and over right in between shallow pants and breathless moans.

It was the sweetest song he’d ever fucking heard.

Javier could feel how close you were. He flattened his tongue and dragged it down your slit, and then back up again, the lewd, wet sound of him lapping at your core causing the tightly wound coil deep in your lower belly to finally snap and spring forward.

“Javier, fuck! Javi!” You cried, your orgasm driving into you so hard it almost knocked you backwards into the couch like a rag doll.

Legs shaking, your fingers dug further into his hair and your nails lightly scraped against his scalp. He pulled away slightly and looked up at you, his chin and mouth glistening with a sweet mixture of slick and saliva. He lifted himself up and kissed you, the taste of yourself on his lips lighting up another fire between your hips. You placed a hand on his neck, then dragged it down the length of his hard chest, down over his stomach, going lower and lower. He sucked in a sharp breath as your hand brushed his bulge, then cupped it through his jeans.

“This all for me?” You couldn’t help but tease Javi, just like he’d teased you.

“Yes, baby. It’s all for you,” he replied in a strained, low voice. He was throbbing for you, so hard it was borderline painful. He needed relief, release. But it would have to wait until he was sure that you were ready and willing to take it further. “We don’t have to, by the way. This is as far as it has to go—”

“Javi?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you stop talking and fuck me, please?

Javier chuckled. “Since you asked so politely.” He slid one arm under your knees, and the other went around your back. Rising to his feet, Javi lifted you off of the couch. “But not here. Let’s go to mine.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Peña put me down!”

“But I’m trying to be romantic,” he joked, carrying your down the hallway and into his bedroom. With you in his arms he managed to open the door and switch on his lights.

“There is nothing romantic about you hurting your back or throwing it out,” You deadpanned, relieved when he set you down on your feet.

Javi started guiding you back towards his bed, the back of your knees meeting the edge of the queen sized mattress. Giving you a quick kiss, he pushed you onto your backside and took a step backward, his hands undoing the brass button of his jeans.

You watched with dazed, half lidded eyes as Javier pulled his zipper down and slid his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs.

His hard, thick cock sprang free, his head slapping against his lower abdomen.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, gawking at him. Suddenly, you knew why the women of the office could never stop talking about Javier Peña’s dick. Hopefully the last look they’d gotten of it had been a good one, because none of them were ever going to see it again—if Javi was serious about his feelings for you, he would have to understand that you weren’t the kind of woman who liked to share.

He seemed to have read your mind. “It’s all yours,” Javier promised, wrapping his long fingers around his base. He stroked himself once, then twice, and groaned at the slight relief of pressure. He stroked himself once more, his eyes locking with your own in a sinful exchange. “It’s all yours, baby girl. From this point on, I’m all yours. Don’t want anyone but you.”

Something shifted.

A silent understanding that this wasn’t about him adding another notch in his bedpost. Javi did have feelings for you, and he wanted to be all yours, the same way you wanted to be all his.

“Javi, please.”

“Que, mi muñequita? Dime que quieres.”

Your reply was instantaneous, no hesitation.

“You.”

Javier climbed onto the bed, settling himself right in between your thighs. He fisted his length before running his tip up your slit, letting it graze over the sensitive, swollen mess his tongue had left behind when he’d feasted on you back on the couch.

“Segura?” he asked. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He pumped his cock one last time, positioning his head at your entrance. Keeping his brown eyes on you, he pushed into you slowly. Javi felt your body tense underneath him and stopped. “Relax. I need you to relax, amor,” he murmured, planting gentle, loving kisses along your jawline. “I got you, okay?”

“Javier,” You rasped out his name, your fingernails digging into the lean muscles of his back. It didn’t hurt, but the pressure was intense.

He let a minute pass and pushed in further, giving your body chances to adjust with brief pauses. He relished in the feeling of being sheathed in such a tight, taut heat. The way your velvet walls gripped his cock as he sank further and further into you, it felt like your pussy had been made just for him.

Both of you moaned out in unison as he bottomed out inside of you.

Javi held his breath for a second, burying his face into the hollow of your neck as he urged himself to not explode right there on the spot.

“Peña,” You choked out. “Move. Please. Now.”

He slid out, letting out a strangled groan as he slid back into you. “Fuck, hermosa. You’re so tight,” he breathed out. He kissed your collarbone, finding a good pace, one that wasn’t too fast or too slow for either of you. “So tight, so beautiful, so perfect.”

You whimpered, digging your fingernails deeper into his back so hard that you were sure you had to have broken skin.

Javier gripped one of your thighs, hitching it up to hike it around his waist. His other hand was curled into a tight fist at the crown of your head. Opening up his palm, he placed it on your head as he drove his hips into yours, keeping you in place under him as your body bounced with each of his strokes. He picked up the pace one more notch hitting deeper and deeper, the tip of his cock finding that spot he knew would make your toes curl.

“Yes, Javi, fucking right there—fuck!”

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head, the sound of Javi’s guttural groans mixed together with the sound of skin slapping against skin made the edge come creeping up closer and closer.

Javier looked down at you, his eyes trained on you as you writhed underneath him, beautiful features twisted with sheer pleasure. “Fuck, baby girl,” Javi grunted out. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Suddenly, you had the urge to put his lesson from the evening before to good use. “Javi, wait. Stop.”

Afraid he’d done something wrong, he froze.

“What? What is it?” he asked worriedly. “What—?”

Catching him off guard, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him back, moving your body and rolling it out from underneath his. He exhaled a sharp breath of air when you pushed him again, this time onto his backside on his bed. You swung one of your legs over and climbed on top of him, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you straddled his lower body.

“Muñeca,” he choked out, his eyes wide.

“My turn to make you feel good,” You winked.

Gripping the base of his throbbing cock, you lifted yourself and ran his head along your swollen folds, eliciting a growl that had rumbled from the depths of his chest.

“Oh fuck me,” he cursed, his heart missing a beat.

“That’s the plan, Peña.”

You slid yourself down into him, taking every inch.

Taking his hands, you placed them on your hips as you started rocking them back and forth. Your hair spilled over your shoulders as you threw your head back, your deep, husky moans bouncing off of the walls of his bedroom.

“Fucking Christ,” Javier gasped, letting his fingers dig into the softness of your hips. “You’re going to fucking kill me—” He stopped, his jaw dropping at what you decided to do next.

You reached up, cupping one of your breasts, your fingers rolling and pinching your nipple. Your other hand sensually dragged itself down your stomach, slipping in between your legs, finding your clit.

“Fuck—that’s it. That’s it, baby girl. Touch yourself for me. Touch yourself while you ride my cock,” he encouraged. He watched as you circled your index finger around your clit, amplifying the pleasure for the both of you. “What a good girl,” Javier praised, somehow finding the words in between his groans and heavy pants for air. Unable to help himself, he let his hands abandon your hips, raking them both down your chest, fingertips collecting little beads of perspiration along the way. “Just like that. Such a good fucking girl for me baby.”

“Javi, I’m so fucking close! I’m gonna—”

He sat up and grabbed your arms, quickly guiding them around his shoulders as his own circled your waist and pulled you closer to him. Javi caged you in against his chest and began bucking his hips up into yours, frantically meeting you halfway as both of you chased that sweet release with each other.

It was just like before.

Bodies moving in perfect unison.

Your went down and he went up.

You pulled and he pushed.

Could it be possible they had known each other in another life?

“Javi,” You whimpered his name over and over.

“Come for me, mi muñequita linda. I’ve got you.”

You cried out in bliss, unraveling all over his cock.

Feeling your walls flutter, Javi felt his own release, and he rasped, “Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

“Dentro de mi,” You nearly begged. “Inside of me, please, Javi. Come inside me, fill me up—”

He grunted out a moan and pulled you down onto his lap, holding you in place as he spilled into you, your cunt milking him down to the very last drop.

“Fuck me,” Javier groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck.

“I just did,” You giggled, breathlessly.

After taking a minute to recover, he swiftly flipped you onto your back, his cock still buried inside you completely with no immediate plans to pull out.

Leaning down, Javier swelled your lips with a slow and sensual kiss. Once he pulled away, he brought a hand to your cheek, gently cupping it in his palm as he echoed his own words from before.

“You’re fucking perfect, mi vida.”

Smiling, you pushed his damp hair out of his face.

“So are you, Peña.”

He chuckled, touching the tip of his nose to yours.

“Looks like we have another secret we’re going to have to keep from Messina,” Javi mused.

“What? That we fucked?”

“That we’re more than just friends.”

Translations

Te ves tan hermosa, mi muñequita. - You look so beautiful, my little doll.

No te vayas. No te vayas con el.- Don’t go. Don’t go with him.

Quedate conmigo. - Stay with me.

“Señorita! Qué le pasó? Estás bien?” - Miss! What happened? Are you okay?

“Puedo usar su teléfono, por favor?” - Can I please use your phone?

“Por supuesto que sí.” - Of course you can.

Mateo, dónde está? - Mateo, where is she?

“Estás lastimada?” - Are you hurt?

“Quédese con el cambio.” - Keep the change.

Para la señorita. Para sus nervios. - For the lady. For her nerves/anxiety.

Dígame, cariño. - Tell me, darling.

Dime que quieres. - Tell me what you want.

Tócame. Por favor, Javier. Toca mi cuerpo. - Touch me. Please, Javier. Touch my body.

Segura? - Are you sure

Javier Peña: The Shittiest Goodbye

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: Javier has no one saying goodbye to him. No one but you.

He smiled; you could tell even from behind your tears. His golden skin crinkled under his eyes, and he pulled you forward by the waist for a short hug. A really short hug – barely four seconds – before he stepped away and leaned down, gathering a bag in each hand.

“I’ll…I guess I’ll see you.”

You kept looking at him. You couldn’t seem to stop. Neither could he.

Warnings: feeeels, crying, kissing, yearning, longing, and all that jazz, one line that can kind of be interpreted as a size kink, but a hopeful ending.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: javi. he's always going to fucking do it for me.

A/N 2: I haven't watched narcos in like four years so if the plot is splotchy, I apologize.

If you would like to leave a like, ask, reblog, or comment, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

He had told you in person, which was better than nothing.

“They’re sending me home. Tomorrow morning,” he said, putzing with the plastic chain hanging from the lamp on your desk. Eyes unable to meet yours. “My flight’s at 6.”

And then he walked away, each sound of his step away from you tipping the globe further and further off its axis.

You had known he was starting to take matters into his own hands. You had known said matters were dirty, bloody, and grey. And you had known said hands were now buried in a while lot of shit because of it.

You had known, and you still knew, walking into the El Dorado International Airport, squinting against the rising sun. You knew perfectly well who Javier Peña had gotten himself involved with and what they both had done on each other’s behalf.

The fact of the matter was – you didn’t give a shit, because what Javi was doing was moving the DEA further towards its goal than ever. It was fucking working.

In your opinion, if agents couldn’t get their hands dirty, then they couldn’t catch Escobar. Luckily for you, Javier felt similarly.

And yet, here he was, being sent home. The one person who gave you any comfort in the shitshow that had become your life. The only friend who had remained so every single day, the only one you could count on. The one man in all of South America that actually made you feel safe.

And, arguably, the only person in the entire DEA who truly wanted things to get better, even if it left a mark on his soul he could never wipe away.

These thoughts haunted you as you searched for Javi. For six in the morning, the gates were surprisingly crowded. Your tired eyes did their best to search for his prominent features – chestnut hair, perfectly highlighted with tips of blonde by the South American sun, broad shoulders, high cheekbones, curved, Roman nose, pouted lips, likely leaning on one leg, popping his hip out, with his hands on his waist. You secretly hoped he was in his Levi’s leather jacket.

Your eyes squinted as you peered around, lost in the sea of bodies, children, staff, and flight attendants. Suddenly, the thought of missing him wrapped its coils around you, sending a strange, foreign heat down to your toes and up your scalp. Your breathing heightened, images of him already on his flight, alone, thinking no one cared, thinking no one came from him, began to flood your brain. Your fingers grabbed at your chest, your teeth clamped around the skin of the inside of your mouth, pulling so hard you began to bleed.

He had said six, right? In the morning? Today? Had I heard him wrong?

Had he lied to me?

That thought was too much to bear, too much to process, too much too much too much –

A warm, callused hand wrapped around your forearm. You gasped, heart pounding so loud in your head that the man attached to the hand had to repeat what he was saying. His voice was muffled, his face was blurry, but everything about him was so handsome, and so familiar.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a kind of whisper-yell.

It was like you had taken a sedative, looking at Javier Peña, standing right in front of you. Not gone, not forgotten. Right here. Your nervous system evened instantly, like a bucket of warm, clean water had been dumped over your body.

You smiled at him, despite yourself. Despite the situation. Despite it all.

The edge of his lip quirked slightly, but it lasted quicker than a second, before returning to his usual scowl.

“Answer my question,” he said, pulling you towards him. He didn’t sound mad, just…shocked, and a little terrified. His touch on you was gentle, but firm.

You swallowed; eyes still locked into his. You placed your hand on his chest to steady yourself and grinned at the feel of the leather.

“Only if you answer mine first – did you really think you would get to leave without saying goodbye?”

He huffed, meeting your stare, unable to prevent the drop of humor that had culminated in his eyes. “I did say goodbye.”

“Oh please,” you said, pushing away from him. “That was the shittiest goodbye ever.”

He stayed silent for a moment, before letting out a quiet chuckle.

“Besides, six o’clock in the morning is an early call time for you,” you said. You were proved correct by the dark circles under his eyes. You wondered if he had slept at all the night before. “Had to make sure you actually made it.”

“Right,” he said, and looked around him, placing his hands on his hips. His tone suddenly became serious. “You shouldn’t be here.”

That shocked you. “Are you kidding me? Why not?”

“What if – someone sees you, from the DEA, thinks you were working with me. Then what?”

“Then I fucking deal with it,” you said. “I wasn’t going to let you leave thinking that no one would care that you were gone.”

That froze him, his eyes widening just so. The fact that he was shocked at all by that statement caused a fresh set of tears to line your eyes. It was faint, but it was noticeable.

He sighed, looking down at his shoes, allowing you to notice his bags placed on either side of his feet– a large leather carrier, and a small backpack. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, until a voice over the speaker interrupted him.

“Flight to Austin, Texas, boarding group one may begin boarding. I repeat, boarding group one may begin boarding for flight to Austin, Texas.”

Javier glanced down at his watch before pulling his ticket out of his back pocket, reading it over with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m group two. I should probably…”

You nodded, a wave of emotion suddenly rocking you once more. The tears were streaming now, down your face. You tried to wipe them away, put they just kept coming.

He took a step closer to you. “Why the tears, ángel?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose, doing the best you could to collect yourself. Maybe that was a good thing, as it allowed this newfound pet name to go completely over your head. The voice that came out of your mouth was nasally and cracked. “I am going to have to do so much paperwork.”

He smiled; you could tell even from behind your tears. His golden skin crinkled under his eyes, and he pulled you forward by the waist for a short hug. A really short hug – barely four seconds – before he stepped away and leaned down, gathering a bag in each hand.

“I’ll…I guess I’ll see you.”

You kept looking at him. You couldn’t seem to stop. Neither could he.

He opened his mouth, once again about to say something, when the speaker went off again.

“First call for boarding group 2 for flight to Austin, Texas. I repeat, first call for boarding group 2 for flight to Austin, Texas.”

He didn’t move an inch. There were so many things you were wishing to say in that moment.

Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me here.

I’ll be alone. I’ll be alone, with you away.

I would have done the same thing you did, working with those men.

I understand why you did it, maybe better than anyone else.

I would have done the same thing, in your shoes. A couple times, I almost joined you.

I’ll go with you, and we’ll never go back. Never. Never.

You didn’t say a word, your confidence swirling down and down, deeper and deeper inside of you. Javier licked his lips and turned around, beginning to walk away. Like he did that day at your desk. Like he did however many times you had asked to help him with what he was doing. Like he did whenever the two of you would make eye contact for just a little too long.

At that all too familiar sight, the confidence inverted itself, instead flooding upwards all at once, flooding your brain with a mantra of why the fuck not?

For once, you listened to that voice, and did the same thing Javier had done to you only moments before. You took a long stride forward, grabbed his elbow, and turned him around.

And then, you took his face in your hands, and you kissed him.

Kiss was a stretch – it was more like a quick peck, barely even felt by either party. But it was something, something that got him as close to you as you had always wanted him to be – his breath fanning your face, his chest pressed against yours, a mix of coffee and mint on your lips, which you quickly licked away. Oddly enough, it steadied your heart, calmed you down instantly.

Because you had that now. That memory. Something more than passing glances and quick hugs. A part of you, in that moment, didn’t even care what his reaction was, because that feeling alone was enough for you to live with.

The rest of you, however, short circuited at the fact that he may not have wanted that at all, and you had completely violated him in the middle of a fucking airport.

You looked up into his wide eyes for barely a second before backing away from him, the beginnings of a million sorrys forming on your tongue.

That was until the bags slipped from his hands, landing on the harsh carpeting with a thud. He then rushed forward, using one hand to frame your face, and the other on the nape of your neck to tip your head back.

There was no time for your brain to accept this as fact before he brought your lips to his own, his kiss nothing less than searing, and nothing more than perfect.

You reciprocated as soon as you were able, wrapping your arms around his back to steady yourself. The feeling of his lips upon yours was better than you had ever imagined, better than you had ever fantasized about while he sat in your peripheral vision during meetings. His lips were soft, buttery, and so was his facial hair. It tickled your nose just so, which only heightened when he tilted your head further, licking the inside of your mouth. You moved your fingers to his hair in response, tugging him so harshly into you you stumbled backwards.

It was hot and sweaty, messy and desperate, and neither of you were letting up. Not even to breathe. His hands moving down to your waist felt too good, his chest against yours too real, his hair between your fingers too addictive, his soft groan every time your tongues clashed too vivid, and your lips molding together too perfect.

You were speaking to each other, in a way. Both of your bodies reciprocated every move, grabbing and twisting and pulling, both saying the same thing over and over and over again.

I’m going to miss you so fucking much.

Small eruptions of gold began to spawn behind your eyes, ones of pure pleasure, disbelief, and dizziness. His hands turned greedy now, encompassing the span of your back like it was nothing. The hairs on his face began to burn you, the feel of his warm mouth consuming you.

It was too much, too much too much too much, but it was so fucking good –

“Final call for boarding group two for flight to Austin, Texas. I repeat, final call for boarding group two for flight to Austin, Texas.”

It was like a switch flipped in both of your brains at once, propelling the both of you off of each other instantly. He didn’t make eye contact, not even for a second – just wiped his mouth quickly, fetching both bags, and turning from you, walking towards his gate.

He disappeared within the crowd, and you did the same. Turning back towards the entrance, pushing your way through the half-awake travelers, headed god knew where for god knew what.

Your lips still thumped, and so did your heart, so much so that you didn’t really know if you could feel your feet.

There were so many thoughts you could have been having, so much intricacy to the situation, that your brain did the only thing it could – it shut it all down, completely. If it hadn’t, you worried you wouldn’t have been able to pull from him in the first place.

It wasn’t until you made it back to your apartment and set your keys down on your nightstand that the thoughts started flooding in. There were too many to dissect, too rapid to make sense of, but one outweighed them all.

Had he looked back?

In your still hazy brain, that cemented every other question you had, calmed the steady stabbing that had begun to ache inside your skull. You fell asleep, the sun now high in the sky, illuminating your room into a kind of gold. It was a nice change, after a week of grey weather, but you were too gone to the world to notice.

The last thought you had before you escaped to slumber, and the first that you had the second you returned, was all the same: had Javier Peña looked back?

***

He had. Many, many times.

Tag list: (if you would like to be added or were somehow missed, please feel free to let me know :))

@lovesbiggerthanpride @paintlavillered @xocalliexo @c4psicle @joelsflannel @thesmutslut @untitledarea @daphne-turner @queerponcho @ririi-3

Oh this is so sweet! 🥲

Cared For

Title: Cared For

Pairing: None

Character: Old Javier Peña with a young nurse, nonsexual.

Words: 3400

Warnings: old man, sick, and in a nursing home. If you liked my Undertaker you'll like this.

A/N: I did the reverse tropes found HERE and my dear @brandyllyn requested Javi Peña with a white mustache -- the nursing home AU that none of you realized you needed.

AUTHOR Masterlist (with new tag list!)

JAVI P Masterlist

You had always been more drawn to old people than to kids. You loved butterscotch candies and the same pulpy shows. You didn’t mind repeating yourself in conversation or hearing the same story a dozen times. 

Old music was soothing to you.

You were out of place here, because the average age of the residents was seventy two and you just weren’t. 

Everyone always asked how you got here. 

For you, this all started when you were 8 years old and your neighbor passed away. You would only know him as Mr. Gerber and you didn't even know if that was really his name or just what a smaller version of you called him. He had been a pleasant man and he had beautiful flowers and a well-kept garden. He used one of those old rotary lawn mowers and refused to get a modern one and he had a dog named Frank. Frank was a mutt of some brand and the man claimed he had corgi in him. Frank looked like a very swollen hot dog but he was the wrong color, more orange brown splotches like a mashed up Peanut Butter Cup. 

By the time you had known Frank at all he was an ancient sort of animal. They claimed he was 12 or 13 and you thought that sounded very old even before you understood the concept of dog years. 

When Mr. Gerber passed away you remember Frank sitting outside chained to a tree whimpering and then going to his dog house all alone and he stayed that way for two days while your dad went over and gave him water and a bucket of kibble. Your parents explained that they would be selling Mr. Gerber's house and that his son who is coming down from Dallas was going to be letting the neighbors and friends take whatever mementos they wanted before the house was sold. 

You were confused. You didn't really want Mr. Gerber's things but your mother said it was a nice way to remember somebody because you could take care of those things like you took care of the memory of the person. So you took Mr. Gerber’s Daisy print watering can for the garden and you took a teacup that he always used that had a sunflower on it and an old straw hat that he used to keep the sun off of his head which was too big on you then but which you still had and now it fit you quite nicely. 

Then you asked what Frank got to keep and your parents uncomfortably explained that Frank was liable to be taken to the pound. 

You had no idea what a pound was and when they explained you said you hoped Frank would find a lovely family and your father sighed, “Mostly old dogs like Frank just waited out the rest of their lives there.”

“Wait for what?”

“To…um. Die. To die.”

“To die?!”

“Don’t get rattled, sweetheart– he would want to go back and see Mr. Gerber in the big ol’ next-door-house in the sky.” 

You didn't sleep that night and in the morning you told your parents very seriously that it wasn't fair to let Frank live out his days there with people who didn't know him and grass that didn't smell familiar. That even if he couldn't go back home he could look at it and you wanted to keep him here. Given that your mother was allergic and a little afraid of dogs it took a lot of convincing but you urged them to think about how lonely an old dog would be and how unfair that was because kindness was easy to give.

 A small version of you argued a harsh point: that it wouldn't be a very long stint of kindness but it would be very meaningful. 

That seemed to be the most compelling of the arguments for your parents at the time and Frank lived about two and a half more years with you and your family before comfortably nodding off one night on his blanket and not coming back.

Frank was the start of this whole situation in your life where you would go to the garden center and pick up the wilted flowers that everyone else passed over. It didn't shock your parents at all when you offered to buy a positively dilapidated house and then slowly learned to fix it up with the help of your dad and a couple of cousins and neighbors. You were a fixer by nature and you liked old things that other people were going to discard. Nearly all of your clothes were taken from garage sales or donations or hand me downs. 

So really, if anyone had paid attention, despite your relative youth there shouldn’t have been a question that you would choose to work with the lonely brand of people who had no one else in the world to look after them.

“You still sucking on those butterscotties?”

“I’ve never heard someone call them that, Mr. Peña.” You said fondly, tucking his collar down for him and adjusting his pillow behind his back. 

“Call me Javi, for Chrissake. Mr. Peña still reminds me of my father.” The man in the chair was white haired and you knew it actually heartened him to be reminded of his father, who had passed away going on fifty years ago. 

This man had a white mustache and plenty of hair, though it was thinned out now, and he wore button up shirts every day. Today’s was a soft red flannel, buttoned up to the top because of “the damn breeze” that ran through the place. 

“Then you have to call me Scottie.” You teased, “Because it reminds me of the butterscotties.” 

“You’re a pip. Why doesn’t your husband take you somewhere nice so you don’t have to be here with old dogs like me?”

“Not married,” you reminded him.

“Now that’s a crime, and I took down Escobar.” This was Javier Peña. Retired DEA agent, terrible cheat at poker, and he was your new Frank.

You gave him an indulgent smile, “Was he a real, what was it? Harebrained prick?”

“No, the harebrained prick was my partner, Steve.” Javi laughed but it made him cough for a moment and you offered him water, “But I suppose Steve would say the same about me.” Javi ran a gnarled hand through his hair, “Escobar was a vicious sonofabitch but harebrained? Rarely. Only time I thought he was off his nut was the Christmas thing. Shit. Still think he had that one all messed up. Well, just goes to show you.”

“Goes to show you what?”

“Can’t get it right all the time.” Javi shrugged, “He was pretty good at not making mistakes, but when he made them he made them big. Ran for office. Another one that wasn’t smart.”

You leaned against the windowsill, “Doesn’t get your vote then?”

“I mean…I did vote for Reagan, so I guess I haven’t made much better choices.” He gave a self deprecating snort and rubbed at his nose, his chin, his mustache, “What’s lunch today?”

“Macaroni and cheese.” 

“Eh,” He waved a hand, “I want a burger. Or barbeque.”

His eyes positively lit up when he said it. You knew Javi and his barbeque – he talked for an hour once about his mother’s braised goat, his dad’s ribs, and then described the smoking technique the Peña family used all while teasing that there were secrets about it he would have to take to the grave.

The grave.

You’d gotten his chart– you knew the recent news about his lungs was bad. 

You also knew that they’d called family but nobody had come. He had one brother but they were pretty distant. He had a couple of nieces but nobody was local and nobody came. Christmas cards came, but in the two years he’d been here you hadn’t seen a visitor. 

The barbeque was a beloved subject: safe and reliable, but it did end in him begging you for something from the outside when he was on a special diet. 

“Your doctor barely approves of the cheese – I have a salad side for you already.” You hedged.

Repeated ulcers, scarring, diabetic concerns, and to top it all off a bad reaction to the medication they had him on for his lungs. He had refused chemo – “All I got is my looks!” – but the other meds were a nightmare on the digestive tract. 

“What does he kno—” Another cough came and it really stole the words from him. You offered him a hankie and a glass of water again. You eyed how much he drank, eyed the clock, went and got his pills before he finished his cup and handed him his prescriptions. 

“He’s the best heart guy around.” You assured him, “He knows how to keep your heart tickin’.”

The heart they could talk about. Typical, run of the mill genetic heart problems. A lifetime of bad eating and cholesterol that was gunning for his arteries. 

That was normal compared to the lungs. 

A lifetime of smoking and drinking and eating fried shit. He knew. He already knew. 

He gave her a playful smile, “Only need you around to do that, Scottie.”

“Careful Javi. You’ll convince me to run away with you.” You took his empty pill container and went to refresh his water, coming back with a call of, “Do you want to try the puzzle again?”

“No, I hate those damn things.” He said, “Piece is always missing.” 

They weren’t, you made sure, but his eyes were going and he wouldn’t wear the glasses so he’d bent half the pieces to hell.

“Alright then…want to do art? There’s a painting class? They’re doing landscapes.”

“I wanna get some barbeque.” He insisted, “Is Mike’s still open?”

“It is.” You said evenly, “But Dr. Carter said—”

“He’s a kid what the hell does he know?”

“Best heart guy in the stat–”

“But does he know about Mike’s? Mike’s is the exception. No way this guy denies me Mike’s. You should call him and ask.”

You held up a painting kit, “What about a landscape?”

“I can’t draw to save my life.”

“But can you count? It’s paint by number!”

He sighed, “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“No.”

“Alright Scottie…anything you want.”

________________________________________________________________________

You asked him once why there was no Mrs. 

He gave you that wide smile the residents got when you chose a subject they loved talking about, “There were a lot of candidates. Problem is they’d have all found out about one another, so I was forced to break a lot of hearts.”

You’d seen the photos of him from those days, “I bet you did.”

“Oh, God– enjoy your youth. Really, though. I don’t regret a damn thing,” He laughed, “My buddy Steve, you know?”

Oh did you ever. Steve was one of Javi’s favorite topics.

“I remember Steve.” You promised.

“Steve was married, I’ve mentioned Connie.”

Almost daily.

“I think so.” You nodded.

“Well they were always trying to get me to go on some dates with women Connie wanted to hook me up with. I think she thought I was a stray cat and if she found me the right partner I’d settle in. I don’t suppose it was the worst idea but I spent a lot of time making poor Connie run around looking for single women and divorcees.” 

“And it never worked?”

“Worked for a bit,” Javi shrugged in that way that meant I can’t tell you that.

You knew he had other things besides a bad heart from his family and wrecked lungs and guts from his work. You knew he’d been treated for a few STDs and had managed to get chlamydia just six months ago.

Something was in that about old dogs and new tricks. Javi liked that you were young and pretended to flirt with him but he knew very well that you were getting something different from him than other women. He never made a serious pass at you, everything was playful, light. 

You wanted him to be happy, to have a good time, because…

Well, the numbers weren’t good.

Sometimes that meant nothing – Mrs. Nedermeyer had lived to 106 with shit numbers since she was 98. You’d never seen anything like that old warbird, just living to be a menace to everyone, and you knew that Javi, even with numbers like he had, could well be here years.

It’s just that the cat had taken to him.

It was silly. Superstitious. Surely you were a certified fool for remotely considering this but nonetheless…

There was a therapy cat that lived here. Her name was Angel and she was a big, fat grayish ghost of a cat with green eyes. None of the staff would ever ever breathe a word of it, but Angel was a strange cat. There were some people she always loved on– she like Dr. Becker even though she was allergic to cats, she loved on Shirley at the front desk because Shirley kept a bag of cat treats in the desk and shared them liberally, she loved Ol’ Dan the Janitor for reasons unknown but they hosted conversations in the night as he cleaned and she patrolled. She liked you. She would lace in and out of your ankles and let you pet her, purring as you did. In circle time or therapy sessions she was gentle to every lap she was placed in. 

But when she started getting up from Shirley’s desk or the sunny windowsill or the bookshelf where she napped and randomly loved on patients?

She was uncanny about predicting a problem.

It wasn’t always death. She had more or less predicted strokes or heart attacks. She could be there just to be there. She could just enjoy Javi.

But he hated cats and kept trying to shoo her and she kept coming back.

You had called his doctors, try to call his next of kin, to see if they minded an idea you had and you didn’t know if the consent was a good thing or a corroboration. 

So you put on a dress and did your hair, tried to aim for something resembling the 80s, and sent an orderly to get Mr. Peña for you and make sure he had on his favorite blue sport coat. 

He came out confused, looking around, and when he saw you he cocked his head.

“Wanna blow this popsicle stand?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“Aren’t I about 40 years too old for you?” He chuckled until he coughed and discreetly wiped his mouth, hiding the handkerchief before anyone could see it. 

“I thought you wanted to get barbeque? They said you needed an escort.”

He mumbled something to himself about escorts and used his cane to make his way to your car.

“You are a terrible driver!” He scolded.

“Oh I’m barely going the speed limit!” You laughed.

“I ever tell you about the time I had to run across rooftops in Columbia?”

He had. 

“No, I don’t think so.” You welcomed him to pass the time with you. 

He told you a dozen stories you’d already heard by the time you pulled up to Mike’s. Normally it opened at 5, and it was 4pm but you’d made a call.

“That a red carpet?”

“Well don’t say I never did anything nice for you.” You teased and parked, though Javi pointed at you firmly.

“You don’t have to get my door, I’ll feel like a real sad sack if you do.” 

You waited for him to get out, let his legs gain their strength, and hobble over to you and open your door. He was shaking a little but you didn’t mind. 

The maitre d’ was waiting at the front, “Mr. Peña!”

The kid was close to your age, but he was all smiles and shaking Javier’s hand speaking in rapid Spanish and gesturing wildly. You had no idea what was going on but it was making Javier glow. 

You let them talk. 

After a minute they remembered you and the kid beckoned you inside, “Chef has prepared a sample for y’all. Bit of everything. How do you want your sauce? I recommend the medium but the heat is neat.”

Javi nodded, “I’ll take the heat and a mild, just in case.”

“Same.” You sat and said, “And a beer.”

“Same.” Javier nodded, “If the doctor isn’t going to be on my ass?”

“I promise if we are here you are in a free zone.” 

There was a pause as drinks were brought and you saw the maitre d enthusiastically smiling at Javi, checking on him in Spanish, and then going to the kitchen.

“That kid lights up for you.” You said in a mildly probing way.

“Funny that…you know I been coming to Mike’s since I was a kid. Been around, you know. It’s outside Laredo but we’d drive it once in a while. Had my bachelor party dinner here.”

“Thought you weren’t ever married!” You teased.

“Got a couple close calls under my belt.” Javi gave a funny sidelong smile, almost a sigh, as if the memories were being aired out, “But I mean, it’s just a good place. You know…that kid. His grandmother…”

You cocked your head, sipped your beer, waited for him to find the lines, and he did, “Back in Columbia, the Escobar days, it was a very different time. Y’all have a whole different way of being and living. I don’t know if you would judge me poorly.”

You sighed, “It’s not my place. People lived and I think most of them lived the best they knew how and I don’t think I know how it was.”

Which was true and a comfort to Javi, enough that he kept talking, “Well…there were women doing some…work.”

Hookers, you guessed.

“And they got pretty close to the narcos, so I got pretty close to them.”

You nodded, “Friendly?”

“You could say,” he smirked, “And if they gave us good information I would do what I could to get them out of Columbia. American passports were worth their weight, but these women were doing dangerous things. Information that was worth a ticket was dangerous. It didn’t always work out.” His eyes darkened, “Sometimes it barely worked out. There was one…it was a barely. She got out but it was bad. Real bad. But we got her out.”

He sipped his beer with his eyes closed, as close to nirvana as he’d been to in a good long while, “I never saw most of them again once they got out. It wasn’t the deal. If they didn’t get trotted out for court, it was good-bye.” 

He sipped again but sadder this time, in the silence of regret and wonder, “I hoped they made out ok. You never knew. But that kid? His grandmother was one…I didn’t think I’d ever hear that name again. She made it out. She made it out with her son and I don’t know what else but that kid? Her family. Real sweet of him to be so accommodating. This is nice. No crowd.”

“Really?” You looked around at the room and saw the kid and smiled at him, waved. 

“That’s what he said.”

The food was trotted out like a parade – more food than you and a skinny old man could eat. 

“We should bring the doc back some, he might lose the stick he’s got up his ass.” Javier said cheerfully as he bit into more ribs, some corn. Another beer. He was patting his belly as it filled and you worried, but kept it silent.

It would hurt but was it worth the trade?

You two ate a marvelous dinner.

“I should treat you.” He offered, “You’re a real sweet kid, giving an ol’ timer like me a nice time.”

“It was a pleasure.” You meant it, “But I brought you so manners say I pay.”

“Next time I’ll get you.” He promised.

You felt in your heart there may not be a next time, “Sure, Javi. That sounds lovely.”

But right now? 

You’d cared for the old dog, and it was worth everything. 

________________________________________________________-

A/N: I was in a weird place with this but I like it a lot

Not Beta Read

NEW tags (if you don't see yourself and you'd like to please go to the new taglist on the author masterlist)

@itsrubberbisquit

@spadesjadesfiction

@harriedandharassed @amneris21 @Iceclaw101 @thelion-sroar

@ferns-fics @tintinn16 @avidreader73 @vabeachazn @brandyllyn

🥵🥵🥵🫠🫠🫠

Words fail me currently. I am but a puddle on the floor now

on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks. 

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection. 

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke? 

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults. 

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite. 

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work. 

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot. 

He’s impressive, really. 

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands. 

But his hands… they were brilliant. 

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra. 

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week. 

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country. 

You were good. Peña was great. 

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful. 

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion. 

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch. 

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters. 

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever. 

“Me?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta. 

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.” 

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.  

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?” 

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance. 

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron. 

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath. 

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.” 

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree. 

“Name them.” 

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent. 

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.” 

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.” 

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.” 

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor. 

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice. 

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong. 

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery. 

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--” 

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear. 

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.” 

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”  

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.” 

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn. 

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work. 

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.” 

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare. 

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.  

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph. 

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph. 

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before. 

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie. 

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection. 

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital. 

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed. 

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck. 

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings. 

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall. 

“What the hell, Peña?” 

Oh shit. 

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready. 

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.” 

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect. 

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite. 

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident. 

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.” 

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man. 

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands. 

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor. 

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art. 

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next. 

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery. 

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore. 

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes. 

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash.  He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives. 

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson. 

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway. 

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds. 

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved. 

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months. 

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More? 

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you. 

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you. 

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint. 

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.  

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.” 

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.” 

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.” 

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps. 

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”  

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.” 

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore. 

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed. 

But fantasizing wasn’t enough. 

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.” 

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek. 

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need. 

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his. 

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.” 

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane. 

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs. 

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet. 

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg. 

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor. 

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both. 

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet. 

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again. 

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds. 

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape. 

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts. 

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room. 

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline. 

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop. 

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory. 

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs. 

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs. 

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick. 

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.” 

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.” 

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him. 

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more. 

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness. 

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is. 

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can. 

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it. 

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh. 

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs. 

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands. 

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold. 

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name. 

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space. 

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?” 

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize. 

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly. 

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same. 

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers. 

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption. 

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around. 

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs. 

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem. 

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command. 

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet. 

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly. 

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.” 

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones. 

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security. 

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively. 

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were. 

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds. 

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña. 

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it. 

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm. 

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes. 

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.” 

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft. 

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever. 

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings. 

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.” 

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him. 

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance. 

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless. 

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully. 

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist. 

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward. 

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you. 

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck. 

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder. 

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips. 

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark. 

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck. 

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating. 

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity. 

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell. 

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting. 

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark. 

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal. 

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice. 

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment. 

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge. 

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop. 

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break. 

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed. 

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done. 

Did he? 

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze. 

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half. 

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back. 

“For the lessons.” 

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf. 

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches. 

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips. 

“I know why you smoke.” 

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient. 

“Shit,” you mutter. 

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff. 

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit. 

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.  

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s. 

main masterlist | notifications blog if you enjoyed the read, commets and reblogs are super appreciated!

Ohhh I love this so much!!! Him purposely getting “lost” 🤣

flora and fauna

1.4k / pairing: javier peña x f!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: "Nature never did betray the heart that loved her." – William Wordsworth warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), smut, oral (f!receiving), nature exhibitionism??? use of petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart, etc.), swearing, reader is able-bodied and wears athletic clothing A/N: this if for the summer lovin' 2024 writing challenge hosted by @pedgito @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy! thank you for having such a fun challenge to start off the summer right! and thank you for letting me join and post a lil late <3 banners made by @saradika-graphics!

It’s Javi’s fault, really. He was the one who decided to disregard the hiking trails and reroute your course. 

He’d never admit that he was wandering.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” 

He huffs loudly and plants his hands on his hips, brand new hiking boots coming to a halt on the desire path he was determined to follow. 

“Lost is a bit of an exaggeration. We’re exploring.” 

“We’re lost.” 

You yank the folded-up map of the state park out of his hands. The sight of random splatters of green and blue alone is enough to make Javier groan. 

“Point to where we are. Please. Just for my sanity.” 

Javier slowly pushes the aviators he’s wearing to the tip of his nose, looking between you and the map. Both sets of eyes scan across the map before Javi yanks it loose from your fingers. He does the worst thing imaginable and rotates the map a few times, not even sure which easy is up. 

“Come on, we’ll come across somethin’ we recognize.” He folds up the map and stuffs it in his pocket, taking your hand and exploring further through the landscape of trees. 

You follow the sounds of a beautiful stream, where the wildlife drink and the plants are vibrantly green. Javi kneels and splashes some water on his forehead and the back of his neck. Skimming your fingers along the top, you watch as the pretty ripples dance. 

Soon, getting lost was no longer frightening; it had become a blessing in disguise. Both you and Javi worked demanding careers, and stress relief for the two of you had become reduced to drinks at the local cantina or nights in watching the television. 

But this—a day out in nature, with the sun soaking into your skin and reviving something within both of you—was perhaps just what you needed.

By the late afternoon, Javi has you secluded in a wildflower field. You lay on your back, sat up on your elbows as you tip your head back and take in the sweet summer sun. Surrounded by butterfly weed and yellow coneflowers, it seems almost mystical as happy pollinators buzz around you and enjoy the sweet nectar the field offers. 

Javi’s lingering eyes have landed on his own source of nectar. 

“If we’re lost,” he starts, eyes lusting over as he takes in the sight of your skin below your hiking shorts and smirks, “then we can do whatever we want.” 

No- was he seriously suggesting this?

“Right now?” You whisper. 

You can’t deny the thought doesn’t make your stomach flutter with excitement. Doing it out here surrounded by the flora and fauna. 

Javi sits up beside you, his hand already skirting up the top of your warm thigh. Air is taken from your lungs, and you find yourself holding it, in awe of what he might do when no one is around. 

“This okay?” His gravely voice whispers. You purse your lips and look around, but there seems to be nothing more than literal birds and bees spying on you. 

With your shy nod of approval, Javi slowly peels down your brightly colored shorts and panties, allowing you to kick them off once around your ankles. 

Javi takes in your sweet skin and mutters something approvingly, your pretty pussy on display just for him - even out in the open like this. 

His fingers tentatively squish into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, pushing them apart wider to allow him more access. He sinks to lay on his stomach, fingers brushing along a path that trails with goosebumps.

A weak sigh leaves your parted lips as Javi spreads your folds with his index and middle finger, in awe of the arousal that’s already starting to flood your core. 

“I think you like doin’ it out in the open, princess,” his eyes meet your more desperate ones, teeth nibbling on your lower lip with anticipation. 

“What do good girls say?”

You extend your hand and run your fingers through his dark hair, allowing a shaky breath to leave you as sweat grows tacky on the back of your neck and the hinge of your legs. 

“Please, Javi, I want you.”

With a degrading smirk, he tuts almost disapprovingly. “So naughty. Want me anywhere I can have ya, huh?”

You nod feverishly, and that’s enough to get him to continue. 

He presses a pretty kiss against your pearl, feeling her twitch under even the lightest of his touches. Javi leans in once more and presses a longer, sloppier one on your pussy, sucking ever so lightly that has heat simmering across your skin. A long whine leaves the depth of your throat, your fingers weaving through Javi’s locks as you keep him close. 

He darkly chuckles and knows that your sense of patience is waning thin. 

“You want me to eat this pussy, angel?”

“Fuck,” you huff, “please, Javi, I’ve been good.” 

“You have, baby, you have.” He mutters and moves in closer. 

Javi doesn’t so much as eat you out as he does makeout with your cunt, holding your hand by his head and feeling the squeezes of what makes you feel good. 

He slowly lets go of your hand and nudges the tip of his finger against your entrance. You’re begging at this point for the heavenly stretch, nodding your head almost anxiously. 

He doesn’t start with just one; he knows you can take two. Your back arches with a gasp that enters the open field, and you instinctively put your hand over your mouth. 

“Come on, baby, I wanna hear you be loud for me. No one’s gonna hear you but me.”

It’s difficult to pull your hand away, but once you do, Javi continues to push two of his thick fingers inside your entrance.

The burn is insatiable, causing your stomach to clench with excitement. 

“Please,” you moan out into the grass, clutching the soil and flowers between your fist with need. 

He starts a steady pace, but soon, it’s picking up enough to make you moan his name repeatedly. 

You were free out here, with every other creature that was free and happily existing. This feels like a dream, one where your lover would take you in such a beautiful place. 

Javi is quick to bring you down to Earth, his fingers curling inside you and leaving you breathless as heat spills down your spine. He suckles your clit before returning to fluid circles that massage your throbbing clit, losing your breath with how good he’s eating you out. 

“M’close,” you whisper, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down your temple. When your open your eyes, you see the most ravenous thing you’ve ever seen; Javi’s pink tongue extended and flicking against your clit, his dark eyes lusted over, and his fingers making your pussy squirt amongst the wildflowers. 

“Fuck!” You whine, your legs shaking as your orgasm crashes against you, the knots in your stomach finally plucking loose. Your lungs fill with air as you cry out his name, Javi not stopping as he eagerly laps up your release. 

He grunts against your core, moaning lowly and watching in awe as his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Your bleary eyes see Javi rut his hips against the ground, his fist at your hip clutching nothing but the roots of grass that he had ripped from the ground. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling off your core and seeing his face smothered in your arousal, “Taste so fucking sweet on my tongue, baby.” 

The world soon begins to form around you, but not until Javi puts your panties and athletic shorts back into place, a shy grin on your face as you glance around out of habit, seeing only nature watching. 

Javi licks his lips and uses his forearm to wipe away any other lacquer, smirking as his eyes roam over your body. 

“We should really start finding our way back.” You trail off, attempting to find your balance as you wipe away the dirt on the back of your legs and hands. 

Javi playfully laughs and shakes his head, following you to stand. “We’re not lost. We’re like a mile from the car. I’ve been wantin’ to take you here for a while.”

You stop in your tracks, dumbfounded, glancing around a bit confused. 

“We’re not lost?” You try not to be shrill, but you’re quick to smack his pec with the back of your hand. 

“You think I would get us lost? Please.” He says jokingly, taking your hand and escorting you out of your perfect fantasy. 

Through the trail of trees and following the stream upwards as the sun melts against the horizon, it’s enough to make you wish you sort of did grow lost. Because maybe you both could stay like that forever. 

main masterlist | notifications blog

Oh my gosh! I have been holding onto this one on my TBR list and phew! The EMOTIONS!!!!! UGH!!!!!

Absolutely beautiful!

Dusk

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javier sees you again years after the end of your love affair. Torn between the memories of what happened then and what is now, you both face the weight of your actions from Bogotá to Madrid.

read on AO3 | masterlist

Rating: Explicit, +18

Warnings/Tags: past lovers, secret relationship, angst, smut (penetration, f oral), implied age gap (not mentioned). Reader has hair, foreigner (not explicit which country, she isn't American or Colombian), knows multiple languages and is able-bodied. No use of y/n, Spanish translations are between the paragraphs.

Word count: 8,7k

Tabby note: My first Javi P fic for angst challenge by @almostfoxglove 💔 Even if I go around difficult topics, most of my work is lighter, so this was a great exercise to go deep into emotions! You can the moodboard inspiration here and the list of all fics here! 🐾

now

“Are you happy to be in Madrid?” The receptionist with a pearly smile cheerfully greets him, or maybe not, it sounded more like she was talking for a while, following a script, that he ignored.

He could be in Paris, Tokyo, or anywhere in the world at the moment he wouldn’t give a damn. Tiredness has been consuming him for a while now, and the week passed at an agonizing pace. Inside his head, there is silence and chaos altogether.

Somehow, he comes to his senses already inside the hotel room. What had he answered to the receptionist? He can’t recall but he got the key, which is more than proof that the autopilot was working. Taking off his jacket, he opens the minibar and takes whatever alcohol he can find.

His head mends the last months as just one, a very lonely one. He can’t fully remember what it felt to be together with someone, closely, intimately. From family to friends, everyone becomes a blur as he tries to get his shit together. The alcohol burns down his throat, he doesn’t even mind reading the label. Once he can rest, it will be fine.

The night promises to be a long one, the timezone difference is a pain in the ass to deal with. Whenever he is about to drift away into sleep, his legs kick repeatedly and startle him awake. The clock reads 1 AM, then 2 AM, at 3 AM he decides he has enough and starts to dress up again.

Passing by the mirror, he ignores his reflection, paying attention only to what he will do. Have a cigarette, walk a little, and head back to sleep. Simple. He locks the room’s door, orders the elevator, presses the button to the ground floor, waits, and walks out when it stops.

For a summer night, Madrid is cold. The scenario is drastically different from the streets of Bogotá and further from the ranch in Laredo, everything he wanted for a fresh beginning. For a week of his time, some words on his experience, and training on how to deal with narcotraffic, the Spanish police paid some considerable money, the type of money Peña couldn’t ignore. Now, here, he is watching the downtown buildings and wondering if it was worth it.

Lightning his cigarette, he drags a puff and looks at his surroundings without much curiosity. Neoclassic buildings or whatever style they are, mostly white now warmed by the orange city lights in a classic boulevard. Not many floors, four maximum, but full of balconies. In one of them, on the third floor, a woman screams at her husband.

The small woman is shouting fast words as she throws some clothes down at the man, who tries to ask forgiveness from the street. Another neighbor, from a couple of balconies away, asks them to quit it and go back to sleep, but the woman ignores and continues the fight.

Getting amused by it, Peña keep watching the scene from his place on the other side of the street. Another balcony, now on the fourth floor, opens and reveals a confused sleepy woman. Even with the low light, he can recognize the pout on your lips.

The cigarette is long forgotten as he watches the details on your face waiting for the best moment to enter the fight. It is like a memory played in front of him, seeing you in your underwear and t-shirt, the angle of your hips making your ass jiggle a little every time you try to stretch yourself down at the balcony the floor under. He doesn’t hiss when the cigarette burns his fingertips, lost looking at you.

When the moment comes, you grab the attention of the small woman in tears and murmur something too softly for him to hear from afar, except for how you sweetly say “Vamos a dormir, cariño?” And so he walks back to the hotel to sleep.

("Let's go sleep, love?")

then

Cheerful bubblegum pop fills your room as you carefully paint your lips red. It takes a little effort, but in your lace lingerie and big hair you feel like a woman, not a girl. Next to you, an open big window lets the chill mountain breeze caress your skin, raising goosebumps in your almost naked body. 

Your dad had separated what he thought was appropriate for the occasion as if you were still a child. Being the ambassador’s daughter isn’t an excruciating task, except when you get to play into your father’s business. You know little to nothing about the USA’s DEA or whatever their mission is in Colombia, what you had access to was that your dad invited part of the DEA into your house for lunch. Sitting pretty and smiling is your task for the day.

With a pop, you touch your lips together and inspect the lipstick line. Perfect. Voices are filling the garden, gaining your curiosity. Coming to the window, you can see men in suits greeting your father and grandma as they walk on. All of them are looking ahead, but one. His brown eyes are locked with yours, inviting you to come down and see them up close.

“Javi,” someone shouts, making the man return to the group. You stay there watching him go before finishing dressing up.

In a white two-piece Chanel suit, you strut down the stairs to the first floor feeling small compared to the high ceiling. It had become a regular sentiment, to look around and see a big house nettly decorated and think to yourself “Why am I here?”.

By the garden door, the ambassador waits for you as he keeps enchanting his guests with some story. Here you aren’t his daughter, you are a state piece and it is key to remember your place in this chess game.

You can feel the brown eyes boring into your skin as the ambassador introduces you to the DEA officers. Following his command, you greet one by one as if it is normal behavior for a diplomat to know every policeman’s name. You heard him review all their names with his assistant the day before.

“Javier Peña, ma’am,” the owner of the brown eyes says to you. Enveloping your hand on his, you do your best to ignore a shiver when he puts pressure. His thick fingers leave a hot trail, his big hand engulfs yours.

Whatever you feel, he does too. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Peña.” His brown eyes shine when you politely say his last name back at him.

Gathering around the table, you sit in front of him and scold yourself every now and then to look at the others, even if you only want to stare at the handsome man. He, however, isn’t as discreet putting weight in his stare cornering you.

With sips of white wine, you try to ignore it doing your part as a pretty little thing full of questions. How long have you been in Colombia? A few months for most of the department, Javier is in his first week still fresh from Texas. Have you made any progress in your mission so far? Yes, still in the early stages, they are gathering all the information about the cartels. Are you enjoying the country? The food is great and the weather is mostly nice, even in cold Bogotá. Is your family enjoying the country or are they missing the USA? They are getting or already gotten used to it, Javier is single, though.

 You laugh when necessary, showing your white teeth in contrast with the red of the lipstick. Legs crossed like a lady, nails carefully done around the glass, you are well-behaved and it shows.

“Your daughter is an exceptional young woman, your grace,” one of the men says in a sincere compliment to the ambassador, even if he is speaking about you.

“She is indeed. Even more now, after her year abroad.” You smile back at your father, who is doing the proud dad bit.

Tradition is that in your culture once fine man and woman become an adult they have to choose a place to spend a whole year, it is supposed to represent their coming of age on their own terms. You don’t count having access to everything money could get, a comfortable house, and stability as the coming of age journey of the century, but here you are.

“Where did you go to?” Javier asks as he drinks more of his wine.

“Egypt, Cairo.” You reply as you drink his facial features without shame. The sharpness of his jawline, the way his mustache heavily adorns his thin upper lip just to emphasize the plump bottom one.

“What an unusual place! What motivated you?” Another man asks, forcing you to move on from Peña’s face after a lingering second.

The ambassador loves that you can captivate the room’s attention so easily, but your father tried to convince you to change your destination many times. 

Europe was much more chic, but attending an international boarding school made you get bored by it. If the DEA knew how little you care for the USA, they would quickly find you a pain in the ass. The Middle East was much more interesting, far from the restricted embassy’s house in sunny Colombia.

“I like history, to deeply learn a culture. There wasn’t anywhere else that I could experience it so vividly. I’m glad my family could proportionate it to me.” You smile truthfully, gaining a glance from Grandma.

“Must have learned a lot, being on your own out there,” Javier states in a lower tone.

“She knows where to put her foot, soon will go to Oxford to study just like her father,” Grandma praises raising her glass in your direction.

It was a question of time before they brought it onto the table. It is a sensitive topic to you, still unsure how to navigate that new part of your life. Far from homeland, between boarding schools and the embassy, then an ocean of distance from your family, you hadn’t stuck your feet anywhere for too long and suddenly you had to choose something to call yours for the long run. It feels more than just a diploma.

“Well, if everything goes right. I still need to get their acceptance letter.” You remind Grandma with a small laugh, that doesn’t exactly reach your eyes, but nobody seems to notice.

Grandma, playing as a governess, gets up to announce the dessert order with a tentative to marvelous the guests with your home country food. As everyone gets interested in her chat, you and Javi opt to sneak a glance at each other.

In a moment of courage, you lift your high heels and gently caress his leg under the table. Gaining a smirk from him, he slides his leg to get closer to yours. Hidden by the tablecloth, you keep touching as the conversation goes by.

“Has my son already invited you to the annual ball?” Grandma asks with a smile. The ambassador coughs in surprise but is ready to charm.

“Oh, you absolutely should come. We spend the whole year planning it, a celebration of our culture at its finest. If you liked the food today, just wait until you get the beverage. We are known to be good matchmakers too, you might fall in love there, Peña.”

Javier takes his eyes from you to look at his host, who is waiting for an acceptance of the invitation. Pushing his leg closer to yours, he grabs his glass and raises it.

“I trust your gut, sir. Count me in.”

now

The national police of Spain, or CNP, headquarters isn’t far from the hotel. The district itself is bougie, fancier than what Javi was used to, too formal, too classy with the embassies and mansions. He feels out of his element, but no wonder you chose to live there.

He slept well after seeing you, like old times. Your presence always made him feel at ease, even if your departure was bittersweet. The aftermath is still with him, folded in his wallet as a reminder of what once were you both.

From the hotel to the police, he keeps thinking about you. It wasn't new, during the years his mind would drift to you after a long day, but now that you were here it is a different kind of thrill. He tries to bury it down to that place where all his failures and worries are lost, but he can't.

The job, however, is a great distraction. As soon the formalities are finished, he jumps head in on what he knows how to do. Six years in Colombia were enough to showcase his skills.

During the first break, he goes out to smoke. Sunny day, blue sky, and good weather. A nice sight of a busy fancy street. More than enough to keep his mind in the present and not lost in memories. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he puts a cigarette in his mouth and starts searching for his lighter when you appear in his vision.

Dress pants, a white t-shirt, and a clock with a leather strap on the wrist. In your arms, a plastic case full of paper forces you to bend a little forward. Clipped on your pants pocket is a badge of some kind with the national police logo. Whoever is with you, speaks with a heavy madrileño accent, but you don't bat an eye to understand it.

To simply put, you are different. Far from the glamour of the embassy, from the party life late at night that he knew so intimately because of you. There was a time when your eyes would find his so easily in a crowd, but now you don’t even glance at him as you enter the building, too immersed in your conversation.

Ignoring his cigarette, Javi follows you down the hallways of the CNP until he reads “Traducción y Letras” on one of the plaques outside. This is more like you, classier.

("Translation and Languages")

Checking his clock, he sees that he still has a few minutes before going back to his lesson. You are alone in the room, just you and archives. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, you invite him in without looking up.

“It's good to see you,” he states without much thought as if it was casual to meet you there. You quickly look up at him with big eyes.

He can't read if the expression of surprise on your face is good or bad.

“Javi,” you say, putting whatever you were working back on the table. Your eyes are locked with his but without the playfulness of before.

“I thought you were in the UK,” the last time he spoke with your grandma she told him, it sounded like brand new information. It had been years since.

You scratch your neck, like you used to whenever you got anxious. He can still read you after so long.

“I was. What are you doing here?”

“CNP asked me to train their DEA.” You scoff in amusement like it is the most obvious thing ever.

“Of course, I heard something about it. Didn't connect it with you, sorry.” 

Another glance at the clock, he has less than two minutes before getting back to class but wants to stay here with you.

“Are you free tonight? We should have dinner,” he says straight to the point hoping you will say yes.

He phrased it like that because it is obvious that you should have dinner with him. It isn’t a question, it was a matter of when for Javier.

Still in shock, you swallow hard and shake your head. His heartbeat rises, ready to have another harsh goodbye.

“We can have lunch if you insist. I'm busy tonight. Just come by whenever you're ready.”

Simple as that, you get back to work and ignore his presence. You aren't rude, it isn't your nature, but it feels colder than he remembered.

Nodding at your statement, he leaves you alone and walks down to his office for the week. His bluntness will be a problem, he can't scare you away or he will be settled for another couple of years wondering “what if”.

The weight of his wallet gets heavier with every step, the souvenir of the last night you were his still there begging him to do not fuck it up this time.

After some concentration, he can focus again on training. Work was there for him when he needed to ignore the world and move on. The autopilot was carefully crafted doing the tactical work in South America and reigns free in Europe, for what it seems.

His body craves nicotine, but he needs to guarantee that you won’t run away before. In solid steps, he walks fast toward your office again. At least he thinks it is yours, it is absurd to have you, of all people, working for a police force.

The door is open, but you don’t notice his arrival. With you back to the entrance, you are speaking on the phone in a calm tone.

“Cena es mejor. Aun tengo muchisimo que hacer hoy, harta de trabajo con todo lo que vino de Marruecos.” You heavily sigh before laughing at whatever the person on the other side of the line said. “Sabes que flipo con teatro, mi amor. Ya, nos vemos en mi apartamento a las ocho. Te quiero, bye.”

("Dinner is better. I still have much to do today, I'm full of work with everything that came from Morocco. You know I love theatre, my love. Okay, see you at my apartment at 8 PM. Love you, bye.")

Javi steps back to the corridor before you turn, giving you a few seconds to sit back in your chair. It is logical, you moved on and so did he. Yet, he feels in his chest how unprepared he is to face it.

“Ready?” He knocks on your door as if nothing has happened, like you are still close and this is a regular thing.

“Ah, yeah. Do you have a place in mind?” You ask grabbing your purse and leading the way out, following his play-pretend of acting normal about whatever you two had become.

then

If your lips weren’t so busy kissing Javi’s, you would kiss the landscaper who projected the embassy’s garden. Far from the noise inside the ballroom, further from curious eyes, illuminated only by the moonlight and shadowed by a centennial tree. In the garden’s corner, you are peacefully focusing only on Javi’s body reactions to yours.

How his big hands are divided between caressing your neck and holding your waist so close to his, you can’t but throw your arms around his neck to flush his body into yours. 

You didn’t bring a coat, even if is a chilly night. The heat emanating from him to you keeps you warm, almost burning where the skin meets.

You hadn’t touched a single glass since the party started, too busy waiting for the right moment to come to him. Through the open kisses, you taste on his tongue cigarettes and champagne, getting you drunk with every twist and turn.

Your lipstick will be smudged from the pressure of his lips, that’s why you kept the package and a mirror in the pocket of your dress for a small maintenance before going back to the party.

Your neck, hopefully, bruised with every nibble and hot kiss he inflicts on the tender skin, so you opted for using your hair down to keep to yourself the souvenirs of the night.

With a soft moan, he kisses you back before putting some distance as he catches his breath. You want more, so you pressure your open mouth on his again as he softly laughs.

“Eager, huh?” He asks with his thumb making soft circles in your jaw. You nodd back, positively drunk of him.

Everything became Javier Peña the moment he left the diplomat’s house. You counted the days until the annual ball, daydreaming about your next meeting. From the dress to your position in the room, where you could easily see every guest's entrance, it was all a conscious choice.

You saw him before his brown eyes locked with yours. His regular suit, not a tuxedo, appeared to be out of place when sided with your gown, but you didn’t mind a bit as you made small talk waiting for the moment for you to lead him outside. Dividing the attention between guests, you moved inside the ballroom from one person to another, brushing your hands in his whenever crossing his path.

Inside the ballroom, you were a state piece, but in the garden in his arms, you are you.

It started small, as you softly spoke to each other walking further in the garden. Javi isn’t a man of many words, but for you, he tries. When the last guest went inside, you threw yourself in his arms and happily kissed until he lost his breath.

With the moonlight, his sharp profile is a heavenly vision. In his embrace, you wish for nothing but to be there with him forever. Putting both hands on your face, he kisses your lips one final time.

“We should go, people will start to ask questions,” you whisper glancing at the party. His eyes follow yours before his hands leave you to look for a cigarette.

“Want one?” You shook your head, remembering how he tasted seconds ago. “Not a smoker?”

“No, but I like the smell, though.” Licking your lips, you inhale big hoping to look less flustered. Javi stares at you nodding slowly, pondering about what you said.

Taking your pocket mirror and lipstick, you adjust the makeup as he finishes his cigarette. Your eyes roam his body looking for any clue of what just happened, his tie is crooked and he has lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

His eyes stay on your face as you straighten his tie until perfection, they focus on your freshly painted lips when you clean the lipstick on his with your thumb. Looking up at him, you take a deep breath.

“Perfect, shall we?” You suggest and he gives you his arm, taking you back to the party like nothing happened. Just an innocent walk in the garden, a good host for a guest that didn’t match with the ambient he was in.

It is the first of many nights where nothing and everything happens.

now

The sunlight finds your eyes the moment you leave CNP’s door, Javi can’t remember when he last saw you out in the sun. Maybe he never did. The hue of your iris is pretty just like your face, your stare is more like a woman now. 

You used to be all smiles next to him, clingy even, constantly touching him in the privacy of taxi cabs. He used to think about holding your hand in public, wonder what would feel like to touch you in front of everyone. To claim you out in the open, where you could be just his.

He signals for a taxi, you enter it giving the driver the restaurant’s address just to be quiet in sequence. Sitting far from him, your eyes are distant in the street, ignoring his that inspects every inch of your body.

Javi never learned how to deal with frustration, so he does what he can and lights up a cigarette.

“Do you mind?” He questions remembering how you would watch him exhale smoke with lust, pressing your body closer to his post-sex cigarette. In the late night of your meetings, the first thing you did was to smell him and close your eyes in comfort.

With your eyes still looking through the window, you speak in what appears to be lost in thoughts.

“A little, don’t like the smell of it.” 

He immediately flicks the cigarette out of the car window.

The restaurant is nice, as he expected. Not too fancy, with a minimalist ambiance and small menu. Even if some things are different, you remain the same in others. You wear glasses to read, he isn’t sure if for aesthetic or prescription. The crimson red lipstick is a more cherry tone. You hadn’t smiled yet.

When the waiter leaves and you put down your glasses, he can’t take the silence anymore.

“Didn’t expect to see you working for the police.” A simple statement, you are intelligent and more academically inclined.

“I don’t. I work for their intelligence, translations, and interpretation. I don’t do field work.” Your eyes finally look at his, it bothers him the lack of passion there.

“You do back office work then?” He tries to stretch the conversation to any clue what your life is like.

“Something like that. I work for the government, not the police. Spain has ultramarine territories, plazas de soberanía if you prefer, my job is to provide verbal and cultural translations of information that they might have an interest in. It’s more about the countries that neighbours the territories than these cities.”

“You learned Arabic.” This makes you smirk. 

It was an old wish of yours, you wanted to read more, to experience the culture in another way. It wasn’t unusual for you to switch between languages during the day back then, to him you reserved a few words in your native language when alone.

“I did. There’s a diploma that proves it.”

University is a topic he isn’t keen to speak about. 

The day you left Colombia to never come back is burning inside his mind, the folded paper in his wallet flashes into his head. He wants to open it up on the table, to interrogate you about it like a fugitive, instead, he chooses another topic.

“Why Spain?”

“Why not?” Your eyes are defiant, you understand what is behind his words. You hated Europe, you tried to stay away, why here?

“You could be anywhere in the world, so, why Spain?” He tries again, watching as you bring your hand to the neck.

“I don’t know.” Looking back at him, you keep your voice soft. “Guess it ties parts of my life. I came here as an intern, when the time came the intelligence decided to keep me and I stayed. It feels familiar to listen to Spanish all day. Almost like home, if I have one.”

“You hated the accent, always preferred the South Americans.” It sounds bitter because it is bitter.

Javi wanted to meet the version of you he knew all about, to come back to the day you left and continue from there.

“Relajate, tío. No te cabrees tanto.” You tease doing the Spaniard lisp. He rolls his eyes in response.

("Relax, tío. Don't worry about it." Tío is a traditional slang in Spaniard Spanish, similar to dude.)

“Your grandma was sad when I last saw her, you didn’t visit enough.”

Javi saw her two times after your departure. One when he went looking for you in the diplomat’s house just to be received by the elder woman who informed him that you had gone away already. The other one was on an official visit to the embassy, where he politely asked about you to receive a sympathetic look from her. “She never stays longer than a weekend.”

“Got tired of Colombia. Seems that you feel the same, you left.” Two can play this game, now is your time to be bitter. You are right, he can understand how you feel about it.

“Finished my mission, it’s different.” He is being reasonable.

“And I left to find one. Who says that this isn’t my mission?”

Enough. Javi always hated games.

“What will you watch tonight in the theatre?” Your eyes subtly widened with the realization that he heard you on the phone.

You open your mouth to reply, but the waiter comes with the food forcing the conversation to an end.

then

With every night spent together, you understand less why you are lying. Javi has a respectable job, treats you well, and, on top of everything, the sex is amazing. He makes you feel like the one, yet, you get to be with him only in the shadows.

It starts with quick whispered calls between the house and the DEA to schedule late night meetings, evolves to random encounters in restaurants and bars far from the embassy district after the sun goes down, and ends on your bed after midnight.

Quickies in his car parked in an alley, heated kisses with hands all over the place in the back of a cinema, and ends up on your bed. All paths lead to your bed.

You know every freckle in his body like it is yours, you kissed all the corners and folds in his skin. He learned when to shut you up before moans get too loud to echo through the house, the exact rhythm of his hips thrust into yours that makes you see stars. You know when he will close his eyes ready to come, appreciate how much he likes to give your face little pecks right after.

There is a lighter inside the drawer of your bedstand in case his don’t work. A jacket he once forgot is hidden far in your coat rack waiting for you to wrap yourself around it on the nights you don’t see him. You sleep on the right side of your bed because the left one is his, but only until before sunrise.

Months of obsession led to this. With perfumed skin and the red lipstick he loved so much, you met for what was supposed to be just a couple of drinks. Javi don’t make it so simple.

Two shots of aguardiente and his tongue taste like anise, which you never really liked, but here you are savoring like it is your last meal. He is drunk and whispering sweet nothings between kisses in the back of the bar.

“Stay with me,” he supplicates as if it wasn’t obvious, you laugh at the absurdity of it.

“You say like I have other plans,” his pupils dilate making his eyes almost black, staring right at you. He smacks his lips into yours hungrily with a groan, earning a full moan from you.

“I mean it. Don’t go,” the words hit you like a bullet.

Don’t go to Oxford, stay here. You thought about it since the acceptance letter came weeks ago, if you should ignore it and study in Colombia instead. It is irrational, you know that you will choose yourself over him in the end, but it sounds lovely to be just his in this fantasy.

He senses your hesitance in giving in, so he pushes a little more.

“I like you, stay,” with a low voice, murmuring like a prayer on your lips.

Your brain gets foggy and you listen to it as I love you, wishing to be the same, to have the semantics of it changed to what you want.

That night you think you made love, not sex. You mistake lust for passion, that his stare is of devotion and not of arousement. He gets inside your body and you don’t care about how vocal you are, focused only on his reactions to your nails scraping his skin.

You are sat by the bed, wrapped by the bedsheet as he uses your lighter on a new cigarette. The window by the vanity is open, welcoming the moonlight to shine on his tan skin and create a halo around his profile. He is up to smoke into the air of the night, fully naked so you can see the red marks on his back.

“Stay,” is your turn to plea. He exhales smoke before looking at you.

“We can’t,” a sober Javi says and you miss the drunk him.

“And? Stay, just for tonight.” You smile biting your lip, wanting to wake up tangled limbs with him.

“It’s better if we don’t.”

With a final puff, he puts away the cigarette and kisses your head before dressing up.

“I have a big lead to search on early tomorrow. I can meet you another time this week, maybe.” His eyes don’t find yours, you feel cheap, even if the sheets around your body are expensive.

With a nod, you try to put away the apprehension and give him a chaste kiss followed by a smile before putting on a robe to take him to the door.

The big house seems bigger in the dark, the coldness of it makes you embrace yourself to get heat. By the door, he puts his hand on your jaw and you lean on it, seeking comfort. He kisses you deeply, but softly, before walking out.

Dragging your feet to the stairs, you do your best not to remember the drunk Javi's words, to not give in to the fantasy. Getting to the top, Grandma calls you by your childhood nickname.

“Are you sure of it?” She asks in your native language and you know exactly what she means.

Her eyes search yours in the dark, filled with concern. It doesn’t take much to read behind them.

“Yes. I am.” You start going up a few steps but stop at the top of the stairs.

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.” She murmurs in English to the empty room and you shiver from the instant recognition.

The quote stays with you in your lonely room. It is painfully obvious why you are lying about Javi, keeping him a secret.

Your bed is cold on the left side, even more in the morning. There is a man’s coat that is cheaper than everything you own inside your closet. You keep lavanda incenses inside your drawer to erase every trace of him, a floral scent to clean the cigarettes you hadn’t smoked.

Intimate details about him sound far from whatever you did inside these walls. You kissed all his freckles but don’t know his middle name or the city he grew up in. You know his drink of choice, but not his fears. Everything feels superficial, not enough to get you feeling what you are.

Laid on your bed, you turn your back to the left side and drift to sleep. In the end, you choose you.

now

You don’t tell what play you will be watching and don’t mention once who will take you. Javi doesn’t put pressure, no matter how much he wants to know.

Lunch is almost normal, you answer here and there a few of his questions, but don’t ask him anything. You used to be talkative, intrusive even, trying to learn everything about him, the curiosity is gone and boredness gave in.

He pays for it, but you don’t kiss his cheek with a thank you, instead, you say the words out loud before taking a deep breath.

Now you would head back in a taxi with your legs on his lap as you talk about whatever you wanted on the road to the diplomat’s house. He would hold your high heels in his hand and massage your shins, thinking about how intelligent you are and how much he wants to take your clothes off. You would tease him about being too quiet and he would answer, truthfully, that he likes the sound of your voice. You would smile big, with soft eyes that could see him as a whole.

Except this is Madrid, not Bogotá and you are close, but so far away. Your eyes are once more looking into the window, both hands on your lap tensed by his presence.

The folded paper in his wallet is the anchor that sinks his heart with its weight. He wants to touch your skin, kiss your face and ask you to say anything, but he is six years too late.

By the CNP door, you get out of the taxi before him. Unsure of what to do, you open and close your mouth.

“Thank you for the lunch. It was nice.” It is a lie, but he takes it. You don’t want to hurt him.

“Thank you for the company. I’m glad that you found a place where you belong.”

He is happy for you and sad for him. You always were better than he could be, good to see that you made life on your terms and don’t depend on anyone. Sadly, he doesn’t have a place in it.

Your eyes are big, round as you stare at him moments before you give his cheek a peck. A small smile adorns your face and he feels better for a second, watching you enter the building.

He sleeps well that night, wakes up like it's an ordinary day, tries to keep life going despite knowing there is a possibility to see you for the rest of his stay in Spain.

First, the idea of seeing you again is a threat, then is a wish. He wants to see you, he looks around the people coming and going through the corridors hoping that you will appear in the corner. Giving in to failure, he focuses once more on his work until the break when he listens to your name being spoken by one of the detectives with a mocking tone.

“El Conde ataca una vez más. Ayer la llevó al teatro, tanta cosa más interesante en esta ciudad y es esto lo que amanece en El País!” He laughs while pointing out a photograph in a newspaper.

("The Count attacks once more. Yesterday he took her to the theater, so many more interesting things in this city and this is what is being reported in El País!")

“No seas tonto, hombre! Está en la parte de society, qué esperabas? Geopolítica?” Another mocks back.

("Don't be stupid, man! You are in the society part, what did you expect? Geopolitic?")

From his position, Javi can see you in a cocktail dress next to a good looking man. You are smiling with your teeth as the man has his hand on your lower back. He looks polished, well raised, Javi can smell money on him.

The detectives leave, still in banter, but the newspaper stays. He reads the small note at the bottom of the picture “El Conde y su hermosa pareja, nuevamente en cita”. It must be a recurring thing, he wonders if the nickname is actually this man’s royal title.

("The Count and his beautiful partner, once more on a date".)

Money searches money. From party dresses, two pieces sets to tennis outfits and countryside all-white, you flaunted generational wealth. He invested a big slice of his payment in suits that looked more put together to appear like he belonged in your world. El Conde, from what Javi can see, never had to worry about such triviality.

Putting his work aside, Javi isn’t a name to remember. He doubts that growing up in Laredo, being a small-town man at his heart would be worth the news. Except to you, who treated him like the most interesting person you ever met, even if he tried to keep the personal information to himself.

Looking back, sounds off why he couldn’t give in to you. Rationally he can understand his actions, you were going to live abroad and it could set you back having someone waiting for you on the other side of the world. His life was too dangerous, with the risk of getting those close to him hurt rapidly growing and he wouldn’t be in peace if something happened to you. Despite all of it, you were worth the inevitable pain from day one.

So worth that seeing you in a dress, having fun with another man, made him think about the countless nights spent out in Bogotá. 

Your room was his favorite place in the city, he slept on the left side back on his apartment’s bed to imagine that you were there with him when the morning came. He never asked for the coat he forgot in your house, he liked to imagine you wearing it to have a little piece of him. Everything back then felt like home.

He closes the newspaper and goes out for a new cigarette, puffing a cloud of smoke with the smell you can’t stand. El Conde must smell like an expensive perfume.

then

You don’t take him to your bedroom anymore, not since that night. If he notices something about it, he keeps to himself. You are still his sweetheart in the backseat of his car, where his hands are all over you and the heavy air fogs up the windows.

The car is parked in a blind spot, where the light from the streetlamp doesn’t reach. It is dark, mostly shadows inside of it, everything is hidden by the tinted windows.

Words aren’t exchanged, the only sounds are the flesh against flesh and the uneven breath from your lips as you ride him hard. Big hands knead the tender skin of your hips, pushing you further to meet his thighs. He is deep inside you, making you clench with every move. His open eyes stare at you with the same devotion look you try to avoid by shutting yours and hiding your head in his neck.

“So good,” he whispers into your ears as his hips increase rhythm.

You cry out loud from overwhelm, the angle makes your clit rub his pubic hair more and more when he moves. He knows you are close, so he hugs you tighter, almost suffocating. You hate how much you are an open book to him.

“Let it go, baby,” he orders and you follow, giving in to ecstasy.

He is not far behind, as he uses your spent body to achieve his bliss. With legs shaking from oversensitivity, your mind is lost between heaven and earth as he pushes one final time inside of you.

 He kisses your face in needy little pecks, softly tracing your silhouette. Your eyes are still closed.

After a minute or two, you start to untangle yourself from his embrace and search for your outfit on the car floor. You still haven’t looked into his eyes and it clearly annoys him.

“I can take you home. Don’t take a taxi.” He offers and you want to accept it, but know better.

“You know I can’t, Javi.”

You haven’t spoken about why you decided to get cold at him, it has been weeks of slowly putting some distance between you two. For every push, he pulls you back in this tug of war.

He breaths harshly from his nose, but gives you a positive nod anyway. Getting out of the car, you start walking to the closest avenue, but he promptly pulls your arm and kisses you.

It makes your head spin, your bodies illuminated by the street lights where everyone can see it. For a second you want to ignore your guts and stay there, claim him as yours until daylight, but you don’t.

“Call me when you get home,” he asks with puppy eyes, already searching for a cigarette inside his pocket.

You don’t call.

The next days pass in a hurry, with your attention divided between doing your bags and ignoring the heartache that is creeping in. Javi asks you out and you find an excuse, if he doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t say it.

Your room constantly smells like lavanda. At night, you try to fill your head with anything that takes your attention from him until you can fall asleep from tiredness. The sheets don’t smell like him anymore, but you know it from memory and let fill your mind when you feel lonely.

You are strong in your decision, to choose you until the night before your flight. His coat is in your bed and you have been thinking about packing it or not. If you let it here, every summer break it will be waiting to shove in your face what you once had and it is still free in Bogotá. If you take it with you, will be a constant reminder of what you can’t have.

Before you reprimand yourself, you call for a taxi to the other side of town. It is after midnight on a weekday, he must be at home, preferably, by himself. You don’t know what to do if he has someone there.

Paying the driver fast, you sprint out of the taxi to look around trying to find the number in the paper. Javi wrote down his address once in case of emergency, you think that having him one last time is one. You locate the apartment and knock erratically on the door.

The moment your eyes see his, you throw yourself at him and leave all worries free when he kisses you back with hunger.

He tastes like cigarettes and you love it. His mustache tickles the hollow of your throat, as he fastly goes down on your neck. Goosebumps everywhere his hands touch while clumsy undressing you. When you are naked, he pushes you into the wall and you arch your back inviting him to where he belongs.

On his knees, he starts to eat you out letting out a heavy groan when you stretch your arm behind and tug on his hair. He alternates between sucking your clit and twisting his tongue inside you, making your body feels heavy with pleasure.

You try to look behind your shoulder, to find his eyes, missing the heat behind them. He happily obliges, gaining his height back just to hold your head in his hands and look deeply into your eyes before devouring your mouth. It tastes like you and him, like happiness.

“I missed you,” he whispers and you believe it because you missed him too.

The rational part of you is stronger, so you decide to show instead of putting out in words, taking off his clothes just like he did to you.

He fucks you against the wall, biting on your earlobe and breathing his airy moans directly into your ear. On his sofa, he looks into your eyes up close as his hips thrust so deep you let your mouth hang. With his hand squeezing harshly your jaw, he guides you to his bed until your head reaches the pillow.

It is a mix of wanting, needing, and despair as he opens your legs and positions himself back inside of you. The warm lights inside his room make his tan skin glow, you feel heated up by sunlight when he slides his nose on the side of your face, bracing himself as your hips find his.

There are no words, but this time silence is forced by the moment’s intensity. He gasps directly in your mouth, unable to keep his breath and kiss at the same time. His whole skin feels wet, from the thin layer of sweat in his collarbones to your sex soaking him up. 

You place one heel on his back, urging him to give it all to you. He responds by increasing his tempo, going harder until you lock your fingers with his and let pleasure overcome your conscience. 

He frantically searches for his own release, looking at you like you are his. You bring your interlocked hands to your lips and kiss his fingertips while staring back at him. When he spills inside you, is your turn to give his face little pecks in a silent devotion.

His body weight is on you, his face is tucked in your neck. You can feel his fast heartbeat, still high as his needy hand is caressing the side of your face. It feels different than everything you did. It feels like love.

But you have thought about it before and it was just drunk words. Yet, you let yourself feel whatever he wants to give you. He raises his head until you are eye to eye.

He keeps touching you delicately in silence for a while, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t control the smile that beams from you to him.

The night gets darker by the hour, but you don’t care. His body is constantly touching yours, begging you to stay. It is his turn to say whatever he wants to, he tells you about his week, the mission and how time went by slowly without you. When exhaustion comes, you sleep on the right side of his bed, with his arm on your waist and his face in your hair.

With the first rays of the sun entering between the shutter gaps, you wake up and it takes all of your will to leave the bed without making him notice.

Your flight will be soon. It chokes you to see him so peaceful in his sleep, to know that he will be searching for your heat when the morning comes.

Having mercy, you get paper and a pen and write down a final message. With precision, you paint your lips red and kiss the paper corner before placing it on the pillow.

The way back to the diplomat’s house is sad and dark, even if the sky is slowly brightening with the sunrise. You cry until there are no tears left. Grandma is having coffee in the garden by the time you get there, she sees your puff face and gives you a sympathetic look.

The sun is high in the sky when your plane departs.

now

Javi stopped looking for you in corridors and the streets near his hotel. He is the one who wants closure, yours happened years ago and it is folded in his wallet. It feels bittersweet to find you and not have you, but he lived it before and didn’t kill him.

The years after your departure were busy. One can’t mourn a love that didn’t live to see the light of day when work is suffocating. He found joy in the small victories against the cartels, consoled with the bodies of the many women he slept with over time. The aftermath is what bites him back, the way your eyes avoid his with such precision.

Madrid is pretty in the summer. He likes to walk around until late at night having so much daylight still, calms his nerves and lets him rest once. The only thing left to do is to repack his luggage, but he doesn’t want to be alone in the hotel room on the final night of his stay.

He doesn’t notice how much time passed since he started to walk. It must be late, the sunset is starting. Shades of orange, lilac, and pink are coming together on the horizon, the warmness of the sky reminds him of the red of your lips back then.

Stopping by a bridge, he lights up a cigarette and stays on the sidewalk admiring the dusk. It is peaceful, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There aren’t many people around, the street is almost empty, he looks around until his eyes lock with yours. It’s warm, but you are wearing his coat, both hands in the pockets.

He meets you in the middle of the bridge, following the pace of your timid footsteps.

“Hi,” you almost whisper still staring back at him, “I couldn’t stay alone in my apartment.”

“Why?” He stomps on the cigarette and takes a mental note of your traces in the warm colors of the sky, flashes of the bliss on your face back in his apartment appear in his mind.

“You know why.” 

He does. Too many memories flowing, a ghost from a past life that keeps haunting, but in the flesh and front of you. He is your ghost and you are his too.

“You kept the coat.” It is a simple statement, no more than an observation, but enough to make you embrace yourself around as if you were searching for comfort inside of it. “I kept something too.”

For the first time in many years, he opens his wallet and unfolds your note from the last night spent together. The corners have little dents from how much his fingers pressed on, reading it again and again. The color faded a little, just like the mark of your lipstick isn’t vibrant anymore.

He places the note between your bodies and you take it, fingers slightly scrapping his. You read it like it is a surprise as if you forgot whatever you poured your heart into that final time.

Your eyes are glossy, the waterline is full and about to overflow when you look back at him. The sun shines one last time into your skin before disappearing, allowing the night to come.

Jealous Javi?! 😍

may i verily please request an angst + smut with Javier peña please? I've been on Javi brain rot so much I can't get him out of my head 😭

ask and you shall receive x

i'm yours (javier pena x f! reader)

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

my asks are open for requests all month!!

Rating: 18+ (explicit, minors do not interact)

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: your coworker/friend with benefits javi catches one of your idiot coworkers trying to hit on you. during a trip to the bathroom, javi shows you how you're his and nobody else's.

Content: Implied age gap, angst, explicit smut, fingering, dirty talk

Javi did not look happy. 

Javi didn't look happy most times that you or Steve drug him out to a round of drinks with the whole team. The only things that could lure Javi out were Steve buying him a free beer or being able to end the night with you, head buried between your thighs and making you writhe and moan his name.

But tonight, Javi's jaw was stiff with tension, and his eyes were dark and broody as he sat in the bar, pretending to listen to bullshit work stories while your clueless coworker John ghosted his hand lower and lower down your back, trying to pluck up the confidence to wrap it around your waist. 

John was a sweet kid - yes, you were the same age and in the same department but you always felt older than him. Maybe it was his baby face or his lack of facial hair. Maybe it was the fact that he was always following you around, like a lost puppy that was desperate for you to pay attention to him. You knew your limits and boundaries and that he was way too chicken shit to actually touch you without asking, so for now you didn't mind. 

But the way Javi's eyes were burning into you now was enough to send a shiver up your spine. He had no right to get so angry with you - he had never claimed you or said you were exclusive. He never wanted to talk about it. So what gave him the right to be staring daggers at you right now? 

He watched you excuse yourself from John, and walk off in the direction of the singular bathroom. He knew exactly where you were headed and waited a minute before excusing himself, heading off after you.

You were in the bathroom, washing your hands when you heard a knock. "Someone's in here."

"I know," Javi growled and stepped in, locking the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" you huffed. "Someone could need the restroom, you know."

"Why are you letting that little asshole touch you?" Javi demanded, standing in front of you, towering over you with his imposing frame.

"Why do you care?" It was a loaded question. You knew why. You've known why. But none of that is important until he says it.

"Because," Javi started, grabbing your waist. Once again, trying to shut you up with his body. You almost give in, your body sliding into him like a missing puzzle piece and his hot breath fanning your neck as he tries to lean down. 

But you step back.

"You're not my boyfriend. I'm not yours," you interrupted. "We're just...whatever we are." He fidgets his left fingers on his side clearly having phantom pangs for a cigarette. He looks down for a long moment, avoiding your gaze.

"Well, what if I want you to be mine?" He says softly, finally looking up at you.

Your heart starts to hammer against your chest. As many times as you'd picture this scenario, you didn't expect him to ever say that. Especially not while you're locked in a seedy bar bathroom.

"What's in it for me?" you asked, taking a step toward him, a challenge.

"Anything," he breathed out, pulling you in, hands tightening on your hips, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. "Whatever you want. I'll be good. I'll treat you good, baby. Just, fuck. Be mine. I can't watch that little twerp try and touch you anymore its driving me crazy."

"It's not my fault that you were too slow," you teased, inching up towards him. "What if I wanted him to touch me?"

"You don't." 

"I could," you challenged, pressing yourself against his hard chest.

"He doesn't want you like I do," he whispered, his strong nose brushing against yours, his hands sliding down your hips and cupping your ass, groaning when he felt your bare cheeks underneath your dress from your thong.

"Javi," you breathed out, tilting your chin up, trying to connect your lips, but he pulled back.

"Tell me you're mine, cariño," he said, squeezing your ass tighter, spreading your cheeks and making your hips rut into his. "I'm the only one who gets to touch you, huh? The only one that gets to feel you grind onto me? That gets to feel how bad you want my cock? Tell me, cariño. Tell me you're mine."

You bit back a moan, grinding yourself harder against his crotch, feeling his hard bulge in his jeans, his grip on your ass tightening, helping you move.

How were you supposed to know this wasn't a game? That it wasn't just a drunken confession that he would walk back in the morning over pillow talk? That this wasn't all because he was jealous, and it wasn't going to be like every other night. That he would want you again and again like you wanted him constantly. 

"You're gonna have to make me, Javi."

You didn't even have time to comprehend his next move before he spun you around, bending you over the sink. Your breasts pressed into the cool ceramic as his hands hiked up your dress, pulling your panties down to your ankles.

"This?" Javi said, running his finger up your soaked folds, gathering your arousal. is mine." He sucked the finger into his mouth, humming.

He pulled you towards him, his chest pressing into your back. He bent over you, his scruff tickling the shell of your ear as his hand snaked around to cup your breast. His fingers teased the nipple through the fabric of your dress and bra, twisting it.

"These are mine," he said lowly, nipping your earlobe. He kneaded at your breasts, squeezing and releasing, tugging and pinching, his teeth worrying your neck.

"This?" he asked, pushing his knee between your legs, nudging your feet apart, widening your stance. "Is mine," he said, his free hand moving to cup your mound.

“Javi” you whined, arching your back, trying to grind his fingers down and ride them, desperate for them to hit that spot that would give you the release you're aching for.

"Tell me, cariño," he hummed, his thumb flicking across your clit, his fingers teasing in and out of your hole. "Tell me."

"Fuck Javi," you whimpered, pressing yourself into him, grinding against his knee, feeling his clothed bulge hit the back of your thigh. "I need it so bad. Fuck me."

"Mine," he repeated, slipping his fingers deeper into your pussy. "Tell me, baby and I'll let you come all over my fingers and my cock. I wanna feel you cum, baby so bad. All for me. My pretty girl. I want the whole bar to hear you. Tell me, baby. Who do you belong to?"

You wanted so badly for this to be real and not a game. You'd toed the line all night, testing him, seeing what he would do, if he'd stop you and confess that he had feelings for you. But now you were done playing.

"You Javi," you moaned, leaning back into his chest, reaching your hand behind you to grip his hair, holding his head to your neck as he sucked a mark there. 

You heard him exhale a deep breath as he worked his fingers faster, rubbing at your clit with his palm. You let out a loud moan at the sudden change of pace.

"Good girl," he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. "Cum for me, baby. Let them all hear how nobody can make you cum like me. Nobody else gets to see how gorgeous you are, the way you look so gorgeous when you fucking fall apart. Cum for me, cariño."

"I'm yours Javi, fuck, I'm yours." You let out a sharp cry as you came, your knees buckling, but Javi held you up, working his fingers slowly to draw out your high, whispering praise in your ear as you pulsed around his fingers.

"So good for me baby," he hummed, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to your lips. "Taste how good you are, pretty girl."

You moaned around his fingers, tasting yourself, sweet and salty. His fingers left your lips with a soft 'pop'. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, a deep moan rumbling in his chest. The two of you looked at each other in the mirror, his eyes blown black, and a smug smile on his lips as he bent down to kiss you. 

"So..." You sheepishly bit your lip, turning around, pressing your back into the counter. "Does this mean we're a thing now? A real thing?"

Javi nodded, staring into your eyes in earnest.

"A thing that we tell people about? We won't sneak around? Cause, Javi, I like you. I like this."

"Me too, cariño," Javi breathed out, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close. "I'm sorry it took so long. I just, I don't really do this, you know? This is different for me."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another long kiss.

"We can figure it out, Javi," you mumbled into the kiss.

"Now, cariño, we still have an issue. When we get back out there, what are you going to do about that little shit, John?"

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "I think I can manage."

"Better. I don't share," Javi winked, swatting your ass as the two of you walked out of the bathroom, your hand intertwined with his.

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

Hiii!!! I have a request

Can you write something with heavy angst at the beginning like maybe a fight? And at the end super super fluffy!!! Any Pedro characters!! (Preferably whiskey or pena)

Complicated

A/n: Thanks for the request anon! I decided heavy angst meant HEAVY angst so here you go. It isn't exactly what you requested but this kinda popped into my head when I read your request and I really wanted to write it, I'm sorry. This is my first Javier Peña fic so pls have some grace <3!

Word Count: 3K

All my work is 18+, MDI!!!

Warnings: Swearing, typical Narcos violence, hurt/comfort, kidnapping, torture, real angsty, kinda fluff at the end jk I can't write fluff apparently, mentions of drinking and smoking, poorly translated Spanish (google translate 😃), no use of Y/n, attempted/talk of SA.

Your relationship with Javier Peña was complicated to say the least. You weren't officially together but there were two toothbrushes in his bathroom, there was a drawer full of your clothes in his dresser, and your coat was hanging by his front door.

He made breakfast for you most mornings and you'd kiss him goodbye when he left for work, but you weren't dating. You loved him but you've never said it to each other.

That was the worst part. You practically lived at his apartment and you feared for his life every single fucking day he went to work, but God forbid he put a damn label on whatever you were. So that's how the argument started.

"You don't need to risk your life every fucking day Javi! The world won't end if you just relax for one goddamn second!" Every single day Javi would come home black and blue. Today he came home with a fractured nose and bruises littering his body from a run in with one of Escobar sicarios.

"Why the fuck do you care? You're not my wife! You're not even my girlfriend! You're nothing to me!" The moment those words left his mouth he immediately backtracked. "Querida, I'm so sorry, I didn't me-"

But it was too late you were already walking to the door to grab your keys and pull on your shoes. "No, Javier. You're right. We aren't dating no reason I should give a damn about you. See you around." The door slammed behind you as you walked away and down the apartment complex to your car parked out front.

Your solution to the hurt radiating throughout you was to head to the nearest bar and get shit faced. Javier would've had your ass for going out and getting drunk alone in the crime capital of the world but who the hell was he to tell you what to do. Especially after what he said when you tried to show concern for him.

So here you were sitting alone at the bar, well past midnight, and probably three too many drinks deep. Getting home was the issue at hand now. Home. That should've been Javier's apartment filled with both of your belongings. The two of you should've been intertwined in bed right about now, connected in the most intimate way.

But instead you were drunk, alone, and extremely vulnerable. All because Javier fucking Peña couldn't find it in himself to commit to one person after over a year of almost dating.

As you made a move to walk out the bar and back towards the car you almost immediately stumbled just standing up, no way in hell were you driving across town to your apartment.

Walking wasn't an option either. There were already three men outside the bar looking at you in a way that was much more than just friendly.

There was only one person you could call no matter how much you wanted to avoid it.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hermosa? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything I said you know that right?" He immediately started spewing apologies the moment he answered the phone.

"Javier, I don't really care right now? I'm drunk, really drunk and there's these guys that aren't too far away from me and I can't drive."

"Where are you, Carino?" You gave him the address and you could hear him grab his keys and slam the door. "Stay where you are and stay on the phone ok? Do not hang up."

You nodded before remembering he couldn't see you. "Ok. " You kept an eye on the three men and couldn't help but notice they were closer than before, they had now crossed the road over to your side of the street. "Javi?"

"What is it? I'm 30 minutes away."

"Javi they're getting closer." You gasped when a flash of metal lit up in the dim streetlight. "Javi they have guns. What do I do? They have fucking guns Javi." You were panicking now and the men were only getting closer. Javier wouldn't be able to do shit in half an hour if the men decided to use their weapons.

"Lock your doors. Do not open the doors. Can you drive at all?"

You're gaze darted around and sent your head spinning. "No. Javi I can't drive! I'm so fucking stupid why would I get drunk right now? Javi what if they try to d-"

The sound of your voice over the phone was cut off by a scream and loud gunshots ringing through the line.

Javi gripped the wheel and pressed the pedal down to the floor while shouting your name. "Hey! What happened? Answer me please!" He called your name again before the line went dead. "Joder que hago? ¿Qué debo hacer? Fuck, what do I do? What do I do?"

With sweating palms and a racing pulse he called Murphy for backup.

After the men shattered your windows with bullets, they roughly yanked you out of your car, uncaring of any cuts or scrapes you got from all the broken glass, and shoved you through the doorway of the house across the street they had sat in front of earlier.

The entirety of the short walk there was spent with you fighting tooth and nail to get out of their grasp while the men felt you up through the tight dress you wore. Their dirty hands grabbed and pulled at every available inch of skin they could reach while you tried to kick and bite at their skin.

"Deja de pelear o te paso una bala por el cerebro! Stop fighting or I put a bullet through your brain!" The press of cold metal against your temple had you freezing where you stood before you were roughly shoved into a chair with the gun still pointed at your skull, keeping you still.

You tried to remember what Javi had told you to do if you were ever in one of these situations. "Do whatever they say, Hermosa. If they ask you what you know, you do not tell them anything. They will kill you the moment they don't need you anymore. Wait for the right moment if you can to fight." Right. Do what they say. Don't answer questions. You could do that.

The man with the gun came closer to you and caressed your face with the back of his hand causing you to jerk away as far as you could. The man's gaze narrowed and he backhanded you across the side of your face, sending you to the ground with your ears ringing. "Don't be a bitch. I'll have to teach you a lesson, then I'll let them have a turn with you, Hermosa." The pet name sent a fresh wave of sobs through your body at the memory of Javi calling you that only hours earlier and the man straddled your thrashing form then pulled out a knife from his jean pocket and cut away at what little remained of your torn dress and undergarments, leaving you entirely exposed to the three men while you fought beneath him.

"Stop! No, don't! Please stop!" You begged as tears flowed down your cheeks and you kicked uselessly a the man pinning you down.

"I told you to stop moving!" The man swung his fist down across your jaw, sending black dots flooding across your vision and make your ears ring once again. "Now hold still or this is gonna be so much worse for you." The man released his grip on your arms to reach for his belt, only for another man to send his boot into your ribs causing you to curl away and let out a wheezing cough.

Just as the man got his button and zipper undone and leaned over you once again you let out a scream and threw your throbbing head forward into the man's nose making a river a blood flow down his face. "You fucking bitch!" He sent his boot into your side again, making your curl up into a ball and gestured to his two men. "Tie her to the chair. Make sure she stays conscious, I want her to know what happened.

The man's words sent your eyes flying open and you immediately kicked and screamed at the hands that grabbed at your bruising arms. "No! Stop! Please, please I'm sorry! I'll do whatever you say, please!" Your screams and begging only brought a sadistic smile to the first man's face when we held up the knife he had earlier and brought the tip to your bare ribs.

He trailed the blade with just enough pressure to draw blood down to your exposed stomach and pressed the tip deeper into your skin and dragged the blade down, forcing a scream from your throat. He did this a few more times before he pulled the bloody knife away from your stomach and up to your cheeks to cut a deep line across both. He leaned forward to whisper in your ear while his hands roamed your bare body, "You look much prettier with that. Look at your pretty little stomach, Hermosa." He forced you to look down at where he had cut into your skin and your sobbed at the markings left there, AJS; the man had carved his fucking initials into your stomach.

Just as the man grabbed at your body again deafening gunshots rang out and the man's body slumped forward against your own while blood from his head and chest spilled across your skin. The two other men barely had enough time to raise their own weapons before more gunshots sounded and they slumped to the floor as well.

You looked down at the body in your bare lap and your tormentor's blank eyes stared back at you. You let out a scream and yanked at your bindings in an attempt to get away from the body, but you only managed to thrash enough to knock your chair backwards and fall to the side when you heard thundering footsteps rush into the room. You forced your eyes as closed as tight as they would go in an effort to ignore what you new was sitting right in front of you. Your body wouldn't stop shaking.

Suddenly hands were on your bare skin and you let out another piercing scream, unable to process the much more familiar grasp that pulled you upright and cut away the ropes on your wrists and ankles. "Shh, Hermosa, it's me. It's Javi." You were still shaking and sobbing when he pulled his jacket off to cover your exposed body and you still wouldn't open your eyes open from their sealed position. "Look at me, Hermosa, look at me."

You finally pealed your eyes open at his soft voice and saw the man kneeling in front of you. "Javi?"

He nodded and made sure your gaze stayed on him when he lifted you up out of the chair. "Yeah it's me, hermosa. You're okay now. you're safe."

At the sound of that name you flinched and new tears sprung to your eyes. "Please don't call me that anymore. H-he called me that."

Javi's jaw clenched and anger flared in his brown eyes but he nodded and continued walking you out of the house to where an ambulance sat outside the building. He set you down on the back of the open vehicle so the medics nearby could check you over but you gripped his hand as hard as you could the moment he let go of you.

"Please don't leave me alone, I can't be alone right now." Your hand shakes where it grips his and you can't help but stare at the cuts and bruises littering the skin there. It all seemed much more real now that you could see the marks on your skin. Your skin. The man had carved his fucking initials into your skin. You looked down and moved Javi's jacket away from your stomach to stare down at where your hip began. Blood covered the wound but you knew what was there. You lifted your hand to try and reveal the marks in a moment of morbid curiosity but-

"Querida, don't." Javi's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "I'll stay with you however long you need, but you can't touch it. Try not to look at it if that helps, alright? Estarás bien, te lo prometo. You'll be okay, I promise." You just nodded and Javi held your hands while the medic checked you over and cleaned and bandaged your wounds.

The medic informed you that you shouldn't be left alone for a few days and that you'd have to change your bandages twice a day, but you were cleared to go without having to go to the hospital.

"You'll be ok staying with me right, querida? You can't be alone and I don't want you out of my sights." You nodded silently to answer his question which only made him furrow his brows and concern took over his face, but he said nothing and just guided you over to his jeep.

The two of you drove in silence for about ten minutes before you spoke for the first time in well over an hour. "Javi?"

"Sí?"

You swallowed hard and stared down at your still shaking hands. Why won't they stop shaking? "I'm sorry for all this. If I didn't try to be so controlling with you earlier and if I didn't go and get drunk like a fucking idiot you wouldn't had to have dealt with me and-"

"Darling. Stop it. Stop thinking for one second that any of this is your fault. You aren't controlling, you care and I didn't know how to act because of it and that is no excuse for any of the absolute shit I said, by the way. And you aren't an idiot, you are the smartest person I know and you just did what anyone would do after a long day. The only people to blame are the hijos de puta that did this to you. So please, darling, for both our sakes don't blame yourself." He had just pulled up to your apartment when he stopped speaking and he parked before turning to face you.

Tears streamed down your face and the tight feeling in your chest was back from earlier and your fucking hands wouldn't stop shaking. "He marked me, Javi..." You whispered in between sobs as your shoulders shook. You looked up just to see Javi's face fall apart.

"He did what?" His voice came out a broken whisper full of pain for you.

"He marked me! He took a knife and carved his goddamn initials into my skin! He made sure it would scar so that I can't ever forget! What kind of sick fucking psycho does that shit?" Your sobs came faster and Javi hopped out of the car and ran to your door, pulling you into his arms.

"Baby, I'm so fucking sorry. I know that doesn't do shit, but you didn't deserve a single second of what you went through. You know that right?" You nodded and let him pull you out of the car as he ushered you upstairs to his apartment.

Once the door was closed and locked behind you two, you steeled yourself and forced away your tears before turning to face Javi again. You would not waste anymore tears on the fucker who did this to you, he didn't even deserve a thought. You wanted to set things right between you and Javi and if what happened today is what that takes, so be it."Javi. I love you, and I'm sick of your shit."

Shock filled the man's face across from you and he shook his head. This was the first time saying those words to him and the circumstance seemed less than ideal. "Querida what are you saying?"

"I love you so goddamn much and I know you love me and you just won't say it. I will not stick around if it's going to be more of the same as what it has been. You will either take me on a date when I'm over all this bullshit and make what we are official, or I'm getting my stuff and leaving." You stared Javi dead in the eyes and narrowed your gaze when his face split into a grin and he let out a short bark of laughter.

"There you are, baby."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Javi just grinned wider and shook his head before he wrapped you in his arms and pressed a kiss to your temple. You melted into his grasp but confusion still filled you.

"You've had this... this look on your face after everything like you're not quite here but you are now. That's great, baby. And just so we're clear, I will take you on a date the second you are feeling up to it. Then I will take you back here and you can officially move in after I spend hours making up for everything stupid thing I have done or said to you." His voice had taken on a slight seductive whisper at the end that sent a small shiver through you and you grinned as you wrapped your bruised arms around him.

"That sounds perfect, Javi. Now let go of me because I really need a fucking shower or I'm never going on that date with you." The reminder of the blood and grime still on you from the events of the night made you shudder and the mood changed instantly but Javi just nodded and squeezed your hand in reassurance as he walked with you towards the bathroom. He would be with you through everything and he would help you get through this.