Right?! I Dont Understand It Either!

Right?! I don’t understand it either! 🤣

Lies, Excuses and Bullshit

Pairing: Exboyfriend!Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: A man with a double life willing to do anything to keep his obsession around, and a woman who doesn't know what she's gotten herself into.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! Breaking up, creepy!Dave, infidelity, stalker behavior from Dave, oral(f receiving), spanking, unprotected PIV(make smarter choices), manipulation, and if there is anything I missed please let me know!

A/N: Phew, not sure what happened here. This is a first, I don't usually write darker stuff but something about Dave made it just fly out of my finger tips. This was written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge! Thank you Shortie for letting me be part of the challenge 😊 I need to shout out @beefrobeefcal @strang3lov3 @ozarkthedog and @mothandpidgeon thank you all for the encouragement and lending your eyeballs for this story! ❤️

@jay-zzle, my love, my bestie. This one is for you! 🥰❤️🥰❤️

Masterlist||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

You thought things were fine. Dave is the perfect gentleman. It is a complete shock to see this text from your friend. It was a picture of Dave with another woman and two little girls at a soccer game. Maybe it’s his niece's soccer game and he’s just there being a good uncle? Until the next text comes in.

Isn’t that your boyfriend?

Another picture is attached featuring Dave, his arm around the woman. Then another and another and another. More evidence to suggest he is obviously in a relationship with the woman and you are the one left in the dark on this whole situation.

You stopped responding to your friend a while ago, staring at the pictures they sent. Back and forth, memorizing every detail. The way he’s looking at her. The way his arm is around her. The way he’s touching her. The way he kissed her -  that was the one that sealed your fate of knowing you had in fact not been seeing a recently divorced man but a married one. Your phone buzzes with another text notification.

D. York: Hey baby, still picking you up at 9 right?

You glare at your phone unsure of what the next step is. Obviously he is cheating on his wife unbeknownst to you. How does somebody even handle something like this? You really liked Dave, you saw a future with him. Your relationship has been going on for months now.

After neglecting to respond your phone buzzes again with another text from the man himself.

D. York: Been thinking about you 

You roll your eyes and text him back.

You: Not tonight. Don’t feel good.

D. York: Aw you poor thing. Do you need anything?

You didn’t even have the energy to respond with this new found information rattling around your brain, pressing the button to make your phone sleep and making your way to your bedroom. You plugged your phone in and crawled into bed, ignoring the constant buzz against your nightstand as you tried to drift off. The sun was still out but you couldn’t be awake right now. You needed to shut your brain off and this was the only way you knew how.

There was a pounding on your door when you woke with a startle. The moon casting shadows through the curtains into your room. You checked your phone, seeing the multiple notifications, some from your friends and some from Dave. He’d also tried calling several different times.

D. York: Are you okay?

Did you talk to him yet?

D. York: Do you want some company?

Want me to kick his ass?

D. York: How are you feeling?

What do you plan to say?

D. York: Baby, please answer me. Getting a little worried here.

The pounding on your door continued as you checked your phone. The doorbell camera he insisted on getting for you and installed showed Dave at your doorstep holding a plastic bag, grumbling, you got out of bed and walked towards the door.

“I’m coming. Give it a rest,” you shout, hoping Dave can hear you over his loud knocks.

Sliding the chain lock you open the door.

“Baby,” Dave sighs with relief, “What have you been doing? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours now!”

“I told you, I don’t feel good,” you shrug, “I’ve been sleeping.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, I started to get worried,” Dave says, looking around your living room, “I got you some stuff to hopefully help with whatever bug you’ve seemed to catch.”

You watch as he carefully steps into your space, placing the bag on the coffee table in front of your couch.

“Dave,” you sigh, “I know.”

“Know what?” Dave asks, hands on his hips and shaking his head with a smirk.

“I know you’re still married.”

You see his adam's apple bob as he swallows, flopping back onto the couch, and clasping his hands together. He stays silent for a moment, contemplating what to say next.

“How’d you find out?”

Your eyes widen, not expecting him to fold so easily. 

“A friend sent me some photos from today at the soccer field,” you murmur, trying to keep the wavering in your voice to a minimum.

“I see,” Dave says with a nod.

“You also have kids?”

Dave nods again, facing you this time.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Dave scoffs, “Sleep with you?”

“I wouldn’t just call what we’ve been doing as ‘sleeping together,’ Dave,” you say, using your fingers as air quotes when the words sleeping together leave your mouth.

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Dave chuckles, “I get bored from time to time and like to play with someone new.”

“Your wife know that?” you ask, glaring at him. This man who you thought you knew is showing an entirely different side of himself, and you don’t like it.

“She doesn’t need to know because it’s not a big deal.” Dave sighs exasperated.

“I think it’s best if you left.”

“Alright,” Dave says standing, “If that’s what you want.”

“Yep,” you say with a sharp nod.

“Listen,” Dave says, reaching a hand towards your arm, and you slid your arm back letting him know not to touch you, and he put his hand down beside him, “Okay, well, it’s really not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. I like you, I like what we’ve been–”

“Dave, you’re cheating on your wife,” you grit through your teeth interrupting the spiel he was going on, and swung the door open for him, “Leave.”

—

“Fucking take it.” Dave growls in your ear, thrusting his hips harshly into you, “Just like that baby.”

Your moans fill his ears, he can tell you’re close. The way your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tighter. He can practically taste your climax in the air around him, gripping your hips tighter and angling them so he can get deeper.

“Dave,” you sob, after a particularly harsh thrust. Fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, back arching as you continue to cry out his name.

Dave. Dave. Dave.

“David!”

Dave jumps to the sound of Carol’s voice. Looking around to see he’s in his own bed in his home, not yours.

“Honey, your alarm has been going off for 10 minutes now.”

He lets out a sigh facing his reality, adjusting the hardness in his pajama bottoms. It was just a dream. It’s been months since he’s seen you. You’ve seemed to make your way into his brain at all times of the day, conscious or not.

“I’m gonna get the girls ready but you don’t need to be late for work again,” Carol says, giving him a smile and wink. After last night, he’s not sure how much longer he can do this. He’s been trying to have sex with Carol more. Sure, she’s his wife but she doesn’t scratch the same itch you did.

He’s tried. He’s tried to be a good husband, he’s tried to be a good dad and he’s exhausted. Dave feels himself becoming more of a shell since you told him to leave.

You’ve made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. He tried to reach out to you, only to have his number blocked. You disabled your doorbell camera after he left that night. You must have known he’d try and look at it on his phone, you knew he had the information for your account. Why wouldn’t he try to look?

What you don’t know is that once Carol takes the girls to school, he gets the second phone hidden in the false bottom of a shoe box in his closet that is an exact copy of your own. He can see who you’re texting, where you’re at, how things at work are going, who you’re hanging out with. It’s become an obsession to check it daily.

—

As he steps out of the shower, Carol shouts up the stairs that she’s leaving with the girls, and the front door closes shortly after. Time to start his day.

Getting dressed in his running gear and snatching his headphones from the dresser. He makes his way to the closet. Finding the shoe box with your duplicated phone.

Texts from your friends, a text from your boss and a missed call from your mom. What catches his eye the most is the notification from some jackass on Tinder. James. Scanning James’ profile he’s definitely not your type: blonde hair, green eyes, gelled back hair, and a full beard.

James, 29

Looking for a girl who just wants to have some fun, if it leads to more that’s cool too. I like hiking, graduated from Harvard, hanging with my bros, anything else hmu

Dave shakes his head as he reads the messages shared between the two of you. He scans reading hellos, good nights, sharing random facts about each other, until he stumbles upon the most recent messages

James: Hello gorgeous 😉

Hello 😊

James: So I’ve been thinking would you wanna meet up? Go get a drink or something?

Sure! 7 good?

James: Awesome! Yeah. Do you know where Sal’s is?

I do! It’s not far from my job

James: Perfect! I’ll see ya then beautiful

No. No way in hell is this James guy meeting up with you. Dave calls the office letting them know he’s taking a personal day, he has some business to take care of.

—

Sal’s is exactly what you expected it to be. Dark, dingey, and small. Not too crowded thankfully, it’s definitely got character though. The random decor on the wall is confusing. You can’t tell if this is supposed to be a sports or a punk bar with the random band posters on the wall along with sports jerseys next to them.

Making your way to the bar you sit down on a stool, flagging down the bartender.

“What’s your poison for the night?” He asks, wiping his hands on the towel he was carrying.

“Jack and Coke,” you say, slipping your hand into your bag to get your wallet out. He makes quick work of mixing the drink and placing it in front of you, handing over your card while you hear the jingle of the door.

“Starting a tab?” The bartender asks, swiping your card.

“No, thank you,” you smile as he hands your card back to you, putting it back in your wallet.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see someone standing a couple stools away. Looking down at your drink, moving the straw around before taking a drink. You take a peek at your watch to see it’s 10 minutes before you’re supposed to meet James. 

Maybe this was a bad idea, you haven’t had to do this in months. It was easier when Dave just kind of fell into your life.

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you heard the familiar timber of his voice, head snapping to look at him. Dave. His smirk as he waits on his drink says it all, he knew you would be here. Was he James?

“Are you fucking serious?” You hiss through your teeth.

Dave thanks the bartender, moving closer to you.

“I come in peace,” Dave says, sitting in the stool one away from you, “All I want to do is talk.”

“Are you James?” You ask through clenched teeth, glaring at him.

“Oh baby,” Dave tuts, “I’m not James, he’s very real.”

You continue to glare at him. Unable to force your brain to work with your limbs on moving, leaving, throwing your drink on him. Anything other than sitting here being in his presence.

“He wasn’t hard to convince to leave you alone though,” Dave looks at you with a smirk, one eyebrow raised and begins to chuckle, “One mention of snapping any finger that touches you sent him running.”

You try to swallow but your throat feels like a desert, gripping the tumbler in front of you and taking a swig. Did he… did he do something to James? Surely not, Dave wouldn’t even kill the spider that appeared in your apartment one day, scooped it up and took it outside. How could he cause harm to anything?

“Dave did you…” pausing pondering how to even ask the question.

“Did I hurt him?” Dave asks, scooting to the stool next to you and leaning in closer, invading your space and you nod your head, “No, just made it known what’s mine.”

You let out a sharp gasp at his words, arousal seeping into the gusset of your underwear, thighs clenching together at his closeness, feeling goosebumps erupt across your skin. This shouldn’t be happening but your body thinks otherwise.

“I’ve missed you baby,” Dave hums into your ear, “Don’t like how we ended things.”

The way he says it has the ice around your heart melting. You hate him but can’t help the way your heart betrays your brain at his words. Dave lets out a small growl, gripping your bare thigh beneath the bar top possessively.

“I’m staying in a hotel room tonight,” he says, the grip on your thigh becoming less and smoothing his hand against your inner thigh. Gliding his hand up, up, up. Pinky finger playing with the edge of your underwear under your skirt.

You grab his hand and pull it away from your core, bringing it to rest on your lap. Lacing your fingers with his, while his thumb rubs along your palm. You sigh, contemplating what to do. Go with him or send him packing like last time. The devil on your shoulder telling you to go with him, it’s just stress relief, it won’t- it can’t mean anything, he knows your body better than anyone else. The angel on the other side just repeating the same words, he’s still married.

In the words of your mother, if he doesn’t cheat with you then he’ll just find someone else. Might as well have fun.

“I’ve missed you too,” you confess with a soft whimper in his ear. Finally seeing him again after months of nothing has your practical sense crumbling. 

“Let’s go then,” Dave smirks, standing pulling your hand slightly to stand with him and leave.

—

Dave drove like a bat out of hell to the hotel, dragged you to the elevator and his room as if this was his last chance to have you. Clothes flying off the moment you crossed the threshold of the room.

“Dave,” you moan, his lips ghosting down your neck to your collarbone. His hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against his front, feeling his erection against your stomach.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he groans, his mouth sucking the flesh of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth and giving it a nip. A whine escapes past your lips at the sudden pressure of his teeth, moving your body with him until you feel the back of your knees hit the bed.

Dave releases your nipple, pushing himself against you to lay back on the bed, making room for himself between your thighs. His dark eyes swimming with lust study your face. His hand comes to rest on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Why’d you let me leave like that?” His voice barely a whisper, lying his forehead against your own.

“You’re married,” you wince hearing the words leave your throat. You shouldn’t be doing this.

“I can change that,” he smirks with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth, “I’d leave if it meant you’d stay,” kissing your jaw, “I’d spend every single day of my life making you happy,” he coos, trailing his lips down to your neck, laving his tongue against your pulse point.

“Dave,” you plead, hoping to stop his words. You don’t want to hear this, it’s all lies to get you to stay. The ache between your thighs begging for more.

“Mean it baby,” Dave says with a hum, mouth traveling down the expanse of your body, “Only want you,” he breathes when his face inches away from your sex, “Looks like you want me too,” he teases.

You feel the warmth spreading through your body as he sighs using his thumbs to spread your lips apart, staring at your glistening slit.

“Oh yeah, she’s definitely missed me,” he hums, flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Dave,” you gasp, gripping the sheets between your fingers. He works his tongue along your bundle of nerves swirling and sucking.

“God I’ve missed this pussy,” Dave growls, gripping your hips tightly before fucking you with his tongue.

“Fuck,” you moan, back arching off the bed. The fire in your abdomen grows more intense. You reach for one of his hands, linking your fingers with his. His other hand moving, fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please,” you beg, “Dave, pl- please. More, I- I need m-“, you cry out when his fingers plunge into your cunt. Swiftly curling them inside you as he moves the pads of his fingers back and forth putting delicious pressure against your g-spot.

“That’s it baby,” Dave groans, nipping your inner thigh, “Let me have it.”

Your toes curl feeling the coil in your lower belly tightening, leaning your head up to watch him. He looks as wrecked as you feel as he rapidly flits his tongue against your clit. His brows furrowed in concentration as he worked his mouth and fingers in sync for you to reach your climax, his lips shiny from your arousal. He opens his eyes to see your mouth hung open in a silent scream, brows pinched together as you pant looking into his eyes.

“Dave,” you pant, “Baby, I’m gonna come.”

Your walls clamp down on his fingers as you stare into his dark orbs. White hot heat spreads throughout your body, letting out a soft shriek.

“Flip over,” Dave instructs, moving your pliable limbs so you’re on your stomach. You cry out as he pushes his cock into you sharply.

“Fuck.”

“Shhh,” Dave tuts, “It’s okay baby, you can take it.”

You whine, it feels like he’s splitting you in two, walls gripping his length. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust before he’s roughly snapping his hips into you.

“Make you mine again,” Dave grunts, “No one else deserves you.”

The pain quickly turns into pleasure as he works his cock in and out. The sound of your squelching pussy filling your ears as strangled noises crawl up your throat.

“God damn baby,” Dave hisses, tilting your hips up as he grinds his hips into you, hitting that spot deep inside only he’s been able to reach.

“Missed this so,” he grunts, slapping your ass, “Fucking,” another slap against your skin, “Much,” another harsh slap before soothing the marks he’s left with his palm.

“Dave,” you let out a choked sob, feeling the pleasure building, thrusting your hips back into him, “Faster.”

“Dirty girl,” Dave hums, gripping your hips again, pounding into your pussy at a frantic pace, “You gonna- oh fuck- come again?”

You can only nod your head weakly, feeling the sizzling pressure in your abdomen start to boil over. Your walls spasming and contracting around his cock. The muscles in your legs tensing before screaming out.

“Oh fuck,” Dave moans, “That’s it baby. Come on my cock. Just like that.”

Dave leans over caging you between his arms, thrusting into your wet heat a half a dozen times before his hips start to lose rhythm and going still, your name tumbling from his lips, letting your walls milk his cock feeling the warmth of his seed paint your walls.

“I really have missed you,” Dave admits slumping against you with a sigh, “So fucking much.”

He kisses your shoulder before pulling out with a hiss. You groan feeling the emptiness before he helps you up, guiding you to the bathroom.

You shower together, taking time to wash each other with delicate touches, and sharing intimate kisses before crawling back into bed with his arms wrapped around you.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. Dave’s snoring beside you, finding your phone amongst your belongings scattered around the room, you make your way to the bathroom. Looking at Dave sleeping so peacefully from the doorway of the bathroom you can’t help feeling torn. You loved him, still do if you’re being honest with yourself, but this isn’t what you two should be doing.

You find an uber available and schedule to be picked up. Quietly making your way out of the bathroom and grabbing your things when you hear two identical dings. One from your hand and one from Dave’s bag. Slipping your clothes back on you slowly wander over to his things. Rummaging around until you find a phone, similar to yours. Pushing the button on the side you see a notification for an Uber 5 minutes away, looking at your own phone to see it displaying the same.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, head snapping to look at Dave hoping you didn’t wake him. You look around to find a pen and piece of paper.

—

Dave wakes the next morning with a smile, remembering what happened last night. Sliding his hand to where you should be, feeling the cool sheets under his palm, peeking an eye open to see the empty spot next to him.

He listens closely to his surroundings, hoping to hear the shower but is met only with silence. Frowning as he sits up, scrubbing his hands against his face trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. Looking around the room for any sign of you, taking note of your things being gone.

He sees a folded piece of paper lying on top of something on the dresser. Dave gets up to inspect what it is. His name is on the paper, sitting on top of two phones. Immediately recognizing one as yours and the other the duplicate he had made. His eyes scan the note you left, unable to believe what he was reading.

You’ll never be anything but a lying, cheating, manipulative douchebag. Figure your shit out. Don’t ever reach out to me again.

Dave’s hand curls into a fist as he reads the note over and over again. You left. You really left and this time it’s going to be even harder to find you.

He smirks, shaking his head as he collapses on the edge of the bed. You must not realize how much he loves a challenge.

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

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AHHHH!!!! This sweeter side of SWAT!Joel is doing things to me!!!

Lo, I cannot take this sweet asshole of a man!! 🫠🥰 Got me feeling all gooey when I just know he’s gonna be an asshole again 🤣

you all the way down

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: vaguely dub-con (power imbalance, reader was paying a debt), masturbation, oral sex (f and m receiving), face sitting, spanking, cum swallowing, no use of y/n. word count: 4.3k summary: You have a rare moment of privacy, a chance to luxuriate in bringing yourself closer and closer to a peak you've been teasing yourself with for hours.... Until a knock at your door snatches it all away.

A/N: I hit a follower milestone this week - thank you all so much for your follows, comments, reblogs, friendship, sneaky trips into my DMs and asks, and for loving the same silly, absurd, and horny things I do.

see you next week 💛

title from I, Carrion (Icarian) by hozier.

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You didn't often do it like this. You didn't often have the time. Or the privacy.

It was a rare luxury to have the apartment to yourself, and so, for the best part of an hour - maybe more - you'd been slowly and steadily teasing yourself. With no plans and no work, you could take your time, turn the slow drag of your hands all over your body into steady smooth movements that dipped between your legs. Fingers that pinched nipples, scratched at your belly, dragged themselves over your thighs found themselves nestled between your legs dipping down and teasing. Down, and up, and around, and back down again. Sweeping through wet folds and swiping over your clit in gloriously slow strokes. You were making your own skin prickle, your own breath catch in your throat, and it was divine.

How long you teased yourself and made yourself smile and sigh in the confines of your own room, you didn't know exactly. It didn't matter. Your dad was at work and you weren't. You were here, alone, finally pushing one slicked up finger inside yourself and making yourself gasp.

Fuck, did you deserve this. You deserved the soft and the slow way you teased yourself, brought yourself close to the edge and then eased off. You deserved the way you made yourself moan, catching yourself with a laugh when you heard yourself through the blood in your ears.

You deserved to come, right here, nestled in all your soft things, thinking glorious thoughts about hands and bodies surrounding yours, overwhelming you until you came, shuddering, in their grasp.

You deserved to come begging and urging yourself on to the emptiness of your room, your own filthy mouth finding flight and soaring, working with the fingers in your cunt and on your clit to bring yourself to an edge you'd let yourself teeter on, almost making yourself cry as you held back, held off, and kept that fierce explosion at bay.

Until a knock at your door snatched it all away.

Your body registers it before your brain does. The fuse you'd ignited sputters out, your fingers still working over your clit that has suddenly gone shy and numb and unfeeling, making you twitch uncomfortably. Then, your door rattles with a heavy handed knock again, and you sit up with a start.

Fuck this asshole.

Tumbling from tangled sheets, you frantically reach for something to cover you. As you hop through your apartment, one leg in your pants, the other out, another knock hammers at the door.

"Okay! I'm coming!" Only you weren't, because that was ruined now, thanks to this heavy handed asshole and their impeccable timing.

Wiping damp fingers on your pants, you huff out a frustrated breath and try to pin a fake smile onto your face before opening the door. It swings inward, just as the start of another impatient knock begins, and in with it comes a man you should be surprised to see.

Joel Miller breezes past you - barely having to push his way in as you stare at him in stunned silence - to stand in your living room, looking curiously around at the small space.

"Nice place," he says, with a look on his face that says differently. You know it's far from a nice place. There wasn't a single apartment in this building that was a nice place. If this were normal times, the whole block would have been condemned years ago, but here you were, stuck at the end of the world in a shitty apartment that was the only place you had to call home.

As you close the door, you take a quick glance down at what you'd thrown on. The pajama pants have seen better days - everything had seen better days - and the shirt you'd grabbed has more holes in the seams than you care to even check for. It was in your pile of things to fix that you hadn't quite got around to yet and now here it was, hanging off your body like you were wearing lace, not flannel.

"What're you here for?" you ask, trying to hide the holes in your with a not-so-subtle movement of your arms.

"Like to check in on my clients from time to time," he says, finally looking you over and noticing your arms tucked tightly over your chest. "Am I disturbin' somethin'?"

Yes. "No."

"You ain't workin'?"

No shit. "Day off."

"Alright," he says, clicking his tongue against his teeth. "What's got your panties in a bunch?"

You aren't wearing any panties. "Nothing."

He's crossing the small space to stand right in front of you, and you know from the second his nostrils flair that he knows. He probably knew from the moment he came in, probably somehow even from the other side of the door. You weren't exactly being quiet, or discreet, and if there's one thing you knew it was that Joel Miller knew you just about better than anybody else.

"Bullshit, sweetheart."

If you weren't already so turned on at your own hand, you know you'd be rapidly getting wetter. Just the smell of him in your home is sending your mind, and your pussy, into overdrive. He's never stepped foot in here before, and you know you shouldn't like it. A man like Joel, a man who has clients to come check on, isn't someone you should be happy to have snooping about in your apartment and your business.

But one look at that cocky smirk on his face, and you know you'd be very happy to have him snooping around your business. In fact, by the way your pussy pulses at the sight of him, you think you'd be happy to have him very deep in your business right here pressed up against your front door.

Instead, in a last ditch effort to retain your dignity, you push the frustration back into your voice and step around him, throwing your hands into the air.

"You just come here, pound at the door, and then bust right in here the second I open it! I was - I'm busy, Joel."

"Busy?" Joel scoffs. You can see the thought as it comes to him, sly smile twitching the corners of his mouth as he fakes disinterest. "Then go right on ahead and get back to what you were doin', don't mind me."

You stare him down, heart pounding in your throat. The distance between you is still small. You could be on him in an instant. You think you could use the element of surprise and tackle him to the ground. His coat would come off easy enough, but beneath that who knows what he's wearing. Probably layers. Fucking Boston. Still, you didn't exactly need all of them off, you only needed access to one thing, and when your eyes flick down to the bulge in his jeans you resolutely set your shoulders and turn around.

"Fine."

A button falls from loose threads as your hands fly down the front of your shirt. In no time at all you're flinging it over your shoulder, hitting Joel square in the face where he stands in your bedroom doorway, watching.

He catches it in one hand, fingering one of the holes. "This what you call, busy?"

The pajama pants you'd tied about your waist drop to your feet and in no time at all you're naked again, climbing onto your bed, the pillows and sheets you were nested in welcoming you back in - still warm. "Like you didn't know, asshole."

"I ain't got a sixth fuckin' sense, sweetheart."

You glare at him from across the room and he shrugs, leaning casually on the doorframe as he watches you lie back. If you didn't know better, you'd think he didn't know where to look. One moment he's looking at the scowl on your face, and the next he's looking down at your breasts, the curve of your ass, taking a peek between your legs as you shuffle down your bed. It's all going so fast, you think for once you may just have the upperhand. Joel Miller, you think, is flustered.

He watches you as you stroke down your body, quicker than the slow, teasing pace you'd set with yourself earlier. Your thighs fall open as your hands reach your hips, and your fingers reach down to spread yourself as he watches on.

"This what you were doin'?"

"Yes, now can you shut up."

You shut your eyes and get back to where you left off. You're still wet and slick, your fingers slipping easily back into the grip of your pussy. If you just try to block him out, standing in the doorway staring between your spread legs, you can get right back where you left off. You can find that edge again, even through the oversensitivity. You know you can, and this time, you're going to throw yourself screaming over it.

Curling your fingers, you reach down and twist your torso until you can reach that delicious spot you found earlier. Then, your other hand begins working back over your clit, spit slicked and swiping eagerly over the sensitive nub. Picking up the pace, you try to ignore the twitches in your legs and the way your thighs already want to clamp shut on your own hands.

You ignore it, that is, until Joel chimes in from the doorway.

"You're gonna rub the fuckin' thing clean off if you keep goin' at it like that."

Hitting the bed in frustration, you growl and sit up again, staring wild eyed at him. "If you're such a fucking expert, then why don't you get over here and help me. I am naked, Joel, and my cunt is right here."

Your mouth snaps shut the moment you gesture down to your spread legs. You snap them shut too. By the way he's silently peeling off his coat, you're certain you've fucked up, though you can't say you're too mad about it. With any luck, he'll fuck you to within an inch of your life in a way so satisfying your ruined orgasm will be all but forgotten.

With his coat discarded, he pulls off a sweater and unbuttons his shirt - flannel and significantly less holey than the one you've just thrown at him. Then, he grabs a pillow you'd discarded earlier and sits at the edge of your bed.

"C'mere," he beckons as he lays back, folding the pillow and shoving it behind his head.

You don't move. You're frozen in place as he shifts and gets himself comfortable. You don't know what this is, what he's planning, but you're certain it's something he's never done before. And it's going to happen right here, in your bedroom, the very place you'd spent night after night dreaming of the many wonderful ways he would fuck you.

"You want my help, or not?" he says in frustration, looking over to you where you're rooted in place. You nod stupidly, and follow the beckon of his fingers until you're kneeling by his side.

His rough hands find your thigh and push you until you're sat up on your knees. Then, he's dragging one of your legs over his clothed chest until you're straddling him, trying to keep the wet mess between your legs from soaking through his shirt.

"Up here," he says. "Want that pussy, and I ain't kneeling for it."

And suddenly it all clicks into place and you are mortified. For everything he'd done to you, for how much you knew he loved to look, you'd never once done something like this to him. You felt awkward even riding him, until his flithy words of encouragement and the drag of his cock inside you knocked every thought out of your brain.

Now, he was wanting you to sit on his face, somehow not suffocating him in the process. So, you laugh, shaking as you hold your weight above his chest.

"Look like I'm jokin' to you?" he says in a tone so stern and serious your eyes force their way down to where his face sits perilously close to the apex of your legs.

Which, of course, is a fucking mistake. He's licking his lips and looking up at you - all over every inch of you - eating you alive with his stare.

He pushes and pulls you then, dragging you up his chest until your knees are settled either side of his face. You can feel the gust of his breath against your thighs just before he hauls you forward a little more until his half face is completely covered by your cunt, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose visible now.

"Fuckin' christ. You're a mess down here. You been goin' at it for a while, huh?" he says, and you can feel every word blow against you even as you hover as far as you can above his face.

"Uh-huh," you say, a kiss sucked to your thigh striking stealing all thought from your mind.

"Get real close?" he says, with another kiss, hands kneading at your thighs and ass as they wrap around you and try to tug you closer.

You nod, hoping he can see you as your eyes slip closed with the feeling of him right here, between your legs, in your room.

"Hm. That's a damn shame, sweetheart. Bet you're achin' for it somethin' fierce right now, ain't you?" he asks from between your legs. You look down and you know in that moment the fucked look on your face says more than you ever could when he hums, spreading your thighs apart with his strong fingers.

"Better sit your ass down then," he mumbles into your thigh, pulling you down. "That's it, bring it here. Ain't strainin' my fuckin' neck for it, give it to me."

So you do. You settle down slowly onto his face, listening as he guides you down until you feel the first broad swipe of his tongue up through your folds.

"What'd I say," he says, swallowing the taste of you. "A fuckin' mess."

He kisses around your clit, nudging it with the curved tip of his nose when he finally licks up into you again. And then, he's pulling your flush to his face and feasting.

The noise that leaves you is stupid. Somewhere between a gasp and a moan and a question all at once. His nose is pressed against you, his laughter fanning out across your mound as you try not to squirm and wiggle against him, fearful of crushing his head beneath your weight, or at the very least suffocating him.

His face burrows deeper, his hands holding you firm, squeezing and scraping calloused fingertips against your delicate skin. The scruff on his cheeks feels rough against the places you were so soft with earlier, and you don't care in the slightest.

It works, you think.

Where the soft feel of your own hands felt too much - too familiar - to the parts of you that were now too sensitive to them, the rough, all consuming movements of Joel's mouth on your swollen pussy feels like a welcome relief as he laps at your hole, slick and dripping from your thwarted solo session.

His hands move from anchoring you to his face, locked around your thighs, to pressing against your ass, gripping the globes of them in each of his broad hands.

And then, as if it wasn't all so much already, he begins to stroke up and down your seam, pulling you apart, dipping into your dripping cunt and teasing over your exposed asshole as he laps and suckles away at your clit.

Still, as good as it all is, you can't let go. You can't get back to that place you'd climbed so close to. You feel exposed, sat upright with the frigid October air of your bedroom encasing you. Self-conscious too - all chins and bad angles and slouchy shoulders. And, most of all, you were terrified you were going to hurt him. One wrong twitch or snap shut of your legs and his air supply would be gone, or his neck snapped, and you'd have a dead man in your bed and -

A sharp slap connects with your ass cheek, Joel's strong hands pulling you upwards from his face, cheeks glistening and lips swollen red.

"Lean forward," he says, with a nip to your thigh.

As you go to move, walking forward on your knees, a hand grips your waist, and another slap hits your thigh, rippling your skin where it frames his face.

"Said lean, not fuckin' move off. You're gonna sit right here 'til you come, but you ain't comin' any time soon if you don't fuckin' lean and relax."

A strong hand pushes at your lower back then, making you hinge forward until your elbows collide with the bed. Your ass is in the air, legs spread just wide enough that your bare cunt is tantalizingly close to Joel's mouth, and now you get it. You shift on your knees, soothing the small ache that had built up, and look down at the brown-grey hair between your legs that's sucking hickies into your thighs.

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs as he marks you, delivering swift, gentle smacks to your ass as you groan, planting your cheek firmly against your bed.

You drag a blanket toward you, covering yourself a little and tucking your face into the softness of it. Joel's smacks turn to scrapes of his blunt nails over the backs of your thighs and then, when your brain finally switches off and you fall into that mindless, soft place that has you feeling heavy and floaty all at once, you press your hips forward and drag your bare pussy across Joel's waiting tongue.

Joel's groan of approval blends into your own wanton moans. What was a soft drag of his tongue on your clit quickly turns to the sensitive nub being sucked into his eager mouth, your hips winding and grinding now you can finally relax.

"Fingers. Please. Need your fingers."

It doesn't even sound like you. It's breathier and more pathetic than you think you've ever sounded, but you can't bring yourself to care when suddenly Joel is releasing your clit to slurp on two of his own fingers, before plunging them deep into your empty pussy.

"Yes, yes, yes, like that. Fuck. Joel."

Each orbit of his tongue on your clit sends a new throb directly through your core, clenching down on the digits curling into you, and you're right back to teetering on that edge. You figure you could let yourself fall over it now. It'd be more like collpasing over it in an exhausted heap, but you know it'd be a satisfaction you wouldn't otherwise have got today.

Or you could wait. You could hold yourself back and use his face to tease yourself, to bring yourself back from the brink once, twice, before you take the final running jump right over it.

Your hands have made up your mind for you when you card trembling fingers through his hair and pull him back, forcing his head down into the pillow he'd propped under it not long ago, and stopping your orgasm in its tracks.

One.

Then, when he's licking broad stripes up and down your glistening folds, something takes hold of you and you begin to fuck yourself against his fingers, swiping your pussy against the flat of his tongue as you rock gently back and forth. His tongue, then his nose, grind against your clit with each rock of your hips, and soon your shaking legs can't move yourself any more.

Two.

Whatever running jump you'd hoped for isn't in your hands now. It's not in your control from the moment Joel tucks a third finger into your pussy, so slick and dripping you're certain you'd have no issue taking more if he decided to give them to you. Instead, you're being carried by him, limp and panting in his arms as he throws you mercilessly over the edge, and you let him.

You come with a cry, fists balling in sheets. Your hips rock and cant against his face, twitching uncontrollably as you pulse and gush around his fingers. His tongue is relentless on your clit, circling over and over until you're begging a jumbled garble of words, too weak to lift yourself off of him.

Then, in a last ditch effort, you throw yourself forward, still coming as you finally release yourself off of his face.

It takes your brain a second to reconnect with your body. Even after the aftershocks have subsided, you're still panting and groaning. Or he is. Maybe both of you are.

Both of you are.

Still quivering, you turn to him. His eyes catch yours before you can take in the state of him. They're darker than you've ever seen them, his blown pupils turning his irises almost black. Then, you see the glistening wet on his chin, his plush lips turned plumper, red and swollen from kissing and sucking at you. And, even lower still, you see the movement of his arm, his bicep rocking in a steady movement, his forearm flexing with each jerk of his fist, his cock weeping in his hand.

"Get down here," he growls.

You scramble to turn, limbs clumsy, and flop down against his side, knees tucked awkwardly under you. His free hand grips your ass, kneading and spreading you so he can look at the mess he made of you, while he guides his cock to your mouth with the other.

"C'mon now, ain't gonna take much. That's it. Fuck."

He groans when you swallow him down, almost gagging when you take him too deep too quickly. Your fist curls around the base of him, taking up the space you can't quite reach, and you bob your head, swirling your tongue, unable to keep your moans quiet as you taste him.

No sooner have you started, and he's twitching beneath you, the muscles in his groin flexing to hold back, to hold on.

"Want you to swallow it all," he pants. "Don't want - fuck - you to miss a single drop."

His fingers push back into your tender hole then - the inviting warmth of it obviously too much to resist when it's swaying there right in front of him, and you welcome him back in with a sigh.

"Such a fuckin' mess."

You moan in agreement, sucking his cock deeper into your mouth. You can't see him. You don't need to. You know he's close by the way his balls draw tight and his moans get so desperate, his fingers stilling their slow exploration inside you.

And then, he's spurting into the back of your throat - you bet he has his eyes closed - and you swallow over and over, the salty burst of him barely registering on your tasetbuds as you eagerly swallow everything he has to give.

"Get it all. That's it. Swallow it. Fuck, sweetheart."

You suck and lick until his fingers pull out of you and grip your thigh, too sensitive for you to carry on your gentle licks against his head.

With one last gentle suck, you release him with a pop and flop beside him, smiling dozily to yourself as your hands play against your belly.

Joel lays with you for a moment too, his cock going limp against his belly before he tucks it away and sits up.

"Y'always like this after you fuck yourself?" he asks, and you nod, watching the way he stretches his neck and shoulders. You think you are, anyway. Mostly, you fall straight asleep. It's only on these rare occasions you get to fuck yourself with your fingers and take your time that you ended up smiling and satisfied at a job well done.

"Get up here," he says again a moment later, tugging gently at your limp arm. He could manhandle you - he's done it before, he's plenty strong enough - but he doesn't. Instead he waits patiently until you're on your knees in front of him, almost matching his height where he stands and you kneel.

"What'd'ya say?" he asks, pinching your chin. "Tha..."

"Thank you, Joel," you say, with a roll of your eyes. "But, technically, it's your fault I even needed your help in the first place."

With a quick slap to your ass, he pushes your chin away with his thumb, before dragging your face right back to his. "Alright smartass. C'mere."

Then, he kisses you. Full on the mouth, kisses you.

And, when you slip your tongue against his bottom lip, tasting yourself on the fullness of it, he doesn't object. He meets you in the middle instead, tasting himself on your tongue as you taste yourself on his.

"Always go so fuckin' dopey for kisses," he says with a laugh against your mouth, and you moan an agreement as your head falls back. You're exhausted, right down to the bones, and now the mornings events are catching up with you.

"I do. You don't mind tasting your cum."

Honest too, apparently, and Joel shakes his head.

"S'mine, and I fuckin' put it there. Nice knowin' you taste of me, sweetheart. If it ain't one hole, it oughta be another."

He shrugs his jacket on, and pulls his shoes onto his feet, before he sees himself out. He pats you gently on the ass as he leaves, closing your bedroom door behind himself. You listen out for the front door, and when it slams, you let the fuzzy feeling take hold - your eyes catching sight of his flannel shirt on your dresser right before you're dragged under.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

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sweetie! ❤️

I was wondering how such talented people could live, and here you are. you are so amazing! I love your stories, I always find something for myself in them. and your dialogues and descriptions... Ohhh!

I adore you! ❤️

You’re so sweet! ❤️❤️❤️

Your messages always give me a warm fuzzy feeling 🥰🥰🥰

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What a lovely little surprise to see when I get on tumblr and actually pay attention to it for the first time in days 😍

I love them so much!!!!

time away

A seeking what is desirable drabble for anyone who has missed Naomi and Joel ♡

1.2k words, all fluff. Takes place 3ish years after the main story. Enjoy :)

“So,” Joel begins, looking up at Ellie. A clock ticks somewhere in the living room to mark the seconds going by, dragging out the time. “Dina… Dina, Dina, Dina.” Oh, look, he’s managing to stay so cool and keep it together so well, isn’t he? The man of the hour, he holds Luna’s little feet, tucked into socks with red hearts all over them, matching the ones Naomi slid across the hardwood in when she gathered her keys and wallet, running off to get groceries. He jostles them around with the pads of his thumbs on her soles. 

Ellie narrows her eyes, but her smile is impossible to stifle enough for him not to see it.

“Is she your girlfriend?” he asks, and Luna coos at him, giggling as she looks up at her father from where she lays in his lap. Little hands curl around his fingers, little feet kick at his forearms. 

“It’s…” Ellie waves. “It’s just a… A thing.” 

“Right,” Joel says then, “A thing is why you brought her home for a week over the holidays? By that logic, I guess a thing is also why you introduced her to Tommy, Maria, Kevin, my mother—”

“Don’t you have someone else’s business to stick your nose into?” 

He frowns, “Not really,” and groans as he lifts the baby to his chest before he leans back against the couch. His hand covers the entire span of her back, his thumb and pinky finger curving around her, a girl with little blonde curls all over her head and green eyes. None of his genes are anywhere in her blood, it seems. They all went to her big sister instead. “This one doesn’t say all too much, Sarah texts me every day already—” 

“I’ve always been amazed at how popular you are, Joel.”

“Right,” he grumbles, “That’s why I—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before the door opens and Aurora storms in, little sneakers flying out in two different directions as she stumbles to take them off, one hitting the wall and the other tumbling into the dining room while she bolts towards him.

“Daddy!” 

Joel quirks an eyebrow at Ellie — he’s never felt so popular in his life. Aurora clings to his legs before climbing up onto the couch, then onto his lap, leaning against the side of his chest not occupied by her little sister. The two of them giggle, and their father’s hands are full once again, while Naomi rolls her eyes from the hallway with bags in her hands. 

“Who let you in here?” she asks, looking at Ellie and tossing her keys on the dresser. 

“I’m here to babysit,” she says with a grin, “Sarah’s coming in an hour.” 

“Babysit?”

Ellie turns toward Joel. “You actually kept it a secret, huh?” she says, and he shrugs, one cocky eyebrow lifting slightly, smug as ever. For months, he has kept it a secret, pulled his gray-faded utility pants on and left at nine every Sunday morning, with Tommy’s truck rumbling in the driveway and Naomi waving from the doorway.

“Thought we could go somewhere tonight,” he says, watching Naomi approach them, her face nothing but a flattered question mark. Their brows scrunch in the same way now, confused by the other and yet eternally amused by them as well. She lifts Luna from him and perches on the broad thigh not occupied by her other daughter, and holds their youngest against her chest while she looks at her husband. 

“Oh?” 

“Remember all those Sundays I had to spend workin’ on that project for Tommy’s client?” he asks. 

Skeptical, she narrows her eyes. “Yes?” 

“Well, I was the client, and I wanna show you how it turned out. Tonight, if you’ll let me.” 

Naomi pulls back, and Joel’s arm shoots out to yank her close to him again, holding her steady with a hand around her hip. 

“Joel—” full of disbelief, on the verge of laughter, she scoffs. 

And it’s a dangerous tone he uses when he says, “It was for you, sweetheart,” sweeping her hair over her shoulders. “Wanted to do something nice for your birthday next week.”  

Long lashes flutter while she looks between his eyes. “But Luna—”

Ellie cuts in, recounting, eyes rolling from left to right while her voice takes on a gravely edge and a familiar accent, Joel’s repeated instructions recited one by one, “Stash is in the freezer, labeled by date, these are Aurora’s pancakes, ya gotta have ‘em ready by seven forty five or she flips. Luna naps at bla, bla, bla, Ellie are you hearin’ what I’m sayin’, et cetera, et cetera. Sarah, now this is real important, okay?” 

And Naomi closes her eyes while she leans into him, presses a kiss to the side of his neck and breathes him in, pushes her forehead against his collar and looks into Aurora’s eyes across from her. Their little girl looks more like Joel than anyone else in the entire world. 

— 

Through the clearing, a black little log cabin becomes visible. Joel only lifts his hand from Naomi’s thigh when he turns the key in the ignition of his truck, and the tips of her fingers slip out from under the collar of his t-shirt to push them through his curls. 

“Joel, you cannot be—”

“Can’t be what?” he asks, turned towards her with his elbow on the console, his head tilted to the side. His eyes trace the cute little scrunch of her brows, the slope of her nose, the pout of her lips when she tries to hide her smile despite how it pushes up into her cheeks. His other hand comes to the side of her face, palm sliding along her jaw to fit his fingers around the back of her neck and his thumb on her pulse. “Huh?” he teases. 

She just shakes her head, and she’s the softest, sweetest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Come on, let me show you.” 

She jumps out with her hand in his and the door shuts behind them as he leads the way, over the gravel path towards the front door. The two floors of the cabin stand tall in front of them, and he tugs at her when she stops in her tracks, her mouth hanging open and her eyes glossing over. 

“You did this for me?” she asks, and she sniffles when she breaks into a smile, softening him, turning him into mush. 

“You and the girls,” he says, sliding his hands under her arms and lifting her up. He wraps her legs around his middle and she smothers him with kisses, smearing her tears over his cheeks and tightening the clutch of her arms around his neck. 

There’s a cabin a few feet away, and yet all she looks at is that man, the one who holds onto her by a hand on the curve of her ass and the other around the back of her neck. He is the only man in the entire world, she thinks, when he turns the key in the door and pushes it open, nods towards the little hallway and walks in with his arms around her waist, looking down at her to watch her reactions to every room, with pride swelling in his chest, about to burst. 

The back porch opens to the sight of the lake behind the cabin. Down the little stairs, there’s a dock with two big chairs and waves cresting underneath, in the golden glow of the sun setting, darkening the rustling trees around when Joel hands Naomi a plate and takes his seat next to her on the wooden swing, big enough for the two of them and their two little ones. 

It’s perfect. 

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If this is the first time you’ve come across my writing and you enjoyed this drabble, I suggest you read seeking what is desirable in full to read Joel & Naomi’s full story, hehe <3 

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Goober was definitely giving me “Please don’t leave for work” eyes and it was so hard not to cave

😭

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