bitchesuntitled - BitchesUntitled
BitchesUntitled

DD—30—She/Her. Here for all the fanfic. It’s not a problem, it’s a passionate hobby 😅 Occasional writer? It’s a work in progress in itself✨Masterlist✨

712 posts

Right?! I Dont Understand It Either!

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

Lies, Excuses and Bullshit

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

Lies, Excuses And Bullshit

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.

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More Posts from Bitchesuntitled

9 months ago

This is so stinkin’ sweeeeeeet 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Goodnight Kiss

joel miller x f!reader

Goodnight Kiss
Goodnight Kiss
Goodnight Kiss

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

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

main masterlist

Goodnight Kiss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, don’t be.”

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

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

“Had to put it somewhere, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

“We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

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

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

“Goodnight, Joel.”

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

“Night, darlin’.”

You can’t seem to fall asleep fast enough.

Goodnight Kiss

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Tags :
9 months ago

MORE SWAT!!!!

I have been SO excited for this!

And the fact he was kinda nice even when he’s such an asshole and gentle?! MY FUCKING HEART, LO! MY HEART!!! 🥰😍🥰😍

sweet as cherry wine

Sweet As Cherry Wine

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub-con (power imbalance, reader was paying a debt), unprotected PIV, period sex, the joys of menstruation, fingering, derogatory names (slut), mentions of malnutrition/lack of food, positive weight gain, ghost of anal sex past and future, drug reference, asshole Joel, no use of y/n word count: 5.1k summary: a different kind of rude awakenin' than you were promised ruins your Sunday plans but, of course, you find yourself at the mercy of Joel Miller anyway.

A/N: she's here! another mini-kinktober SWAT series of oneshots for you to enjoy and for me to be horny about in theory, stressed about in practice. if you want spoilers, check out the SWAT masterlist for what's to come.

once again, please ignore the total and utter bastardisation and improper use of hozier lyrics. this one is particularly heinous but out of context I couldn't resist.

title from cherry wine by hozier

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You felt more alive these days. Whether it was the bright, cool days, the extra food you could suddenly afford to eat, or the regular fucking you got from Joel, you couldn't tell, but the world felt lighter and, at the very least, your father's bad days didn't feel so difficult to manage.

It was easy to forget that these things couldn't last - the cloud was incoming whether you liked it or not, and whether it was a short shower or a downpour, you were going to get wet.

It was a fact that became painfully apparent the very morning you had an appointment with Joel.

It wasn't a strict appointment, more an offhand comment that you planned on cashing in on. When a man like Joel fucks you from behind and taunts you with threats of fucking your ass again and you think fuck yes so hard the words spew out of your mouth as you babble into the sheets, what else is a girl to do. And when he makes doubly sure you heard him by kneading your ass as you ready yourself to leave and whispers in your ear the filthy things he wants to do to you, and if you want them to happen you should come over Sunday afternoon, it's basically a done deal.

"If you thought that was an ass fuckin' before," he had said, "You're in for a rude fuckin' awakenin', sweetheart."

By god did you want that rude awakening.

But, staring into your underwear that Sunday morning, the distantly familiar gnawing ache in your abdomen suddenly had a name, and there your plans went, flushed down the drain right alongside the first signs you'd seen of your fucking period in years.

You remembered the pain, but it'd been long enough that you'd forgotten about the other discomforts periods could bring. The hunger, the aches, the tender nipples and the throb in your head. Not to mention, the last thing you wanted was Joel anywhere near any of your holes, asshole definitely included.

With your plans ruined and an ache that was rapidly spreading to your back, you didn't bother leaving the house that day, or sending word to Joel that you wouldn't be coming. Your rude awakenin' would have to wait, and your dad would have to stretch his pills for a few more days.

Three days in, you can't wait any longer. Or rather, your dad can't. You still feel rotten, and though the pain and bleeding have eased off a little, you just want the sit in your apartment and eat - the very luxury that got you in this mess in the first place.

But, you're here instead. In front of Joel's door, hands clasped at your sides, berating yourself - and your father - for even needing to be here, when Joel pulls open the door with a scowl.

"This look like Sunday to you?" he grouches, the furrow between his brows deepening as he looks you up and down.

You try to ignore it. Just like you've tried to ignore the gnawing ache in your belly all week. But, despite yourself, you can't speak, can't bring mention to Sunday and your own disappointment, and instead reach a hand deep into your jacket pocket and pull out the small number of cards you'd agreed would cover your dad's meds.

"Just here for a refill."

Joel rolls his eyes, and when he pushes away from the door frame, he beckons you inside, pushing the door shut behind you the second you scurry through after him.

"The fuck is wrong with you," he says, slamming an old worn container onto the table a second later. "And don't say nothin', I can tell you ain't right. Seen dead bodies with more life in 'em."

It hadn't occurred to you that he'd know. That he'd see right through you and know that you'd spent the days since Sunday feeling shitty as you curled into yourself. It hadn't occured to you for a second that you might look different - probably just as shit as you felt - and that Joel, a man who never seemed to be put off by anything, might be put off by this. By you.

"You sick?"

You hadn't even noticed he'd stopped rummaging, hands now on his hips as he stares at you with what you could almost mistake for concern. It pulls at you, somewhere deep inside, and you find a need to scramble for the words to reassure him, to tell him you'd be okay in the vaguest terms, that you'd be back to normal next week, if he still wants to go ahead with Sunday, because by fuck do you want to.

But instead, just one word comes out of your mouth in a sudden burst much louder than you intended.

"Period."

Joel blinks. Once. Then twice. As if trying to work something out, or maybe he's disgusted that you bleed, or maybe he's relieved you aren't pregnant at all and the little procedure to keep his swimmers at bay was still effective.

"Y'ain't had one o' them before," he starts. "I mean, since..."

You want to tell him that maybe you have. Maybe you hid it - didn't want him to know - but you both know you're a shit liar.

"Guess eating works wonders," you joke instead, not missing the frown that tugs his brows down, or the way his eyes scan back over your body to settle on the jacket that fits more snug than it ever has, or the thighs that now fill out your jeans.

The entire time, he doesn't make a single move to grab your father's pills. You want to scream at him to hurry up and give them to you - the longer you're standing here, the longer your cunt has to throb and clench at the mere thought of him. For the first time all week, you're not sure the wet feeling between your legs is blood.

"Got everything's you need?" he asks, his eyes briefly flicking down to your belly then back up.

You do. You tell him as much, now keenly aware of the feeling of the cup sat securely inside you as he stares holes through your head, searching for the lie, before giving up and shrugging when he doesn't find one.

He starts rummaging in the small container again, pulling out a half used packet and gesturing to you with it. "You hurtin'?"

You shake your head, turning down his offer of free prescription meds to ease your aches and pains. "Not so much any more."

Joel slowly takes a step towards you, and your pussy pulses again, gripping the cup lodged inside you and making you wish it was something else entirely.

"Still up for fuckin' if you are."

Nothing can keep the scoff of disbelief from bubbling out of your chest. Not two seconds ago you thought that maybe he'd be put off by you, if not by how you looked, then by the mess between your legs.

"No way are you fucking my ass, Joel," you say through a laugh.

He shrugs, before moving closer and pulling open your jacket. "Never said that. A fuckin' is a fuckin', don't matter which hole. Could have you comin' on this cock and leavin' feelin' better than you have in days, if you want it."

"You got a magic dick or something?" You laugh again, though smaller this time as Joel stares down at you through dark lashes.

"Think you know the answer to that better than I do," Joel says, running his tongue along his teeth. "Doubt you been rubbin' that pretty thing between your legs too much these last few days, huh?"

He's not wrong - making yourself come has been the last thing in your mind lately. You spent most of your time Sunday scrambling to find your menstrual cup and learning how to use it all over again so you weren't free bleeding all over the place. Since then your days had been filled with torturously slow work days and hiding away in your room with a pillow cluched firmly to your stomach.

"Didn't think so."

In a blink, he's gone, moving away from you so quickly your head spins. He's pressing the lid firmly back onto the container, the loud clicking echoing around his apartment as he readies it to be stashed away. You look away as he turns from you - not wanting to see if it's hidden in the usual drawer or elsewhere in his home - and turn just in time for a threadbare towel to be thrown your way. It's worn, and stained, but soft and clean in your hands.

"Go get yourself cleaned up."

You gape at him. Mostly in disbelief that he would want to touch you at all right now, but a small part of you stares at his form - broad and strong - wanting desperately to leap on him right here with no mind paid to the thing currently lodged in your cunt, feral with the knowledge that he actually wants you.

"But what about the mess," you say feebly instead, grinding your knuckles into that soft part just below the pooch of your belly as a sudden ache - no doubt brought on by the fluttering in your cunt - takes hold of your womb.

He laughs then, low and throaty, before making his way back to you and gripping your chin between thumb and forefinger.

"Good job I like it when you're a mess for me, sweetheart."

You're gone in a flash - his deep chuckle the only thing you hear as you rush to the bathroom and close the door, stripping down as quickly as you can before hopping into his shower. The water is deliciously warm as it pelts your skin, a forgotten luxury that you wish you'd had two days ago at the worst of your aches. Still, you relish in it, and find yourself tentatively stepping out of the steamy room with the tattered towel wrapped around you and your cup cleaned and discarded on his bathroom sink far sooner than you'd like.

There's a soft yellow light beckoning you into Joel's bedroom as you pad your way across his floor. He's there, just beyond the doorway, laying another towel across faded sheets. His jeans are off and his sweater discarded, his bare, muscular legs flexing with each movement in the golden light as he puts together the space you're about to fall apart in.

"You gonna keep starin'," he says with a final flourish of the towel before giving it a gentle pat with his hand. "Or you gonna sit your ass down before you drip on my floor."

Rolling your eyes, you walk to the bed, Joel barely giving you space to maneouver by him, before doing as your told and sitting your ass down. There's already a soft lump forming in the front of his boxers when you cast your eyes up to him.

"Show me," he says, dragging a finger across your hand where you grip the towel to yourself, and in an instant it drops away from your body, falling into your lap and exposing your chest to him.

"Y'know, I thought they'd got bigger," he says, letting his finger trace from your hand to your palm and down to the soft swelling of your chest. "Bouncin' in my fuckin' face more than usual lately."

His broad hand encases your breast, gently holding but not squeezing as his fingertips caress your soft flesh. His thumb drags gently across your nipple, the sensitive bud of it tightening and sending a zing straight down through to your core. It should hardly come as a surprise to you - the soft fabric of your own t-shirts had been borderline painful in the days leading up to your unpleasant surprise. Still, it makes you gasp, a thing that Joel notices with a cocked eyebrow.

"Ass too," he continues, hands stroking softly at your tender nipple before crouching before you on creaking knees. "I'd fuck it any chance I'd get, but somethin' about it lately..."

Resting back on your palms, you look down at him beyond the swell of your breasts. He's gazing at them, watching as they heave with each breath you take. For good measure, you take in a deep sigh just to watch his eyes darken as they rise and fall right in front of his face.

"Show me," he says again, with a nod and, while his eyes never leave your tits as they sway in front of him, you know what he really means.

Part of you wants to clamp your legs together and hide from him. You want to ask him why - why ever, but mostly why now, when you're like this. But you don't.

Instead, you pull the towel away and let it fall from your thighs. For a second, you wonder if Joel has even noticed. He still seems entranced by the way your tits move. That, or he's somehow being polite - a weird thing to even consider given how very naked and very close to him you are right now.

Then, he flicks his eyes between your legs for a fraction of a second, before standing and pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth movement. The tent in his boxers is even more pronounced now, the trail of hair that slips beneath the waistband drawing your eye easily to the swelling bulge hidden beyond the fabric.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart," Joel says. "Think you can take it?"

He's stroking himself over the fabric now, you can see it in your periphery. His broad hand gently squeezing and rubbing the very thing you wish was in you.

Words lost, you nod. Then, his knee descends to one side of you, calloused hands pushing at your shoulders, and you're falling softly backward until you collide with the mattress, and the worn towel covering it.

The mattress gives way to your weight, dipping softly where you lay. Joel's over you, his massive frame cast in golden light from the lamp as he touches you more gently than you think he ever has. Your nipples pucker, his hands not even close to them as you arch into the touch of his rough palm across your side, your belly, your hip.

And then, he's dipping his fingers between your legs, not caring of the mess that might be there, and drags slick fingers through your folds until you're panting and writhing underneath him, legs spreading and hips rocking your pussy into his hand with each swipe of his wet fingers over your clit. You didn't notice how sensitive you were. The last few days you'd tried your hardest to ignore any sensation coming from your cunt that wasn't an alarming feeling of warm and wet. Now, while you were definitely warm and wet, you were practically electrified too, blood humming with need as Joel gently stroked at your pussy until you were begging him to make you come.

"I'm gonna, sweetheart," he growls. "Gonna make this needy pussy come all over my cock. Make a mess o' me."

You feel yourself flutter as his finger pushes lightly into your waiting hole. You're dripping, no telling really with what at this point, but you don't have it in you to care. He can have the mess he so desperately wants, as long as he makes you come and leaves you panting and bone tired right here on the mattress.

His face burrows into your neck, shrouding you in him while he sucks kisses down and onto your shoulder.

"Joel..." you moan, arching into him again when his finger plunges deep, gently curling forward while his palm grinds against your clit. You could make yourself come on him if he just kept like this. Except, you don't want to. You don't want to do the work. You want to lie here and take it, have him split you open on his cock and work you apart until you crumble underneath him.

He works another into you, shallow thrusts of the digits working you up and sliding easily through you. His thumb finds your clit, swiping messily over it until you twitch and grip his arm, forcing his palm flat against you so you can grind and grind against him. But he stills - the soft kisses he was peppering with you having reached the jiggle of your tits - and looks aup at you with a quirk to his brow.

"Beg me for it," he whispers, pulling his sopping fingers out of you and wiping them on the towel between your legs. "Not gonna fuck you until you do."

Your desperation cuts through the anger that flares in your belly. You were close when he pulled away, his hand now simply teasing the sensitive skin of your thigh. You were so close your cunt was throbbing, sending small aches up through you. Whether they were from him, and the relief he so quickly took from you, or the making of your own body, you couldn't even tell, but you had a sneaking suspicion they were working together to fuck you over. They always did.

"Fuck me, Joel. Please."

Joel is already settling between your thighs, boxers yanked down his legs and cock springing free, by the time you even finish asking. He presses forward, letting his cock slip against you as his mouth hungrily finds your nipple, sucking and making you gasp. A sudden sob wrestles its way out of your chest while he grinds against you, your clit twitching against the slip and slide of his length, your hands finding his arms to steady you. He's solid, and steady above you, while you quake and writhe beneath him - always the picture of fucking composure, even with his cock heavy and dripping between your legs.

He rears back then, completely naked before you, the shadow between his legs ignored as you make a point to stare up at him, his own eyes favoring the mess between your legs rather than your face. His fingers find your thighs again, spreading them, holding them, before lining himself up with your entrance.

As he presses his tip into you, there's something glaringly obvious, and different, that you notice.

He's being gentle with you. Sort of.

And you're not entirely sure you like it. A very big part of you wants him to say fuck it and pound into you, fucking the pain out of your mind to leave you moaning and boneless and far too messy to comprehend. Unfortunately, you're definitely sure that'd hurt much more than it'd actually be enjoyable, and you hate that Joel and his animal brain have understood that before you and yours.

He catches your frown before you do, and rolls his eyes at you with a gentle squeeze to your thighs. His cock is still slipping gently in and out of you, just pushing in past the head, careful not to go too deep too quickly as he spreads you apart to take him.

"I ain't a fuckin' animal. I know when a pussy's gotta be treated sweet and nice and when it needs to be fucked hard."

You really do try not to pout, but the slow drag of him suddenly doesn't feel like enough and it's all you can do not to cross your arms and glare at him. "What if I don't want sweet and nice?"

"Yeah, you do," he whispers, so sure of himself you want to fucking slap him. If his hands weren't so distracting as they slide up and down your thighs, gently massaging away any ache in tandem with his cock in your cunt, you probably would reach up and give a smack to that beautiful fucking face of his. "And even if you think you don't, she does, and, unlucky for you, I ain't listenin' to you right now."

The moment he starts talking about your cunt, his brings his thumb down to gently tease along your lips where he splits you open, drawing a slick combination of your own blood and arousal up to your clit where he swirls it around.

And, traitorous bitch that she is, your pussy throbs in approval, as if to say yes, yes we want sweet and nice, and you know you've lost the battle. Where Joel was concerned, you were a slave to your pussy - it wasn't even a point worth contending at this point, and you're not sure you ever would've fought to hard against it anyway.

So, you nod, slipping your eyes closed as he fucks himself deeper and deeper into you. In an odd way it does feel like a massage - the stiff length of him pushing in past the tense grip of your cunt until you're putty right there on the bed, a leaking, dripping, groaning mess, all of Joel Miller's making. He never bottoms out. Never once hammers home. Never once takes your soft pleas and moans as direction to go faster, harder, even though part of you still wants him to.

You just lie there, soft and pliant against the sheets, taking the steady slip of him in your needy hole until your brain turns to soup in your head.

"Kiss me," you mumble through another moan when his hands drag up your body to swip rough fingers over your nipples again. "Joel, kiss me."

Your legs push back as he falls forward, the sudden movement pushing him deeper and making you gasp. He stops for a moment, searching your eyes as they fly open, pupils blown in the lowlight of his bedroom. He rocks tentatively, at first, before beginning the slow slide in and out of you all over again, until your head thuds back against the mattress.

You'd thought he'd undone you before. Right in this room. You'd thought his fist in you had ruined you, his cock in your ass, his hand in your hair. So many things before now should have torn you apart, but none of that had prepared you for this. The soft, sweet, dirty way Joel Miller fucked all the aches and pains out of you right on his tired mattress.

Through it all, you almost forget you'd asked him to kiss you until his mouth finds yours, and you excitedly accept the pressure of his lips. You'd be embarrassed by it, and by the giddiness in your head as he nips and sucks at your mouth, if you hadn't long lost that feeling around him.

"Forget how much of a slut for kisses you are," he mumbles when he pulls away. "Slut for everythin'."

A weak protest forms in your throat, but his hips jerk forward and silence you with a moan instead.

"No denyin' it. Ain't met many who wanna be split open on this dick when they're on the rag," he's grinning into your shoulder as he taunts you, biting and sucking soft bruises you'll worry about later you as he grinds deeper in you now. "Startin' to think you're some kind of masochist."

You can feel his smile against your skin - a sign he already knows by now that that's more than true. Even so, like most things with Joel, this wasn't something you'd even considered before, let alone considered you might enjoy, until he did it. There's an ache as he stretches you, sure. And an ache in your belly too. And, somehow, one is soothing the other, the grip you have around his cock distracting you from any other feeling in your body as he slides through the mess between the two of you, bringing you close to a euphoria that feels deeper in your belly than it ever has.

He notices the change before you do. Your soft, contented moans turn into deep yearning cries as he grinds his cock deep, heavy balls sitting wetly against your ass as your slicked up hole seems to draw him in further and further. His fingers push between you, the slip of sweat, and blood, and your own slick easing his digits between your bodies until he finds your clit again.

With a soft movement, he jerks it between two fingers, watching and listening as you whine pathetically, eyes pressed so tight you see stars. A quick slip lower, feeling the sticky slip of you around his cock that has the telltale feel of your arousal and not blood, he moves back up and begins swiping his finger over your swollen clit in earnest.

Your clit twitches and pulses beneath his finger, your cunt fluttering around his solid length as it slowly presses into you, barely moving, just watching as you become exactly the kind of mess you feel.

It aches, and it hurts, and it feels so fucking good that you sob out a cry, a moan, a garbled plea, all at once as you come, shaking into the deep arch of your back as he fucks slowly and slowly and slowly, his fingers sliping endlessly against your clit, jerking the nub until you can do nothing but let out a deep, breathy, scream.

"That's it," he groans, his own cock throbbing in you as you pulsate around him. "Messy fuckin' girl. Come on it. Come all over it."

"Please," you gasp stupidly, not knowing what you're begging for, the height of your orgasm coming crashing down as it suddenly all feels too much. "Please."

While you don't know what you're begging for, it seems like Joel does. One moment his hand is between you, and the next it's rubbing against the towel before gripping gently at your shoulder, holding you steadily underneath him as you shudder and gasp.

And then, like reading your deepest wishes straight from your mind, he starts rocking in shallow thrusts - unsatisfying on their own, but paired with the filth from his mouth, it sends you close to the edge all over again.

"There we go," he moans in your ear, breathy and desperate as you. "S'all you needed."

You're starting to think Joel Miller's cock maybe is all you need - for some people it's love, or riches, but for you, at least in this moment, the heavy length impaling you and curing all your ailments is all you need. For now, at least.

He's wrecking himself with it all too, you notice. The way the pressure of his hands on your body increases and releases over and over as he fights with himself to be gentle as he fucks you to his own release isn't helped by the way his mind is racing, his mouth barely keeping up with whatever filth is rattling around in his mind.

"Gonna take it. Gonna dump my load right in this messy fuckin' hole. Y'gonna be fillin' up that fuckin' cup with my cum after this. Gonna be spillin' outta you. Needy - fuckin' - slut."

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes," you babble, holding onto his arms through his gentle thrusts, your cunt threatening an orgasm even as a new ache settles back into your core.

"Like bein' a slut for me?" he gasps. "Like bein' mine?"

"Yeah. Yours. Please, Joel. Fuck."

"Tell me. Tell me s'mine."

"It's yours. Your hole. I'm your needy - fuck - hole!"

"Damn fuckin' right you're my needy fuck hole. Fuck. Shit. You want this?"

And god you do. You want more besides, but right now you'll take it, on the brink of coming as the rough thatch of hair at the base of his cock grinds relentlessly into your clit.

"Said, do you want this."

His shallow thrusts speed up, and you just about have time to gasp out a yes before you're twitching and coming hard around his cock again. He follows soon behind, gasped curses bitten into your shoulder as your hands slip against his sweat soaked sides, filling your cunt with thick ropes of cum, thanking him in mindless chants as you feel each pulse of his cock fill you more and more.

You're limp and just about as lifeless as he said you looked when he first opened the door. You don't care. You feel more relaxed than you have all week, the pain completely gone as a warm floaty feeling courses through your veins.

Joel pulls out, asking if you're all good and accepting the wobble of your head as a yes, before wiping his cock with the towel and using it to gently wipe at your thighs.

There's not as much mess as you expected, as you look down. You expected carnage - a bloodbath - but there's nothing more than a soft streak of red on the towel when he pulls it away and tosses it into the corner.

He flops heavily next to you, pulling part of the towel you're laying on over your body in a vague attempt to keep you warm as you both come down. The chill in the room had been kept at bay until now, mostly thanks to Joel's body heating yours from the inside out. Now, sweat dries on both of your bodies, and you find yourself shifting closer to his warmth to stave off the cold.

"Y'think these gonna be a regular thing now?" he asks as he tugs part of his bedsheet over himself.

You shrug, offering up your uncertainty. It had been years since your last - your fathers declining health and your subsequent lack of good meals had seen to that. There was no telling if there'd be any regularity to them and, if you were being honest, you didn't want to see one again for a very long time.

He's silent for a second, thoughtful features pinching in the warm light of his bedroom before he speaks again.

"Alright. How 'bout I give you that ass fuckin' in a couple weeks, then?"

It's not exactly what you expected. You'd almost forgotten about it yourself. But, now, as he pins a new date for your promised rude awakenin' you find yourself ready to pout again, this time at the idea of having to wait two more weeks.

"Two weeks? I'll probably be finished with this by the end of the week. I can come over Sunday, or in the week or -"

"I know," he says simply. "Like the idea of you bein' like a bitch in heat and me fuckin' a load into your ass when your cunt is so desperate for it, though."

Anything you were going to say is totally lost in an instant, your jaw flapping on its hinges as you try and fail to find the words that were just on the tip of your tongue. Any protest, question, or suggestion, is gone and, you realize, replaced with one thing, and one thing only.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

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9 months ago

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

🤯🫠

What red flags?!

jealous possessive javi?

💖

Jealous Possessive Javi?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another step forward. Another step back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what does it. His control snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jealous Possessive Javi?

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

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


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9 months ago

Ah! This was so good! 😍😍😍

Sangria (javier peña x fem!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

Sangria (javier Pea X Fem!reader)

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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9 months ago
Autumn Garden By Boris Groh

Autumn Garden by Boris Groh