Dark Room | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~4.9k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.
Summary: Accidentally getting locked in the photo developing room with Javier.
Tags: reader really doesn't like javi, co-worker vibes, era typical sexism/misogyny, he's kind of a smug dick but isn't he always?, smut, oral (f & m), reader has never had her pussy ate so javi changes that, unprotected p in v sex, quick blowjob, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, little to no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!
A/N: another javi one shot, what's new?! lol this is a follow up to this ask/prompt i got a few months ago and i just thought this would be very fitting for these two 🖤 thank you to my prima @ovaryacted for reading over this 🖤 hope you enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!
“We need some photos pulled from the photo lab…” Carillo’s voice drones on, his explanation fading into the background as the weight of Javier’s stare settles over you, dragging over your body unabashedly.
He’s slouched over a desk that’s cluttered with maps and reports, an overfilled ashtray perched precariously on the corner, its contents spilling over as evidence of long hours and bad habits.
The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up just enough to show off those strong, brown forearms, veins subtly bulging as he drums his fingers against the surface.
The air is perfumed with cigarette smoke, the stale scent clinging to everything. It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t choked on it yet.
Weeks have passed since your lapse in judgment in the parking garage—letting Javier fucking Peña slide between your thighs to take the edge off this godforsaken sexist job that you still haven’t quit.
Nothing’s changed, obviously. The men in the office are still assholes, continuing to treat you like an afterthought, but you just tune them out because at the end of the day; you know you’re better than all of them combined.
Except it’s hard to ignore Javier. Harder than usual when he’s flashing you those round and soft brown eyes that should be illegal for a man like him to possess.
He’s tried cornering you—more than once. The break room, after meetings, even the damn staircase when you were in a rush to head home.
Each time, you shut him down. Telling him to fuck off and take whatever cocky, insufferable game he’s playing and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.
You’re actually kind of proud of yourself for pushing back more than usual, even if you do get hit with a wave of horny nostalgia for the way he’d taken you that day. Quick, ruthless, licentious.
You keep your expression neutral as Carillo wraps up his instructions. Nodding politely, you don’t spare a glance at the other agent before turning on your heel and making your way down to the lab.
The room is lit by a red bulb, casting everything in a hazy, bloody glow. You’re sifting through the folders, squinting at the labels, when you hear it—the soft click of the door shutting.
You spin around, and there he fucking is.
Javier leans against the doorframe, the silver watch on his wrist catching the light, his tie loosened around his neck and the first few buttons of his shirt habitually undone.
With his arms crossed and broad frame filling the space of the doorway, he’s the picture of amusement—of quiet, dangerous persistence.
You hate the way your pulse downstairs stutters at the sight of him.
“What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his jaw shifts, a muscle ticking as he weighs his words, like he’s carefully considering how much trouble he wants to get himself into.
It annoys the ever-loving shit out of you.
When he doesn’t reply, you just huff out breath. “I don’t have time for this. Carillo needs these photos,” you snap, as if he doesn’t already know that. As if that’s why he’s really here.
Your fingers tighten around the folder you managed to locate, flipping through the contents to confirm it’s the right one. It is. Thank goodness. Now all you have to do is get the hell out of here—away from him.
“You’ve been doing okay?” He finally speaks, tone deceptively casual. “Your car’s fine?”
You bark out a laugh, loud and incredulous, because really? That’s what he’s opening with?
“What is it that you want, Javier?” You slam the filing cabinet shut, the sound echoing in the small lab.
And of-fucking-course—he’s closer now. The ruby luminescence of the room carves sharper angles into his face, deepening the contours, making his already unfairly handsome features look even more severe.
“What do you think?” he asks with a tilt of his head, tongue dragging slowly over his bottom lip.
“I think you just want to get your dick wet,” you accuse in a quip. “But I’m really confused as to why you’re so adamant about coming to me for that. Don’t you have a list of whores you can call? I’ve got about a dozen of their numbers written down at my desk. Just for you.”
Javier smirks—slow, lazy, irritatingly attractive. “S’not as fun. Not the same.” He shrugs. “I like to work for it sometimes.”
Your brows lift in disbelief. “Work for it? Wow, this really is just a game to you. To all of you.” Immature, arrogant, government assholes. You can feel yourself getting worked up, reminiscent of the last time you were this close to him.
You don’t give him the chance to reply, instead brushing past him toward the door, reaching for the handle and twisting—nothing.
You try again. And again. It doesn’t budge.
You exhale sharply, pressing your forehead against the door for half a second before pulling back.
Right, so this door has been busted for as long as you can remember, locking from the inside at the worst possible moments, clearly.
You should have snagged the spare key, just in case. This is on you.
And since you’ve got unwanted company, the space feels a lot smaller.
“Please tell me you have your stupid phone on you,” you’re still facing the door, voice tight, manilla folder clenched in your hands.
The sound of dress shoes sliding over the floor, measured, deliberate, breaks the momentary silence.
Your body lights up, tensing as warmth ghosts over the back of your neck, sending a shiver racing down your spine.
“I don’t,” Javier murmurs, too fucking smoothly.
And then his hands—those beautifully large hands—press against the door on either side of you, arms caging you in.
You turn slowly, back pressed to the door, looking up at him as your breath catches somewhere in your throat.
He smells like cologne and Marlboros, an intoxicating combination that does something dangerous to your resolve, sinking its talons into whatever shred of control you thought you had left.
You can already feel the telltale weakness creeping into your knees as he stares down at you, the red hue truly making him look sinful in all the right ways.
This is exactly why you’ve been dodging him, shutting him down at every turn.
Because he makes it so easy to give in if just given a second to lay it on thick, no pun intended. Not only have you experienced his sexual bravado first hand, you’ve also seen the way he works his personality and charm with everyone else.
You wanted to be different, you really did. To not be another person to fall for him. Not after the way he treats you in the office, like you’re barely worth acknowledging unless you’re useful to him. Not after the way he just lets the other agents walk all over you.
It’s really not fair that he looks the way he does or that he fucks like he knows exactly what his partner needs. Like he’s got some weird, kinky sixth sense.
It’s definitely not fucking fair that your pussy is flexing at the memory of him cuffing your wrists behind your back, growling filth into your ear as he took you against the side of his Jeep.
You inhale sharply, attempting to shove the thoughts away.
“I think there’s a landline in here somewhere,” you tell him, grasping at something—anything—to keep your wits about you. “We need to call someone to get us out.”
You try to step away, but Javier moves faster.
He blocks your path effortlessly, stepping into your space like he belongs there, his chest brushing against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes.
“Not yet, baby,” he murmurs, tone laced with that familiar, knowing drawl. It’s so rich that a little bit of his Texan accent slips through. “Let’s have some fun.”
You let out another laugh, except this time it’s thinner, shakier than you want it to be.
“Fucking someone you don’t like isn’t really my idea of fun,” you bite out, but it doesn’t come out as bitchy as you intended.
“Didn’t stop you last time…” He says smugly and you grit your teeth. “It just makes it that much better,” he sounds so indulgent. Like he’s already won.
You open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance.
“C’mon,” Javi coaxes like he’s the devil himself. “You’re always so tense. You work so damn hard, dealing with assholes like me all day. Let me make it worth your while.”
“I thought I told you last time that good dick wasn’t the solution to my problems.”
“I’m not trying to solve your problems.”
He ducks his head, the tip of his nose dragging up the side of your neck, a featherlight touch that sets your skin on fire.
You should push him away and slap him. But instead, you just… let him. Frozen, paralyzed by your own traitorous lust.
His soft pouty lips find your jaw, pressing kisses, each one getting you wetter.
His tongue traces a languid stripe up to your ear, the wet heat of it making you gasp and your thighs press together. When his teeth graze your lobe, you can’t suppress the way your breath stutters.
“Javi—” His name escapes before you can catch it, barely more than a whisper.
You feel his grin against your skin.
“Say it again.”
You shake your head, eyes squeezing shut, as if that will somehow lessen the ache beating at your cunt. As if you can pretend you’re still in control of the situation. Like you ever were.
His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles over your ribs. The heat of his palms sears through the fabric of your top, burning away the resistance you were clinging to.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he breathes, lips dragging along the shell of your ear. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
You should. But you can’t.
Your fingers fidget with the folder, aching to grab hold of him and pull him closer. You let out a shaky sigh, your resolve finally crumbling to dust.
You really are a weak bitch.
Javier pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression knowing—victorious.
The folder falls from your hands and to the floor as you grab him by the tie, yanking him down, crushing your mouth to his in a kiss that is nothing short of desperate, full of frustration, hunger and irritation.
Javier groans into it, gratified, his grip tightening on you as he presses you harder against the door, molding his body against yours. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming and demanding, and you let him, moaning into the kiss, your nails scraping against the back of his neck as his hands start to wander.
You were always going to give in and you both knew it.
You don’t even remember when his hands started working at the buttons of your shirt, but you feel the fabric coming undone, feel the cool air chilling you as he exposes your chest. His lips chase the newly exposed skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck, trailing lower… lower…
You gasp when he undoes your bra’s front clasp, his fingers ghosting over the swells of your breasts before he palms them fully, kneading, teasing, thumbing at your nipples then tugging them until you’re pathetically whimpering
“Mmmm,” you utter, your head tipping back against the door when his lips wrap around the aching peak and he sucks.
Javier chuckles against your skin.“Told you I’d make you feel good.”
Your fingers tangle into his hair, yanking his mouth back to yours, swallowing any other egotistic remark he was about to make.
You feel the hard line of his thick cock straining in his slacks as he grinds against you like a rutting dog, his hips rolling in slow, instinctive motions that have your pussy clenching around nothing.
Maybe resisting him was always a losing game.
It’s not like you’re drowning in offers elsewhere, and hell, you should own the fact that a man like Javier Peña—arrogant, infuriating, dangerously handsome—wants you more than any of the easy lays he could get with a single phone call.
Your confidence grows, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons.
One hand slips from the back of his head, trailing down between your bodies, fingers pressing against the rigid length of him through his pants. You squeeze, applying just enough pressure to make him hiss against your lips before he retaliates, biting your lower lip.
The pain blooms deliciously, sparking something even darker inside you. You reward him with another slow stroke, palming him, feeling his dick throb under your touch.
He flips you around quickly after that, pressing you hard against the door, your cheek and tits flattened against the cool surface.
A startled whimper escapes you, but he doesn’t give a damn, too lost in his own haze of desire as he works the button and zipper of your pants.
You quit dressing in cute skirts and delicate blouses to work. You weren’t about to continue to be an office fantasy or easy target for sexist bullshit.
But even in your practical wear and stoic demeanor, you knew damn well these men would find any way to sexualize you regardless. And they’ve proved your point plenty of times.
However, all of your carefully constructed defenses and feminist arguments about power and autonomy crumble the moment Javier Peña drops to his fucking knees behind you.
Your breath stutters, eyes widening as you try to push back against the door, a weak attempt at stopping him—but his grip is firm, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he tugs your pants down, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin behind your knees, making your back arch.
His calloused palms knead into the soft flesh of your thighs, gripping handfuls of your ass like he can’t decide whether he wants to spread you wider or keep you all to himself.
He does both—squeezing, parting you open just enough to make your pussy feel completely exposed, heat licking at her like a slow burn, anticipation curling around your clit.
“Javi—” His name barely leaves your lips before you suck in a sharp breath, body jolting as the wet heat of his mouth presses against the thin fabric of your panties.
Oh shit.
The damp lace does little to shield you from the deliberate drag of his tongue as he licks a slow stripe over the barrier, teasing, tasting, promising you things that make your head spin.
A moan slithers its way up your throat before you can stop it, your fingers twitching against the door as your knees threaten to buckle.
It’s such a foreign feeling.
“Nervous?” he asks, his voice dark, amused, but also curious.
You swallow hard, blinking rapidly against the overwhelming sensation of it all. No one’s ever done this to you before. No one’s ever wanted to. And yet, here’s Javier, on his knees in this dingy basement like this is what he was made to do.
“Just—” You suck in a breath. Fucking hell this is so embarrassing. “No one’s ever…” Your cheeks get hot, making you want to crawl inside yourself.
He stills for a moment, as if letting your words sink in, your panties now pulled down around your ankles.
“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself, at the realization that he’d be the first to eat your pussy. His fingers flex, digging into the plush curve of your ass. “That just makes me want to ruin you even more.”
And then he does.
His mouth is everywhere all at once—tongue eagerly dragging through your folds, circling your clit dexterously and it’s a miracle you don’t melt entirely then and there.
His aquiline nose notches between your cheeks and the pressure makes you yelp in surprise.
Your fingers claw at the door like a rabid animal, trying to find something to hold onto, something to ground you as Javier devours your cunt.
He works you open by lapping thirstily and sucking on your wet flesh, groaning against you like he can’t get enough.
It’s otherworldly, a kind of pleasure so overwhelming that frustration bubbles up inside you. Why the fuck has no man ever done this for you before?
Your hips jerk when his tongue slides inside your hole, his mustache scraping against your soaked skin, his nose pressing against your asshole.
The contrast of soft and rough, teasing and taking, has you whining loudly, your forehead pressing against the cool wood as your eyes close tight.
The tension in your stomach twists tighter, hotter, tears spilling from your waterline as he sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue until your knees finally do give out but he holds you steady, keeping you from falling as you hit the wall of your orgasm.
“Oh my god!” The words spill from you in a breathless, wrecked moan, your body pulsing, shuddering, before slumping as pleasure melts into boneless relief.
He takes his time with you, his mouth slowing to match your come down, his tongue kitten licking at your oversensitive sex like he relishes the taste of you.
He presses one last, open-mouthed kiss to your clit before pulling away.
His whispers are hushed, sweet words murmured against your trembling thighs until he stands, rising up behind you, his broad frame looming over yours.
You feel him—his chest, his shoulders—so solid and manly, pressing against your back. You’re still panting, skin heated, body humming, when you finally turn your head to look at him.
Javier Peña has never looked hotter in his goddamn life.
“Hard to believe no one’s ever tasted you, baby. Sabes tan dulce.” The praise sends a violent shudder straight to your freshly ate cunt.
He’s quickly working his belt open, the soft clink of metal making your thighs quiver in anticipation.
He fists his cock, stroking himself languidly, dragging his palm over the thick, velvety skin before his fingers dip between your legs, gathering the slick arousal dripping from your pussy.
Thankfully the door is thick enough to muffle the desperate, broken moans spilling from your lips, and that this basement is hardly ever visited—because the last thing you need is an audience for this shameful, filthy indulgence.
Yet once the lust settles, that same isolation won’t feel so convenient. You’ll be more than eager to get the fuck away from him.
He smears your sticky wetness over his shaft with a groan, eyes hooded and hungry as he watches your body react to him.
All you can do is continue to writhe, legs shaking as you kick your pants and panties off completely, giving yourself room to spread and bend over for him, expecting him to take you as he did last time.
But before you can brace yourself against the door again, Javi moves fast, flipping you to face him, his large hands cupping the backs of your thighs.
It’s instinct to wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles locking behind him as he hoists you up, pinning you against the door.
His lips crash into yours, hot and urgent, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you flick off his tie and work open the last of his buttons.
His shirt hangs open, exposing his warm, taut chest to your greedy fingers, and you run your hands down the hard planes of his torso, reveling in the contrast of smooth skin and how human he feels despite the sex god aura he emits so effortlessly.
But it’s his neck that has you dizzy. That sharp jawline, his defined Adam’s apple, how his pulse pounds just beneath the thick muscle.
You make eye contact for a brief, charged second before your mouth latches onto his neck, tongue dragging over salt and cologne, teeth nipping at the tendon.
The way the red light paints him—his bronzed skin darkened by shadow, eyes heavy-lidded with hunger for you, lips slick from your kisses and pussy—it all makes you dizzy with need.
Javi growls low in his throat, shifting his hold to steady you against the door, angling himself just right before pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance.
The stretch is immediate, slow and torturous as he sinks into you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around the intrusion of his dick, the burn mixing beautifully with pleasure.
Your jaw falls open, but no sound comes out, only ragged breaths and a strangled whimper as your cunt struggles to accommodate around his girthy cock.
His gaze is locked onto yours, dark and molten, his lips curling at the way you tremble in his hold.
You’d slap the smirk right off his face if your hands weren’t too occupied with digging into his shoulders to keep you sane.
“That’s it, puta madre,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good.”
“S-Stop talking and just fuck me,” you breathe as you yank him closer, pressing your tits against his bare chest.
Javier doesn’t need to be told twice.
With a sharp thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, slamming you back against the door, the impact rattling through your bones and knocking the air from your lungs.
The obscene sound of wet skin slapping against skin echoes through the cramped room as he sets an unforgiving yet utterly satisfying pace.
Every stroke of his cock against your walls, every graze of his pelvis against your swollen clit, sends you spiraling higher.
The heat of the red light, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air, the filthy sounds between you—it’s all too much, too good.
His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you right where he wants you as he fucks you hard and deep.
He plants one hand next to your head while the other slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, teasing circles, you break.
Your body seizes, nails raking down his back as your orgasm slams into you, pleasure blinding and unbearable.
Javier groans, hips stuttering as he chases his own release, as he fucks you through your climax. “That’s it. Fuckin’ come for me—mierda, so fuckin’ pretty pinned up on the door like this, fallin’ apart all over this dick—”
“D-Don’t finish inside.” The words spill from your lips between gasps, your foggy mind barely catching up to the reality of what you’re doing.
You thank whatever shred of sanity is left in you for speaking up before it’s too late—because fuck, you almost forgot.
A part of you chastises yourself for even letting it get this far, for not making him wear a condom either time he’s had you.
You know better. You know Javier gets around, that his reputation in bed is just as legendary as his skill with a badge and gun.
He groans, a deep sound of both pleasure and frustration. He wanted to finish inside you. You can tell by the way his thrusts falter, how his fingers dig into your hips a little harder.
The idea of filling you up, of making you take all of him, has him on the edge, his control hanging by a thread.
“Fuck,” he grits out, and suddenly, he’s pulling out of you, his cock slipping free with a wet, lewd squelch that makes your empty walls clench around nothing. Before you can catch your breath, he’s pushing you onto your knees, the roughness making your head spin, your lips parting in surprise.
He takes full advantage.
Javier’s hand grips the back of your neck as he guides himself between your lips, pushing his thick cock into the heat of your mouth with a sharp hiss.
You barely have time to react before he’s thrusting in deep, the heavy weight of him stretching your jaw, his scent overwhelming your senses.
Your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging in as he fucks your mouth the same way he just fucked your pussy: relentless, desperate, filthy.
Your tongue flattens beneath him, taking him as best as you can while he pants above you, his breath ragged, his curses slipping into Spanish as he chases his release.
And then you feel it how he stiffens, the pulse of his cock against your tongue before his salty release spills hot and thick down your throat. Javier groans as he holds you there, making sure you swallow every drop.
“Goddamn baby,” he rasps hoarsely, his fingers easing from your hair as he strokes your cheek, his softening cock still twitching between your lips.
When he finally pulls out, you’re left breathless, your mouth swollen, your body still thrumming with pleasure and exhaustion.
You look up at him, and the sight alone makes your stomach flip—his chest rising and falling, his shirt completely undone, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, hair falling in front of his face and gaze hooded and dark as he stares down at you.
He looks wrecked and you’re the reason why.
The fog of lust dissipates all at once, replaced by a feeling akin to cold water washing over you. Your lips are swollen, your knees ache from the hard floor, the unmistakable taste of him lingers on your tongue, and your pussy is sticky with the remnants of his pleasure.
You rise quickly with a sharp breath, ignoring the way your thighs still tremble. He offers a hand, fingers curled in that lazy, confident way that suggests he thinks you’ll take it.
You don’t.
Instead, you swat it away, reaching for your discarded clothes with sharp, jerky movements, yanking your panties up, stepping into your pants, and shoving your feet into your shoes without grace.
Every button fastened, every piece of fabric back in place feels like reclaiming a part of yourself, like stitching together the resolve that had crumbled the second he put his mouth on you.
You allow yourself moments of weakness—you’re only human, and he’s too good of a fuck to deny. But moving forward, you’ll have to be more resolute.
This? This was a mistake you can’t afford to keep making. The last thing you want is for him to think he has an in with you just because he’s made you see stars with his dick… and tongue… and fingers. Goddamnit.
“You gonna keep this little act up,” he drawls, redressed himself, half ass fixing his belt, “or am I gonna have to chase you down just to get you to fuck me again?”
You snort, shaking your head as you adjust your bra and start buttoning your blouse. “You do realize how predatory that sounds, right?”
He just smirks, unfazed, and leans against the desk nearby as if he’s lounging. “And that whole thing about no one ever going down on you… That true, or were you just trying to get a reaction out of me?”
You ignore him, not about to stroke his already inflated ego by admitting he’s the first and only person to ever taste you so intimately.
Instead, you snatch up the forgotten folder from the floor, shooting him a glare through the red lighting of the room. “Help me find the landline so we can call someone to let us out.”
Javier just chuckles, shaking his head as he finishes tying his tie. “Won’t need to.”
Your eyes narrow. “What?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the spare key.
Your jaw drops. “You had that with you the entire time?”
His only response is a shrug, like it’s no big deal. Which, truth be told, it isn’t. But the realization that this was all orchestrated is enough to make your blood boil. You wonder if Carillo was in on it too.
Your teeth clench, fingers curling into a fist at your side as he pushes off the nearby table and steps forward, unlocking the door with an infuriating lack of urgency.
He swings it open, then leans against the frame, motioning for you to go first with an exaggerated flourish.
“After you.”
You consider punching him, it had felt so damn good doing it last time. You don’t, however, instead storming past him, ignoring the way your skin still hums where he touched you, ignoring the smug chuckle that follows you out into the hallway.
You’ll let this go, you have to if not it’ll prick at you until you snap. You really don’t know how many more crash outs you have left in you before you do something more reckless than fucking the DEA agent.
Though one thing becomes sparkling clear in this moment—you’re going to have to find a way to resist Javier Peña. Even if he’s dead set on making that impossible.
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