[SUMMARY: Loving Javier Peña means living with fear. His job terrifies you, and though he swears he’ll stay behind the scenes, you know better than to trust promises made in the shadows. What you don’t know is that he’s neck-deep in the hunt for Escobar, a case that pulls him further away from you—and drags you straight into the danger he swore you’d never face.]
Angst, drama, no sexual assault happens just a man implying it.
The apartment was quiet, the late Bogotá sun leaking through the blinds in fractured streaks. You’d been making dinner, hummming softly to yourself, comforted by the thought that Javier was staying behind the desk for a while. For once, you could breathe. For once, the ache of worry in your chest didn’t sit so heavy.
He had promised you. Sworn to you, in that low, gravelly voice of his, that he’d stay away from the dangerous cases. That he’d keep to paperwork, interviews, the safer side of DEA work. You believed himbecause you needed to.
But Javier Peña had a dangerous habit of lying to himself just as much as to the people he loved.
And Escobar didn’t care that you had nothing to do with it.
The first sign was the soft click of your lock turning, a sound so foreign it froze you in place, wooden spoon slipping from your hand into the pot of simmering sauce. You turned just as the door swung open, and a man you’d never seen stepped inside like he owned the place. His smile was wrong. Too confident.
“Señorita,” he said, looking you up and down. His accent was thick, his presence heavy. “You must be Javier’s little girlfriend.”
Your blood ran cold.
Befo re you could reach for the phone, another man appeared, shutting the door behind him. One of them stepped closer, brushing his hand over the back of your chair, his eyes never leaving you.
“You know, Peña has been… very busy. Busy where he doesn’t belong.” His gaze swept over you like a threat. “Men like him, they should understand—there are consequences.”
Your hands trembled, but you stood your ground. “He’s not here. You need to leave.”
They laughed. A cruel, sharp sound. One of them leaned in close, close enough you could smell smoke and cheap cologne. His fingers grazed a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear like he had any right. L
“You’re pretty,” he murmured. “Too pretty for a man like Peña. Maybe he doesn’t deserve you.”
Your phone rang then, hung up against the wall beside you. The man smirked, snatched it up, and answered without hesitation.
“Javier Peña,” he greeted, mocking. Then, looking straight at you, he held the phone out so Javier’s voice carried through the line.
“Who the fuck is this? ” Javier’s tone was sharp, suspicious.
The man grinned wider. “Relax, amigo. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m standing in your apartment… with your girl.”
Your breath hitched, and you knew Javier heard it.
The man trailed his fingers along your jaw, deliberately slow. “She’s even prettier in person than the files say.” He tilted the phone toward your face. “Say hello to Javier.”
You swallowed hard, fighting the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Javi…”
“What do you want?” His voice was cold.
The men laughed again, their shadows stretching long in the fading light.
“I think you’ll know exactly what we want. Maybe the name itself might help .” The man then narrowed his eyes on you.
“Are you familiar with Escobar..?” Your heart sunk. By the fear that grew in your eyes the man knew just how familiar you were with his name and smiled.
In that moment, you realized the promise Javier had made wasn’t just broken. It was shattered—and now, it wasn’t just his life on the line.
Javier’s grip on the phone was so tight the plastic creaked. His other hand was braced on the desk, knuckles white, his pulse hammering so hard it made his vision blur. He could hear you breathing, quick and uneven, the muffled sounds of movement on the other end.
And then the bastard spoke.
“She has such soft skin, Peña,” the man drawled, his voice lazy, taunting. There was a rustle, a shift, and Javier’s blood ran molten. “Especially here—” He chuckled darkly. “Her neck. So delicate. I can feel her pulse racing under my thumb.”
“Javi…” Your voice cracked as the man’s thumb dragged along your cheekbone, mocking Javier with every deliberate touch.
On the other end of the line, you heard the scrape of Javier’s chair, the sharp clatter of his phone being adjusted in his hand. His voice came through ragged, furious.
“If you do anything to her, Escobar is gonna be the least of your worries” Javier responded while motioning for Stephen to give him a pen. Quickly he wrote on a paper and handed it back to him. It read “they’re in my apartment”. Stephen immediately requested back up.
The man ignored him, clearly enjoying every second. “You know what’s interesting? She shivers when I run my hand down her arm. She’s trembling right now. She doesn’t like me touching her, but God, does she react.” His words dripped with venom, every syllable designed to cut.
Javier’s chest heaved. His vision tunneled, all he could picture was you, pressed back against the counter with some piece of shit’s hands on you. His gut twisted with fury and helplessness—he was miles away, chained to this fucking phone when he should have been there tearing them apart.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” Javier roared, the sound feral enough to turn heads in the office around him. He didn’t care. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, veins straining in his temple.
The man just laughed softly, smug. “You must love her, Peña. The way you’re losing your mind… makes me want to tell you more.”
Javi slammed his fist against the desk, the sharp crack echoing. Papers scattered, a pen rolled off the edge, but he didn’t even notice. His throat burned with the sheer force of the rage tearing out of him.
Javier’s pulse was a drum in his ears, drowning out everything except your shaky breaths and the bastard’s voice.
The man pressed the phone against his chest, muffling Javi’s words. His partner chuckled from the doorway, keeping watch like this was nothing more than a game.
“Do you feel that?” the man asked, leaning closer until his breath hit your ear. “That fear in your chest? That’s because of him. Because that man of yours doesn’t know when to quit.”
Your stomach twisted, panic threatening to take over. But even through your fear, you shot him a glare. “You think he won’t find you?”
That earned another laugh. “Oh, he’ll try. But by then…” He let the implication hang, fingers trailing down your arm, making your skin crawl when he suddenly grabbed a chunk of your hair and yanked it making you squeal.
And then Javier’s voice cut back through, sharp and unrelenting: “I’m coming. You hear me?” He spoke in between breaths, ignoring the request of the team to stay behind. Who the hell were they kidding?
“Don’t you let them break you. I’m on my way.” The sound of your scream making him blindly take off.
The men exchanged a look, smug and taunting, before one whispered something in Spanish you barely caught—about teaching Peña a lesson.
Minutes felt like hours, your heart thundering in your ears. The man with the phone kept circling you, every brush of his hand deliberate, meant to get under Javi’s skin as much as yours.
Then everything changed at once.
The door crashed open, wood splintering, Javier storming in with his gun drawn, he immediately spotted you before you ducked behind the counter. His jaw was tight, his eyes wild—raw fury and terror wrapped into one. Two shots cracked through the air, controlled but merciless, sending both men scrambling before one went down. The other barely made it out, disappearing into the night.
When silence finally fell, you were frozen on the ground covering your ears, your breath shuddering. Javier lowered the gun, rushing to you, hands grabbing at your arms, standing you up, touching your face, checking you like he didn’t believe you were really there.
“Baby, look at me. Are you hurt? Did they—”
You shoved him back. Hard.
His brows knitted in confusion, voice breaking. “Hey, it’s me. You’re safe now—”
“Safe?” The word came out sharp, bitter. “You promised me, Javi. You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.”
He flinched, guilt written all over his face. “I had to take it, I didn’t have a choice—”
“Yes, you did!” Tears blurred your vision as you pulled away from him, heading for the bedroom. “And you dragged me into this. You made me a target!” Stephen and a few others walked in.
“Give us a damn minute” he snapped without looking their way.
He followed you, helpless, as you yanked open drawers, shoving clothes into a bag with trembling hands.
“Stop—what are you doing?”
“What does it look like?!” You snapped back without looking at him.
“You can’t leave, it isn’t safe-“
“I don’t care!” you screamed , panic flooding every word. “I can’t keep living like this, Javi. Waiting for the next time someone breaks through the door. Waiting to see your name in the paper because you couldn’t keep your promise.”
His voice cracked, raw. “Please—don’t do this. Don’t walk away, not like this. You’re all I’ve got.”
“No-“ your voice cracked rushing past him but he surged forward, catching your wrists mid-motion. “You can’t just take off on your own, it’s not safe!”
The contact made you flinch, your panic boiling over. You ripped your hands free with a sharp jerk, glaring at him through a blur of tears. “Don’t! Don’t touch me, Javi. Don’t tell me what’s safe—you don’t get to decide that for me anymore.”
The words landed like blows. He stood there, chest heaving, watching you cram another handful of clothes into the bag while your whole body shook. His throat worked, but no words came out—just the crushing weight of guilt settling deeper with every second.
Because this—your fear, your trembling hands, the anger in your eyes—this was all on him.
You tried to turn, to get away, but he stepped in front of you, desperate, crowding your space. His hands caught yours, not rough this time, but trembling, pleading.
“Javi…” Your voice cracked, equal parts anger and heartbreak. “They were here. They touched me. Because of you. I’ll never feel safe again.”
His face twisted, eyes shutting tight for a moment like the words gutted him. When they opened again, they burned with desperation. He pressed your knuckles to his lips, voice hoarse.
“Cariño. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right if you let me. Just—don’t leave me.”
You tried to pull back, but he held tighter, the words tumbling out now like he couldn’t stop them.
“…please.” His voice broke on that last word, raw and guttural. “Yell at me, hate me, whatever you need to do. But don’t walk out that door. You are everything to me. Todo.”
Your body shook, your breaths coming too fast, panic spilling out of you in harsh sobs. You shook your head in tears.
“This isn’t fair” you cried.
“I know-“
“No, you don’t get it-“ you panted.
“This isn’t what I wanted, this wasn’t how it was suppose to be, this wasn’t how I wanted to tell you-“ his expression changing curiously as you looked away, his eyes studying every detail.
“Tell me what” he spoke delicately.
“It’s not just about us anymore, Javi” you whispered looking down.
“What are you saying?”
“Javi, dammit….I’m pregnant” you blurt out. Had you been looking up at him, you would’ve seen the color drain from his face. He was silent, in shock, still trying to wrap his mind around what you just said.
“I was gonna tell you tonight but when you called and said you’d be late I just. I was very upset, you’ve been coming home late a lot lately with this stupid case I’m guessing”
Guilt flickered in his eyes, sharp and heavy, before his expression hardened.
“We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Your head snapped up, brows knitting in confusion.
“I can’t keep you here,” he muttered, almost tripping over the words. “You’re pregnant—” His breath hitched, and he repeated it softer, like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “Jesús… you’re pregnant.”
He stepped back, hands braced on his hips as his gaze darted around the room, searching for a plan that wasn’t there. Panic edged his voice when he finally looked at you again.
“I have to get you out of here. That’s all that matters now.”
Escobar, the case, the endless chase—it all fell away. None of it mattered anymore.
“Perdóname,” Javier said again, voice low and rough with desperation. “Just… forgive me. I swear to you, nothing like this will ever happen again. Your safety—our safety—it’ll never be threatened, not while I’m breathing.”
He meant every word he said.
“Nunca más, you hear me? I’ll never let this happen again.”
You wanted to believe him, but hesitation sat heavy in your chest. You loved him—God, you loved him—but fear was there too, curling in the pit of your stomach. He saw it in your eyes, and the realization cut him deeper than anything ever could. The fact that he was the reason you knew this kind of fear—it was something he couldn’t forgive himself for.
Without warning, his hand moved, resting carefully, almost reverently, against your stomach. The touch made your heart stutter. His gaze locked onto yours, steady, unflinching now.
“Te lo juro,” he whispered. “From this moment on… everything changes.
🐚while out of town on a surveillance mission for the DEA, you stupidly left Javi to book the hotel room. aka the classic one bed trope. 🐚
warnings: 18+, slowburn (i’ll be real half the fic is the both of you pretending to be asleep), co-workers to lovers, teasing/ flirting, Javi being the perv/ sleaze we all know he is, cannon violence lightly mentioned, afab reader, fem reader, no smut really (yet?), whole lotta sexual tension though
authors notes: first post on this account (ew). first time writing for a pedro character, but my obsession has been reborn and is overwhelming me.
The motel was the kind of place that charged by the hour and didn’t bother to change the sheets. Javier dropped the keys onto the dresser and glanced around with a raised brow. “Charming,” he muttered, tugging the curtains shut. “Really went all out on this one.”
You crossed your arms, backpack slung over one shoulder. “You booked it.”
He looked over his shoulder at you, smirking. “Didn’t realize we’d be getting the honeymoon suite.”
Your stomach dropped slightly when your eyes landed on the single, sad old mattress in the middle of the room. One bed. Of course. What a pervert. “There’s only one bed,” you said flatly.
“Wow. Thanks for the update, Agent Obvious.” He winked, peeling off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair.
You gave him a sharp look, trying not to let his easy charm get to you. “Don’t get any ideas, Peña.”
“Oh, I already had a few,” he said smoothly. “But don’t worry, I’m a gentleman. I’ll take the side closest to the door—so if someone comes in shooting, I get hit first.”
“A real gentleman would take the floor.” you commented. His eyes drifting to where you were pointing and scoffed. “How romantic,” you deadpanned.
Javi just grinned, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall, watching as you dug around in your bag. His eyes didn’t leave you. You felt them, the way they skimmed your legs, your waist, your mouth. He always looked at you like that. Like he was waiting for the game to begin.
“You gonna stare all night or actually do some work?” you asked, tossing your gear on the table.
He took a slow drag. “Depends what kinda work you’re offering, cariño.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw stars. “God, you’re exhausting.”
“You love it.”
With a huff, you grabbed your pajamas and locked yourself in the bathroom. You wished you'd packed an oversized shirt and long pajama shorts, something boring and forgettable. Instead, you picked out your regular sleeping attire, a tank top that barely covered the curve of your breasts and shorts that clung too tight to your thighs. Great.
You debated staying in the bathroom all night, but that would be giving him too much satisfaction. You were a federal agent, for Christ’s sake. You could handle one Javier Peña and his stupid perfect mouth.
You opened the door and stepped out casually, pretending not to notice his eyes immediately zoning in on your tits.
“Well, well,” he said, tongue resting behind his teeth. “Didn’t know this was a sleepover and a show.”
You snorted, trying to brush it off. “They were the only clean clothes I had left.”
Javi tilted his head, smirking like the devil himself. “Sure. You accidentally packed the outfit that guarantees no man within ten feet of you gets any sleep. Very believable.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, crossing the room quickly and slipping under the covers.
He soon followed after returning from the bathroom, the mattress dipping as he laid down next to you. So close. Warm. You could smell his aftershave and cigarettes, barely masked by the minty toothpaste. You could feel him.
“Just so you know,” you said, trying to sound breezy, “if you try anything, I’m a better shot than you.”
He let out a low chuckle and turned on his side to face you. “Duly noted. But I’m more interested in where you're hiding a gun in this little outfit.” His eyes floating down to your form barely covered by the thin sheet acting as a blanket.
“Stop it.”
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, voice like molasses, “you need to relax, you've been flustered since the minute we walked in here.”
You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Not with your pulse hammering like this and your body way too aware of his.
The silence stretched.
“You snore?” he asked eventually.
“Only when I’m sleeping next to assholes.”
“Guess I’ll find out in a few hours.”
It was nearly pitch black except for the glow of the motel sign leaking through the thin curtains. The hum of the air conditioner rattled in the background, but all you could really focus on was the man lying inches away.
You hadn’t moved much. Neither had he.
You were both pretending to be asleep.
And failing.
Javi let out a breath. “You always sleep this stiff or is it just ‘cause you’re in bed with me?”
You scoffed, facing away. “It’s because I’m thinking about all the diseases in this mattress.”
He shifted closer—close enough that the heat of his body bled onto your back. “Sure it’s not because of the tiny shorts and that tank top that keeps riding up every time you breathe?”
“Peña,” you warned, trying to pull the blanket up higher.
“Mhm?”
“I will throw you out this window.” You quipped.
“In those shorts?” he teased, voice low and scratchy. “That’d be quite the view.”
You whipped around, ready to snap, but your face ended up inches from his. His nose almost brushing yours. That cocky smile just barely visible in the dark. His hand slid under his head lazily, showing off the veins in his forearm. Completely relaxed. Like he wasn’t taunting you on purpose.
“Admit it,” he murmured, his breath brushing your lips. “You wore that just to mess with me.”
You blinked, then tried to retort. “I—I didn’t. It's hot in Columbia. I just—”
Javi chuckled. “You always this good at lying?”
You hated how warm your face felt. Hated the knot in your lower stomach even more “God, you’re insufferable.”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes on your mouth, “but I’m right.”
There was a long, heavy pause. You could practically hear both your heartbeats.
Then, with a smirk, he reached out—just one finger, brushing the hem of your tank top where it had ridden up, grazing your waist. Barely touching. Still smug.
“You should get some sleep,” he said, pulling back like he hadn’t just flipped your entire nervous system inside out. “Big day of surveillance tomorrow. Long hours. Hot sun. And if you keep wiggling in those shorts, I’m gonna have to get creative with how I handle the tension.”
You stared at him, open-mouthed.
He grinned like the devil he was.
“Night.”
You were still lying there, hours later, eyes wide open, pulse doing sprints.
He hadn’t said a word since his “creative tension” comment, just settled in beside you like he hadn’t casually set you on fire and walked away from the wreckage. And the worst part?
You hadn’t moved, Turned, yes. Not away.
If anything, you’d shifted closer without even realizing it. Just a little. Just enough that your leg brushed his. Javi noticed, of course he did.
“Still awake?” His voice was rough now, a little sleep laced. Lower.
You didn’t answer.
“You’re no good at pretending to sleep, cariño.”
He moved closer again—slower this time—and your bodies aligned like they’d done it before. He was so close. Too close. The kind of close that left no confusion.
“What do you want, Peña?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.
He reached out, knuckles grazing your cheek. “Right now?”
You hummed, heartbeat thundering in your ears.
“I want you to admit you didn’t just wear this to sleep,” he said, fingers sliding down to toy with the hem of your tank again. “I want you to say you wanted to drive me crazy.”
You swallowed. “And if I did?”
His hand paused. “Then I’d tell you it worked.”
There was a long moment where the silence stretched thin.
You turned around, the retort that had taken too long for you to come up with died when he kissed you. It wasn’t gentle, nor slow. It was hot, impatient, domineering all tongue and teeth and the kind of pull that had been building for months. You grabbed his shirt like it was anchoring you to earth, and he groaned against your mouth when your legs tangled together.
“You’re such a cocky asshole,” you breathed between kisses, gasping when his hand slipped beneath your top, spreading fire across your skin.
“You like that about me,” he muttered, lips trailing down your neck. “You like this.”
You did. God, you did.
And the way he touched you—like he’d been memorizing every curve since day one, like he’d waited for this—was making your head spin.
“You’re not gonna be able to look me in the eye tomorrow,” he teased, fingers skating towards your breast.
You bit his lip, just hard enough to make him growl. “We’ll see who breaks first.”
He smiled against your skin, already tasting victory.
7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader
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summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you.
warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n
A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!
Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks.
Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection.
So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke?
Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults.
Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite.
Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work.
The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot.
He’s impressive, really.
Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands.
But his hands… they were brilliant.
Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra.
This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week.
His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country.
You were good. Peña was great.
As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful.
You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion.
But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.
Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch.
“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters.
It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever.
“Me?”
“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta.
“Proper placement?”
You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.”
Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.
“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”
Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”
His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”
You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?”
He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance.
“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron.
“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”
You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath.
“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.”
After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree.
“Name them.”
Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent.
“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.”
He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.”
Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”
Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”
Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”
“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.”
You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor.
“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice.
Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”
The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong.
The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery.
“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--”
“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”
Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear.
“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.”
Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”
You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”
“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.”
“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn.
“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work.
“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.”
He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare.
You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.
“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph.
Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph.
You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before.
What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie.
Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.
Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection.
You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital.
“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed.
Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck.
It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings.
Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall.
“What the hell, Peña?”
Oh shit.
The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”
Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.”
The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”
Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”
Perfect.
Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”
“You’ll what?”
Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite.
Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident.
Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”
Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.”
Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man.
Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands.
Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor.
In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art.
The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next.
Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery.
That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore.
Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes.
As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash. He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives.
In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson.
You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway.
Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds.
He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved.
You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months.
God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More?
His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you.
When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you.
Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint.
“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.
You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.
He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.”
“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.”
Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.”
“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”
He snaps.
“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”
You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”
“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”
“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”
Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”
There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest.
“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.”
Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”
He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore.
Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed.
But fantasizing wasn’t enough.
“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.”
Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek.
“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need.
He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his.
“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.”
“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane.
Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs.
The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet.
“Please, Doctor Peña,”
No, don’t fucking beg.
“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor.
You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned.
“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.
The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both.
Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet.
Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again.
Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds.
He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape.
Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts.
He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room.
Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline.
“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop.
“Doctor Peña-”
“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory.
You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs.
“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs.
He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick.
His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.”
Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.”
Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him.
The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more.
His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness.
“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is.
“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-
His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can.
But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it.
“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh.
His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs.
You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands.
“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold.
Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name.
“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space.
Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?”
You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize.
“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly.
You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm.
He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same.
You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers.
The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption.
You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around.
“Jesus,” you breathe out.
Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs.
“Take ‘em off,” you whisper.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem.
“Telling. Now off with them.” You command.
He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet.
You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly.
“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.”
You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones.
“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security.
He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length.
“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively.
It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were.
You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds.
He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña.
Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it.
“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off.
“Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm.
“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes.
“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.”
You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft.
Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever.
Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings.
“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.”
He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him.
Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance.
“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless.
“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully.
Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist.
Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward.
“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head.
“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you.
The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck.
Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder.
It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips.
With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark.
The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck.
At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating.
You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity.
“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”
Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell.
“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”
He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting.
“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark.
You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal.
From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice.
“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment.
“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.
He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.
The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge.
His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.
You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop.
This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break.
His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed.
He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done.
Did he?
“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze.
“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half.
You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back.
“For the lessons.”
He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf.
“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches.
Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips.
“I know why you smoke.”
Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient.
“Shit,” you mutter.
The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff.
“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit.
Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.
Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s.
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Summary; Javi has some...reservations about pregnancy sex, but once you alleviate them? Well, he's insatiable.
Warnings; 18+ I'll set the DEA on ur ass, so there's TONS on dirty talk, big big big daddy kink, sort of pregnancy kink, housewife kink? sort of? vaginal fingering, p in v sex, mirror sex, mostly praise, there’s a bit of sort of praising dumbification? I think? anyway
(a/n) okay this wasn't meant to be Javi with a raging daddy kink but it ran away with me and here we are!!!! anyway writing it made me horny so be sure to let me know if it does the same when you read it ;) title is a lyric from Mine by Bazzi! turns me into a hoe sooo
Word Count; 2k
Javier Peña was frowning, in that way you always thought was so pretty. Not that it was good when he was sad or angry but who could fault you if you just happened to appreciate the way his brows furrowed, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his moustache followed the same curve. His eyes darkened when he looked like this. When you riled him up somehow-it was anyone’s guess what you had done to turn him on when he got going, the smallest things were motivation enough apparently-his gaze got darker, pupils expanding and eyes hooded as he watched you, but when he frowned it was slightly different. It was difficult to pinpoint, but there was something else there when his eyes darkened with rage or melancholy.
Right now though, you peered up at him and tried to decipher his stare. It was some sort of mix between the two, as though he were…sadly turned on? The hell? You couldn’t think of one time you had initiated any sort of sexual contact (or just…regular) without him taking it further, or at least trying his damn hardest. Yet here he was, hands barely resting on your hips and lips pressed together as he frowned down at you.
“Javi…?”
His moustache twitched when you whispered his name breathily, never able to deny you when you said it like that.
“You’ve never…it’s okay, if you don’t want to-but you’ve never turned me down before? Am I-is it because I-this-”
You placed a hand over your stomach, feeling the slight bump there where you’d begun to show about four months in. It was small enough to be hidden by baggy jumpers, but some of your shirts stretched over it a little now, the sight always making you smile wistfully. Javier dropped his eyes to where your hand was resting, hands fidgeting a little on your hips as he watched you rub soothingly over your stomach.
“Believe me it’s not for lack of want, sugar-I’m just-it’s not…not that-” At your frown he pressed his forehead against yours and tugged your hips into his a little, making you gasp quietly when the bulge in his pants dug into you slightly. “-what I mean, is what if-what if when I-when I’m…in, will it-will she be okay? What if it hurts or something or-”
“You-Javi-are you saying you think your dick is big enough that you’re going to harm our baby? Who isn’t even a fully developed baby yet? Is that what you’re telling me?”
He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking sheepish and like he’d just been caught out for something. He opted for a safe joke, not really knowing how to respond properly.
“Are you saying it’s not big? You tellin’ me I’m coming up a little short? Haven’t seemed to complain any other time have you now-”
“Don’t even try I am not letting it slide that you think you’re going to injure a foetus with some sort of monster dick. You know I love you-“ He pushed himself harder into you, eyes falling shut at your words, “-but god that is one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said to me-how on earth did you get your job?”
“I-sugar, that’s a little harsh and you don’t gotta be mean to me yknow, I just wanted to make su-“
“Javi if you want to fuck me then will you please please just take my pants off you will not harm the baby-there is only one change right now this kid has brought and it’s all good so can we, pretty please, get you between my legs?”
He groaned loudly at your question and slid a hand round to your back to press you harder against him.
“What’s that then?”
One hand slipped between your bodies to press up against your cunt, heat seeping through your shorts from the warmth of his palm and you bit your lip.
“I’m, oh, I’m more sensitive-“
“Fuck-“
He moaned through the swear and pressed his hand up harder into you, feeling a damp patch growing through your shorts and underwear.
-
And that was how you ended up here, perched on Javi’s lap, legs spread and hooked over his, both naked as you keened at his fingers thrusting sloppily into you.
There was a large full length mirror on one of the bedroom walls, opposite where you were both sat on the edge of the bed. Every move he made created a chain reaction-he’d press his fingers up and you’d rock back against where his cock was pressed between your ass and his abdomen, he’d grunt into your ear and you’d clench around him, making his muscles flex before it all began again. A vicious cycle that had you dripping onto his thighs while he worked you open and watched everything in the mirror, hungrily.
“Jesus baby, look at you drenching my fuckin hand-“
You whined at his words, head falling back on his shoulder.
“No no no, want you to watch this-c'mon look in the mirror-“ You shakily lifted your head up to watch his reflection smirk at you, “-there we go, doin’ so well f’me, aren’t you sugar?”
He looked on, enraptured, as your lips parted and you locked eyes with his in the mirror. Your legs jerked around his knees, attempting to close when he steadily worked a third finger into your entrance.
“You weren’t lyin’ when you said sensitive were you? Look at you-fuckin soaked for me, greedy pussy just sucking my fingers in, can’t get enough of me huh? S’good, aren’t you baby? So so good for me-“
He slid the free hand that was on one of your thighs up to rest on your stomach, fingers splayed possessively over your bump.
“Jav-Javi-”
Humming, he closed his eyes and slowly lifted his head, dragging his nose along your shoulder and up your neck as he inhaled, cock twitching against your ass as he breathed you in. Then his eyes flicked open and he tutted at you, fingers stilling inside you.
“Oh no no no, what are you gonna call me? Cmon baby, look at you, look-spread open just f’me, lettin’ me pet my fingers up into your cunt just right while you’re sittin’ pretty on my lap-‘nd carrying my baby-”
“I don’t-I-”
“Oh sugar, think about it a little yeah? Don’t usually get so dumb til I get my cock in you do you? Can’t fuckin get enough when you’re like this, makes me a lil’ crazy that only I make you like this, only get this cockdrunk for me right?”
He pulled his fingers away torturously slowly until he was barely inside you, making your walls flutter, as he waited for an answer.
“Of-of course Javi, only for-”
“No, no-what did I say? Y’gotta think about it for me baby don’t go all stupid on me, haven’t even fucked you yet-cmon, think real hard, what’s my name right now? Not Javi, not Javier, not officer, not even Agent Peña-when your stomach is growing, when you have my baby inside you-when I fucked you so good, fucked you so full of my cum to make sure you’re gonna be mine-what is my name?”
Your head fell back on his shoulder and he pressed a kiss just under your ear, smiling a little when one of your hands reached up to slide into his hair and tug.
“You’re my-you’re-fuck, daddy please-”
Javi moaned loudly and thrusted his fingers up roughly, curling them and rubbing against the spongy spot inside you.
“Ain’t that the truth, sweet girl? Lettin’ daddy take care of you like this-opening up so nicely and doin’ so well-”
He had been thrusting his fingers as he spoke, but suddenly pulled them out and gripped your hips to pull you up a little.
“Don’t worry though, you’ve been so good for daddy, look so pretty carryin’ my baby, gotta reward you yeah? Such a good girl f’me, ‘nd good girls get daddy’s cock don’t they?”
The head of his dick notched in your entrance and he pushed you down, grunting as your slick walls parted with ease for him. He heard you whimper and dug his fingers into your hips, addicted to the way your skin felt under his.
“You’re gonna be the prettiest momma out there aren’t you? Gonna be so pretty when your stomach’s all round, swollen with my baby ‘nd makin’ me the luckiest fuckin daddy-”
Javi leaned back, resting his forearms on the bed and bucking his hips up into you. You lurched forward and he felt your hands on his thighs, but his gaze was fixed on where he could see his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, glistening in the low bedroom lights. He thrusted up again and your body jolted, suddenly clamping down around him. Falling back on the bed fully, his hands shot back to your hips to grab them tightly, grunting loudly as you whined and your walls quivered around his length.
“Shit baby, you cum already? Really weren’t kidding ‘bout sensitive huh? Think you can handle a bit more? Daddy ain’t finished yet-”
He didn’t wait for an answer, simply letting his head drop back and pumping his hips up into yours. You clenched rhythmically around him and he could hear you whimpering at the overstimulation, his thrusts an onslaught of pleasure against your already trembling body.
“Fuckin’ hell sugar, love it when you get all tight like that ‘round me, stranglin’ my goddamn dick-s’what you want though right? Want daddy to fill you up again huh? Soon, ah, soon as you have our baby m’gonna fuck another one into you-”
“Please-want it, please daddy-, gonna-gonna keep it inside for you, want you t’fill me up whenever you need to-”
“Jesus fuck-”
A moan reached your ears, loud and pornographic as you kept tightening around him, and his thighs flexed again when he shifted to widen his legs and plant his feet properly. He grabbed vaguely at you, clutching in the vicinity of your arms. Once he had a hold of your biceps he pulled you back, making you collapse onto his chest so he could wrap his arms around your torso. One arm slid up and he grasped your breast harshly, pinching and pulling while the other came to rest over your stomach. He splayed his fingers over your bump again, grunting at the feel.
Javi thrusted his pelvis into yours at a punishing pace, revelling in the lewd wet noises that echoed around the room and the way your body jolted on top of his with every movement. His skin slapped against yours, giving him tunnel vision, only needing to cum and fill you up.
It felt like his mind shut down for a minute, brain only providing him with primal, half completed thoughts.
Just need to stuff you full, keep my seed inside your pretty pussy. Pretty pretty pussy, just for daddy to use and plug up. When you have the baby, gonna make sure you’re full all the time, keeping my cum inside you til it takes and you’re all round and swollen with my child again.
He was moaning constantly now, filthy noises right next to your ear as he reached his peak. Javi felt his balls draw up, arms tightening around you as his hips stuttered and he shot ropes of cum into you, eliciting a whimper at the feeling of him twitching inside you. You both breathed heavily, gasping a little when he moved a few more times just to feel how wet you were now.
“That-I’m not gonna be a-a stay at home mother or something by the way, I’m happy this is-that we’re having this baby obviously, but I’m not just gonna sit at home and have like-like ten kids for you! You’re joking right? Just thought I’d check-” You ended with a laugh, amused at the thought of him wanting to keep you home and with child 24/7.
Rating: 18+ (*slaps the roof of this fic* This bad boy can fit so much smut, angst and fluff in it)
Word count: 8.4k words wtf
Summary: The last time Javier Peña saw his wife was almost three weeks ago in Steve Murphy’s apartment. He’d finally done it. He’d fucked up the only good thing in his life, driven her away with his neglect.
A/N: Why is it that whenever I write Javi, there’s angst? What is it about this beautiful pathetic man with big brown eyes (and big strong arms) that makes me want to hurt and comfort him? Also, if any of you want to be tagged the next time I post Javi (or just husband Javi) lmk and I’ll make a tag list.
The last time Javier Peña saw his wife was in Steve Murphy’s apartment, holding a sleeping baby Olivia Murphy on her lap as she consoled an anxious Connie Murphy. That night, he’d finally brought his partner home to his wife and child. Relieved, he went home only to find a note from his wife by his bedside informing him that she would be staying with a friend for a while. No explanations, no phone calls. Just a note.
That was almost three weeks ago.
Her side of the bed stayed untouched. Her bedside table was unusually empty without her novel of the week on it. When he reached out for her in his sleep, his heart craving the familiar comfort of her touch, he found it cold and empty. He’d wake up with a start, unaccustomed to an empty bed even though he’d spent all his bachelor life before her sleeping by himself. It was as though married life had been a cruel fantasy he was awoken from to be forced back into the reality of his lonely existence.
No matter how many times he longed to call her friend’s landline, he couldn’t bring himself to dial the number. She’d been by his side ever since he asked her to move in with him. Undying loyalty, a shoulder to lean on, a body to hold when he awoke from nightmares. She deserved a break from him.
The refrigerator sometimes had boxes of meals for him, his whiskey glass was chilled, her laundry done and dried for him to fold up. Dishes left in the sink for him to wash. He had a wife and she did come by the apartment but never when he was there too. She’d been like a ghost, slipping in and out and probably through walls without his notice.
Their anniversary came and went. Still no sign of her.
It wasn’t their wedding anniversary. It was the anniversary of their first date. That was not something they celebrated like they did their wedding anniversary but her absence made him remember and it fucking stung.
He’d finally done it. He’d fucked up the only good thing in his life, driven her away with his neglect. She gave him everything and asked for nothing. Not even the bare minimum. Her parents had begged her for a proper wedding and he couldn’t even give her that. She married him at the embassy and went home alone in the short white dress she bought herself from a regular store as he went off on some fucking raid that ended up failing anyway. She watched as her friends had weddings and baby showers and children while he kept her stuck in the same place in life.
And she was finally gone. After putting up with everything, she’d slowly disappeared from his life without him even noticing it.
Javi found himself outside her classroom. He’d walked into the English Literature department, opened her drawer and checked her schedule, ignoring the questioning staff with the same practiced authority he had as DEA agent.
For the first time, he took in the force that was Professor Peña in action. He knew she was a fucking genius. But to see her command the classroom’s attention was something else.
On one of their first nights together, he’d put his head on her lap and closed his eyes as she played with her hair and asked her unashamedly to read her book out loud to him. He had a reputation of being an asshole, of sleeping around a lot. There was an image of him being a callus man who hopped from one bed to the next. It couldn’t be further from the truth. He gave bits and pieces of his heart to every woman he slept with, he asked personal questions, kissed foreheads and comforted them over their troubles. He lied on the lap of the woman he would one day marry and asked her to read him a bedtime story of how Anna Karenina fell out of love with Alexei and in love with Vronsky. Javier may have been an asshole in others’ eyes, but on her lap, he was the man who kept his parents’ easy intimacy in the back of his head as he looked up at her and wondered if he could have something like that with her.
As she engaged the classroom in a discussion about Frankenstein’s creation, he witnessed everyone around him fall for her just as he did. He watched as she pulled them into discussions and got them involved in passionate debates amongst themselves about the nature of the creature. She was the perfect leader, knowing just how to steer the large group, get the stubborn young people to question their world views and lead them to answers to questions they didn’t even know they had.
She was a wonder.
If this was all he could have of her, he would take it. If she wouldn’t come home to him anymore, he would show up to her classes and sit in the back seat just to hear her voice and see her eyes twinkle with passion.
She didn’t notice him, her attention reserved for the students who asked questions and argued their points passionately. He had to wait until they’d all submitted their papers to her and had a little conversation to continue their discussions. He’d never seen students so reluctant to leave a classroom. He couldn’t blame them; he didn’t want to leave either. Only when most of her class had shuffled out did he have the courage to approach her desk.
He stood there, making no sounds, just fidgeting with his right hand as he tried to find the courage in him to speak to the professor who was counting the number of essays that had been submitted to her.
“Sorry, I have to get home now. Office hours are before class on Monday,” she said, not even looking up at him.
“Sure, if that’s the only way I’ll get to see you.”
She stilled mid-count, letting go of the papers as she looked up at him. She opened and closed her mouth, as though swallowing everything she thought to say.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, finally.
He shrugged and managed a half-smile. “Had to catch you somehow.”
When she said nothing, he continued, “Where do you go when you tell your students you’re going home? Because you don’t come to ours.”
He carried her papers, her handbag and her lunch bag to the jeep. As though he had to confiscate all her belongings to make sure she’d actually come home with him. As though he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers like the sicarios he chased.
Her hand didn’t cross the physical space between them. Her head rested against the glass of the window and her eyes were closed. She didn’t reach over to switch the radio on, didn’t ask him about his day, didn’t reach over to pinch his cheek or steal his aviators.
“Talk to me,” he said, his voice shaking as he realized he didn’t want to hear whatever it was she had to say. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh truths. All he wanted was to take her to bed and kiss her all over and hold her tight so that she would never leave. He wanted to cry like a little boy begging his dad to not leave for work because he would miss him too much during the day. He wanted to overwhelm her with his love, manipulate her mind into taking him back though he couldn’t admit to himself that at some point she apparently stopped wanting to keep him.
His hand was on her knee as he sat at her feet and looked up at her face expectantly for her to speak. It wouldn’t have taken him more than a second to get on his knees. He was no religious man. That stopped the day he buried his Ma. But he would get on his knees again and pray to her to stay, to be his benevolent goddess and forgive his sins for the nth time.
“I don’t know what I did, I really don’t,” his voice cracked as he confessed. “But it must’ve been something terrible for you to stop coming home.” It shamed him to discover that he had become the man he promised himself he would never be. One of those inattentive men who’d grown so comfortable in the kindnesses of their wife that they’re shocked when she decides she has had enough. Neglect killed love. And he had been neglecting her, leaving her alone most days and most nights as he traveled back and forth between Bogotá and Medellin.
She stared at him, her expressions indiscernible. She accepted his hands when he placed them on hers, the small action giving him hopes. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it,” he begged, holding on tight. He needed her to believe him.
She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “It’s not— you didn’t do anything wrong.”
After relief came surprise. He hadn’t done something wrong this time? The relief was quickly replaced by worry. If he was the cause of her running away from him, he could handle that. He could change himself, fix whatever within was wrong to make her come home again. But it was something else, someone else…
“What is it, then?” He asked, cupping her cheek and gently directing her to look at him instead of her lap or the walls. “Is it work? Are your parents doing well back home?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing.”
He inhaled and rubbed his eyes. “It can’t be nothing. You left me. You packed up your bags and left. I think I deserve an explanation.”
She let out a sigh. “I’ll come back then.”
His hand curled into a fist and his jaw clenched. So that was it? All he had to do was ask? Her easy compliance made him want to throw something at the wall.
He got off the ground where he was knelt at her feet and began pacing across the room.
He expected some resistance when he barged into her workplace uninvited and demanded that she come with him. He expected— no, hoped for a fight for it would give him answers for her sudden disappearance. But she just walked with him to the parking lot, no questions asked. And now she just agreed to move back in. All because he demanded answers.
“Fucking tell me!” He yelled, his hand fidgeting at his side.
“I don’t want to fight,” she said, her voice too calm for the gravity of the situation. Like this didn’t fucking matter.
Oh, you don’t wanna fight? You don’t wanna fucking fight? You fucking ran off and you don’t want to—
“I don’t either, but you’re making it very hard to not do that.”
He heard her take in a deep breath before he heard the unmistakable whispers of sniffling. Great. Fucking amazing. Now, he’d gone and made her cry.
Her sounds of despair were enough for his rage to evaporate off him. He rushed back to her side and pulled her to his chest, forcing comfort upon her in the hope that it would serve as a salve to whatever wounds he’d ripped open. To his relief, she didn’t push him away. But she didn’t pull him close like she always did when he embraced her. Things had changed and he hadn’t even noticed it happening. All he could do now was hope that whatever this rift was between them, he could patch it back together.
—————————
Even in the blistering heat of Bogotá, Javier chose to keep his wife pressed to his chest when he slept. She was disgusted by their sweat combining and their clothes sticking to their bodies, but she indulged his need for closeness. She knew he loved with his body and she accepted his love, in all its sweaty sticky mess.
So he had no choice but to interpret the chasm between them on their marital bed as her rejection of his love.
As soon as he brought her back home, he had to leave for Medellin. Any hopes for setting things right had been crushed when he had to leave from work straight to the other city. He’d called home before he left, informing he would be gone for a long time once again. She didn’t say much, just hemmed and hawed before asking him to be safe out there. No exaggerated smooching sounds to make him laugh, no promises of what would be awaiting him when he came back home to her, no I love you before she said goodbye.
Over ten days after the call, he was back but without any of the feelings of satisfaction he usually had when coming home to her. Instead, there was just dread. She met him at the door as usual and wrapped her arms around him, but she separated without a kiss. The cracks in the foundations of their marriage ran deeper than he’d feared.
“Hey,” he whispered awkwardly when she finally opened her eyes. She stilled, her head jerking up as though surprised he was there.
“Hey,” she replied, her voice groggy from sleep as she shuffled under her blanket.
“I missed you so much, mi amor…” he said carefully, afraid that anything he might say would snap the last thread that held them together. His hand slowly crept into the space between them, an offering to share the littlest bit of marital comforts.
“Missed you too, Javi,” she conceded, not taking his hand but settling for playing with his fingers. He allowed her to lead, giving what little contact she took from him and taking back only as much, afraid to cross any lines.
Her nails were uncharacteristically unkempt. The woman he knew did not tolerate chipped nail polish, wiping all her nails with acetone when the paint began chipping off. Almost all her nails except her pinky had chipped paint now. Her thumbnail was bare.
“May I paint your nails?” He asked, hopeful. She nodded and he left their bed in search of the box in which she kept all her manicure tools and paints.
When they sat together on bed as he took the pink off her nails, they were closer. He handled her hands with care, refusing to scrub too harshly even when the pieces of glitter clung to her as stubbornly as he did. Manicures were something she got done from salons, but she painted her own nails just as often. She said it calmed her.
He then brought the glass file to her nails, reducing them to a shorter oval shape the way she liked them. Any longer and she found it hard to use her typewriter. He made sure to file the edges in the same direction, recalling that she’d told him filing in opposite directions was not good for nail health. He repositioned her hand in his, turning it left and right as he evaluated his work. Satisfied with the shape, he brought his lips to the finger, his eyes remaining on hers the entire time to check for any signs of rejection. He pressed little kisses from her fingertip to her wrist, relishing in the shy smiles she rewarded him with.
He repeated his work with the other nails and then used the little wooden stick she had to push her cuticles back in preparation for the paint. The shower would wash it off soon, but he still slathered some moisturizer on her hands, using it as an excuse to massage her hands. He pushed the excess cream beyond her wrists and up her arms.
He kissed the back of her hand and looked up at her, her eyes clouded with sleep and something else, her plush lips parting as his own traveled up her arm. “You feel so good, baby, so soft,” he praised, making her shudder. When he reached the sleeve of his t-shirt that she liked wearing to bed, he pulled it down, exposing her shoulder. As he neared her neck, she cradled his head in her hand, guiding him by his hair to place kisses where she wanted them. His lips went willingly, loving her up in every spot she took him to. She was all sweat, citrus shampoo and the jasmine of the lotion he’d rubbed on her. He breathed her in, her scent being his choice of drug.
She pulled him back from her neck, gazing at his lips before closing her eyes and leaning forward. He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, making her giggle. He smiled before leaning in again but kissing her chin.
“Javi,” she whined as he kissed along her jaw and the corners of her lips and even her nose, refusing to press his lips to hers.
“Yeah, baby?” He asked, feigning innocence. But she knew him too well to believe the act.
“Jodón.”
“Tell me what you want.” He demanded, craving the feeling of being wanted. He needed to know that she needed him just like he needed her, that she wasn’t just capitulating to his desires, that she desired him.
“Kiss me.”
He found himself grinning as he took her face in his hands and tilted his head, unhurried in how he grazed her lips with his. She took initiative, pressing her lips to his. She consumed him, not like a starving woman but like one ready to savor each second of her meal. He let one hand wander down her back, caressing her through the thin fabric but not daring to slip it under her t-shirt. He needed her to take this at her pace, unaffected by his greed and desperation to have all of her. It was fantastic how just a kiss from her could make him feel his heart beating for her.
He’d kissed other women before her and he enjoyed all those times. But with her, it was different. It wasn’t the first step in fucking, wasn’t a means to an end. When he kissed her, he wasn’t a lonely man trying to imitate a deeper intimacy he’d never had merely to quell his yearning for connection. In her lips, he found not just the thrill of desire, but the safety of home.
The first time he kissed her, every other kiss ceased to exist and she’d become the only one. Everyone he kissed after that first kiss left him unsatisfied. None of them tasted like her, didn’t send jolts of electricity through him, didn’t make his heart leap out of his chest.
She mewled into the kiss as his tongue danced with hers, giving in to her exploration of his mouth as she pulled him closer to herself. Taking her sounds as encouragement, he tangled his hands into her hair. He poured a month’s worth of longing into the kiss, asking with each sigh and moan ‘Can you feel how I yearn for you? Can you not feel how you broke me when you left and put me back together with just this kiss?’
She pulled back first and he found himself panting, taking in the air he didn’t know he was depriving himself of. He pounced back, needing her more than he needed oxygen. He took her lips between his, pushing her head into the headboard as he pulled her into a heated kiss. One hand roamed his shoulder and then his arms, up and down and driving him mad as the other rested over his heart. He brought a hand to hers, trapping hers over his heart. He felt lightheaded as she staved him of air, but he happily drowned in her. He needed her to feel him, feel how his heart beat to her tune, how it missed having her head rest on it as they slept in each other’s arms.
“Please, Javi. Need you…” she broke off to whisper. He placed one last kiss to her lips before he slid down the bed, pulling her to the edge before pulling her shorts off her. He dove in and licked her through her panties, savoring the taste of her wetness on the cotton. Her hand found his hair and tugged gently.
“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve missed having you, querida…” he said, placing a kiss between her legs.
“I miss you so much, Javi…”
“No, you don’t know,” he insisted, angered that she would claim to have missed him after she left him. If you missed me so much, why didn’t you come back? He pressed his thumb on her clit, pressed a bit harder than she liked and she whined.
“I’m sorry!”
“You left. You walked out on me, didn’t tell me shit and I was fucking miserable,” he confessed, passing on the hurt right back to her. She mumbled a few more apologies, but nothing would be enough until he got to take her again.
“Gonna let me show you how much I missed you, baby?” He asked, placing kisses on her belly. “Gonna let me make love to you?”
“Yes, yes, please. Need youuu—” she cried as he pushed the cotton of her panty aside to lick her.
“You need me?” He asked, licking her again. God, how he missed his favorite taste. “Did you miss my cock like I missed this pussy, baby?”
She nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He needed to know from her lips, needed her to scream for the entire city to know how she missed his touch. He pushed her legs back together and pulled her panties off before setting it aside. He wrapped his lips around her and sucked on her clit, exacting the sweetest little sounds from her.
“I need to hear you.”
“Missed you, Javi. Missed your cock,” she confessed, tightening around his finger as she did. He wished he had his cock inside her as he made her tell him how much she missed it. He would pull more confessions out of her with a promise of an orgasm and he knew she would say anything he wanted.
“You have ruined me, mi amor. Can’t make myself cum just as good anymore without this pussy. Hate my own fucking hand.” He praised before he lapped and laved at her core, licking her up as he made her wetter and wetter for him.
“I sneaked your panties out of the laundry hamper, took it with me to Medellin like a fucking creep,” he confessed, unsure if her cry of his name was the work of his fingers or the confession of his depravity. “The pink one with the stripes, covered in you from when you touched yourself, when you kept this cunt to yourself and kept me away. I needed to smell it when I wrapped my fist around my cock and imagined I was fucking you.”
She clenched around his finger and that sent a rush through him. “That make you feel good, Cariño? Knowing you’ve turned me into a fucking pervert?”
“Javi, baby please…” she cried as he busied his lips once again with her cunt. He would’ve left her pussy lips for the lips that cried his name so prettily but she kept him down with her hand on his hair. She fucked herself on his fingers, gasping when he added a third one to stretch her out further.
His idle hand traveled up her body, its every nerve ending enjoying having her tremble beneath him once again. He took his time, roaming everywhere, feeling every inch of skin that he would soon trap under him as he fucked her for the first in a long time. This was the longest they’d gone without each other ever since they decided to pursue what they had for real. Even with his job being the way it was, he managed to come to Bogota every now and then to have her.
She wrapped her legs around him, trapping his head with her thighs as she dug the heel of her foot into his back. He growled into her cunt as she thrust up into him, fucking his mouth and his fingers at the same time. She still wanted him in between her legs if nowhere else and if he had to, he would fuck her into staying with him forever.
A few more minutes of licking and sucking and she was pulsating around his fingers, her thighs setting enough pressure on him to make him fear that she might crush him. With a cry of his name, she came for him, coating him in her juices. He drank up all of her, not showing any restraint.
She pulled him up by his hair and he obeyed, kissing her lips to bless her with her deliciousness. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, meeting her tongue as she moaned with her own taste. He placed his hand over her collarbones, smearing her all over the place before he crept up and held her neck as he relished in the vibrations of her moans.
He gasped into the kiss as she wrapped her hand around him through his boxers. He grabbed her wrist and held her in place, keeping her from stroking his cock. It’d been too long since he had her and he wasn’t going to waste this morning by coming in his fucking underwear.
“Let me have you, baby,” he begged, dipping down to her neck to lick up her cum that he had smeared over her. He wasn’t going to let any of her go to waste.
“Yes, fuck!” She reached into his boxers and took him out, painfully hard and already leaking precum. He licked and sucked the skin until it was marred from his attention.
“Wanna be on top, please,” she begged and he rolled them around, acquiescing to her. She sat up on him, her knees planted on either side of him before taking her t-shirt off to reveal her pretty tits. Before he could reach up for her himself, she took command in taking his hand and placing it on her breast.
“Missed this so much, Javi,” she said as she stroked his cock. He kneaded her breast in his hand, enjoying having the ample flesh in his hands.
“Need to be inside you, please,” he breathed, trying as much as he could to clear his thoughts for if he focused on her hand around his cock and how gorgeous she looked on him, he would burst in an instant.
She obliged, adjusting herself over him before living him up with herself. She let him inside her wet heat, just the tip, before pulling back up. He groaned at the loss of contact, biting down on his lip as she repeated the motion, giving him just a bit of her pussy before pulling away once again.
He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Don’t fucking tease. I haven’t had you in the longest time, darling. I need—ssss” he hissed as she took him in once more.
“I’m not teasing,” she gasped silently as she allowed a little more of him inside her. “So big, Javi. Haven’t stretched me out like this in s-so long,” she praised as she swallowed him bit by bit. “So fucking thick, gonna ruin me.”
“That’s right, baby… You love this cock, don’t you? Can’t go for anyone else ever again. I’ve made you mine,” he said, moving his other hand to her clit, moaning when she rewarded his touch by gripping him tighter.
“Mmmm love your cock,” she moaned as she struggled to take more of him even though he’d gotten her nice and wet with his fingers and mouth. Poor thing needed time to get used to his girth again after having gone such a long time without him.
“You are so beautiful like this… Look so fucking sinful trying so hard to take all of me, sitting on top of me like that and letting me touch your tits,” he praised as he played with her nipples, pinching and tugging and rolling between his fingers to make her tighten around him. She might have been on top, taking the reins, but he still had control. He knew her body like he knew the communas where he chased men, knew every shortcut, memorized every path, knew where to go to corner and capture them. He could elicit every desired response from her by touching her in the right places and saying the right words. She belonged to him, body and soul, and he enjoyed using every inch of her body to remind her to whom she belonged.
He let her set a slow torturous pace as she adjusted to him, groaning as she finally swallowed him to the hilt. It was pure bliss to be surrounded whole by her, to feel all of her wet, velvety heat. He felt her all over, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and it was everything. She was everything.
It was sweet torment to be exposed to the cold air of the fan only to be swallowed back up by her hot cunt. He needed her so fucking bad, needed her not just for the carnal pleasures that sex brought but the feeling of home when he found himself buried in her— he needed her to devour him whole and keep him right there, inside her, all hers and nothing else. Only the Javier that belonged to her was worth existing. Everything else he’d become in over three decades of life was insignificant.
Inside the walls of their home, on their marital bed, there was no world outside. She brought him the delusions of safety and he luxuriated in it, allowing himself to forget everything that wasn’t her. The world was just her tight cunt, her tits under his hands and the filthy sounds from her lips as she slowly went from a woman in control to a writhing, moaning mess. He met her halfway with his thrusts when she struggled to keep up on top of him. He sat himself up and pulled her to his chest, giving in as she stole his lips. It was hurried and sloppy as they explored familiar territory, still as excited as the first time they kissed each other. Practiced lovers, savoring the familiar comfort of each other’s lips yet excited to find something new each time.
“Don’t ever leave me,” he begged, holding her face in his hand and making her look at him in the hopes that she would see just how much he meant it. “I can’t, without you… I— I c-can’t, mi amor— Please…”
“I w-won’t,” she managed to stutter out as she grew breathless.
“Promise me,” he demanded even though what he wanted to do was beg.
She opened and closed her mouth, unable to form words as he set a relentless pace, taking over as he thrust into her and thumbed her clit.
“Fucking promise me!” He growled, forcing himself into her in hard, merciless thrusts.
“Aaaah! Ja—”
“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine, get it? This isn’t— We aren’t just da-dating. I’m your husband. You can’t just leave like that.” He forced himself deep and inadvertently hit her cervix. She jolted in his arms and let out a pained cry, letting him know his mistake and he pressed a kiss to her cheek in a silent apology.
“Sorr— hnnng! ‘m sorry Jav—”
A tear slipped down her cheek and he kissed it, tasting her. He breathed her name the way a dying man would call for his god in desperation. He prayed her name, each syllable a request of Save me, never leave me, breathe life into this wretched man.
She pulsated around him, collapsing on his chest and relying on him to hold her up as she reached her peak. She was deadweight in his arms and he held her tight as he reamed into her, her back arching and her hair cascading down her back, shaking from his hard thrusts. She took him along with her, erasing his world and making herself his everything. She had dragged him to the peak of the world and now she was pulling him down and he went with her willingly, taking everything she gave him, getting lost in her body. She was like a breath of air after drowning for eternity, she gave him life, gave him meaning even though she’d been the one to rob him of it.
He wiped her tears and kissed her all over, showering her with all the love he had for her. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he poured out, he couldn’t show her the depth of his feelings for her. No words compared, no kisses came close to the place she had in his life. No matter how many times he told her he loved her, she would never know just how much.
“Te amo, Javi,” she broke off from their kiss to whisper. He collapsed on the bed and brought her down with him. He pecked her lips once and then twice before setting his gaze on her eyes.
“Si me amas…” he paused to take a breath. “¿por qué me dejaste? ¿Por qué?”
She looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her rings as she spoke, “Y-yo no quiero perderte.”
He shook his head as he said, “No me perderás. Yo soy tuyo.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest over his heart. “Tuyo.”
She scoffed, her hand curling over his chest. “More Escobar’s than mine at this point.”
“What?”
She shook her head and looked away, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t complain.”
“No. No, you talk to me. What is this about?”
“We’ll fight if we talk about it. Like Steve and Connie.”
“Do you…? Do you want to leave…? Like Connie did?” He asked, unable to steady his shaking voice. Three weeks with her gone was hell enough. If she wanted to take off permanently, he didn’t know what he would do with himself. Hunting the hijo de puta had become his purpose in life over the past few years. But he now had another important purpose, a woman he’d made promises to. Promises he was insistent on keeping.
She shook her head.
He sighed as he tucked her hair behind her ear, needing to see her without anything in the way. It was fucking frustrating, not knowing what worried her so much that she couldn’t even talk to him about it, that she chose instead to run away from him. But he had to be kind if he wanted her to open up.
He began by caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. Gently, like soothing a wounded child. “Baby… If you don’t tell me what this is about, how am I going to fix it? Hmm?”
“It can’t be fixed,” she said, same as that day.
It took him a moment to know how to answer her.
“When I asked you to marry me, you asked that I give you all of me. Have I not kept that promise?” He asked, knowing that he had so far. No matter how ugly, no matter how broken, he brought home all of himself. To her credit, she accepted him just as he was.
She nodded and said, “you have.”
“Now I’m asking. I want everything, too. Whatever you’re hiding from me that has you worried will make us fight. Is it about my job?”
“I’m sorry,” she said as she nodded, head hung low as tears spilled out.
“No, no, nothing to be sorry about. Just talk to me. What about my job?”
“S-scared.” His chest tightened at the trembling of her voice. Relationships were not something he was comfortable with after he left Lorraine and it was alright for his dangerous new lifestyle as an agent in Colombia. There was no one else he was putting in danger because of his line of work. But then he had to go and fall in love.
It was one of the reasons he proposed to her as soon as he could. Being his wife offered her more legal protection than did being his girlfriend. And knowing that she was it for him, he saw no point in waiting. But she was still afraid for her safety.
He reached out quickly to reassure her.
“I’m here, okay? Our home is safe. Those bastards won’t dare touch you here, won’t dare touch a US federal agent’s wife. I got you,” he whispered into her ear and rubbed her back, hoping to help her relax in his arms. She didn’t. She just tensed.
“‘m not worried about m-myself,” she said softly. “Ever since Steve got kidnapped, I—”
He took in a deep breath and pulled her in closer even though there was no gap between them. What was he supposed to do? Tell her he was safe? Lying wasn’t something he was ready to do in their marriage. Even if he did, she wouldn’t believe him after she had to comfort a panicking Connie. He had the same job as Steve, faced the same dangers. It could be him next. And he might not be lucky enough to come home.
The CNP guys were in much greater danger than he was as an American. Call it gringo privilege. But he couldn’t make promises. He couldn’t promise that a jump from the roof wouldn’t end up terribly. He couldn’t promise that he would never catch a stray bullet. He couldn’t promise that a crazy motherfucker wouldn’t target him for the bragging rights over nabbing a US agent.
Small town sheriff Javier Peña hadn’t thought of all this when he signed up for this job in his mid twenties. There was just an opportunity to run away from a town that hated him— a town he hated more for how it smothered him from all sides as he grew and grew yet it remained small, insignificant. It was his chance to do something great, to be the good guy fighting big bag guys and he took it. He hadn’t been warned that he’d one day be sat holding his sobbing wife, speechless because he couldn’t make the most basic promise— to fucking stay alive.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, the tremble in her voice tugging at his heartstrings.
“No, no. I’m sorry.” Sorry I can’t give you more. Sorry I made you cry. He pulled her into his arms and sat on the couch, cradling her in his lap more for his comfort than hers.
“I shouldn’t complain. I know I married a man with a dangerous job. I signed up for all this, but… ‘m so scared, Javi. I can’t sleep at night. I wake up from nightmares and I lose you every single time. I get scared when I get a call because what if—” she stopped, breaking down into sobs.
There was nothing he could do to fix this, she was correct. The thing that was causing her all this agony was his whole life.
“Do you want me to quit my job?” He asked, regretting it the minute the question left his lips. What if she said yes? What if that was the only way to fix their marriage? He would quit. There was no question about that. But that would mean that almost a decade of his life’s work would be worth nothing. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Resentment would break anything they had left between them.
Please don’t ask that of me.
She shook her head and he had to keep himself from letting out a huge sigh of relief.
“Do you know I have students who— I shouldn’t tell you. I’m not on the field like you and I don’t know all the things you know, but I see everyday how he’s fucking ruined lives. I want you to catch that motherfucker. You’re in this fight and I’m not letting you leave it without crushing his blood empire. I just don’t want us to be collateral damage. I can’t bear losing you whether it is to divorce or a bullet. I can’t—” she brought her hand to her lips, biting on her newly shaped nails.
He swallowed, tugging her hand away from her mouth and giving it a kiss. “I can’t make promises about the latter,” he said softly, unable to look her in the eyes as he said it. He didn’t want to know what he did to her with those words. “You know I can’t. But when I die, whether it’s tomorrow or 40 years from now, I’ll die your husband. I don’t do divorce. You might think it’s not a big deal for me, the guy who left his first fiancé at the altar. But trust me, you’re a catch and there’s no way I’m letting you escape”
She laughed and nuzzled into his neck. He rested his head on hers and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m not joking. You should be very scared, baby. As far as I’m concerned, I’m it for you. Won’t let you leave no matter what you do.”
“Yeah?” She laughed, her eyes glinting with tears but also something new. Her lips quirked up in a mischievous smile. “What if I slept with a bunch of guys?”
He raised an eyebrow, reeling the unhinged jealous little man in his heart to join her in whatever this was that made her smile through her tears. “Good for them. Best pussy they’ll ever have. I mean, I will beat them to death for touching you. But you’re still my wife. Not divorcing you.”
“What if I fucked Steve?” She challenged, raising an eyebrow.
He knew what she was doing. She was making it personal, putting a face to the act and making said face a very familiar one. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
“Last thing he’ll ever do in his life. I’ll kill him and Connie will help me hide his body.”
“Mhmm? What if…..?” She trailed, looking into the distance as she stroked her invisible beard. “What if I let someone else knock me up?”
“You bitch!”
She gasped and shoved at his chest. “How dare you call me a bitch!?”
“How dare you even think of letting another man do that?”
“I won’t actually do that!” She defended, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m just trying to get a raise out of you.”
“And you did,” he supplied, making her scoff.
“How about…? Okay! What if I fucked Escobar?”
“Shit, I would tell everyone!” He laughed. “My wife? Getting that close to that piece of shit and living to tell the story? Yeah, I’d be on the rooftops with a megaphone. Oh and I’ll kill him. Of course. Goes without saying.”
“Well, you were gonna kill him anyway. What will you do to him for touching your wife?” She asked, twirling his overgrown hair around her finger.
Was this…? Noooo! He was just joking, but she seems to like the idea of him killing men for wanting her.
“Baby, what’s wrong with you?” He asked, laughing. She surprised him every goddamn day.
“I don’t know, you tell me,” she licked her lips and drew shaped on his chest with her index finger. “There should be an explanation for why I signed up for all this.”
“You like this, don’t you?” He asked, lowering the register of his voice the way she liked as he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You want me to possess you, to hurt anyone who would want you that way I have you. You like that I can be a dangerous man.”
She shivered, but quickly stabilised herself, looking very blasé as she spoke, “Huh, that answers my question. I always wondered what kind of idiot would be with Escobar. I guess women just like to fuck a powerful man. And money. She’d gotta be in it for the money.”
“She married him before he got rich, actually. And it’s not just women who are attracted to powerful men,” he added, letting her know just how much he liked when she was in a position of power.
“Men too? You’re gonna tell me you want to fuck Escobar?” She asked, making him laugh. He pinched her bum, making her squeal and attempt to get off him. He pulled her back in immediately, not ready to lose contact.
“When I came to your class, I sat in the back the entire time. I enjoyed seeing you in your element, leading the discussion, getting a big room full of people to listen to you. And your ass in a pencil skirt. If I was your student, I would wank off every day thinking of you” he groaned, his cock twitching inside her at the mental image.
“Oh my god!” She exclaimed before hitting him playfully.
“Whaaat? I feel bad for those fuckers in your class, having to talk about Frankenstein’s monster to impress their hot little literature professor.”
“Don’t sexualise my job!” She looked positively scandalised. Like he’d suggested that she let him fuck her on the streets.
“Uh huh? Now you know how it feels? What was that you asked me for your birthday?” He teased. “On yds, the little interrogation fantasy. You’ve been begging me to tie you up and interrogate you.”
She hid her smile from him, covering her face with her hands, but he pried them off to see her looking so sweetly shy at being reminded of the depraved things she wanted him to do to her. “You don’t have to do it,” she said, shy and quiet and she played with her rings.
“Mmm thank you baby, but I’m gonna make your dreams come true. Just be happy I’m not CIA. Cause CIA has some terrible interrogation methods. They’ll fucking waterboard you.”
“Oh my god! Okay this isn’t fun anymore,” she said, getting off him, but he pulled her right back onto his cock, laughing as he caught her expression.
“Let me go!”
“No, no sorry. I shouldn’t talk about the CIA in bed, they’re such a turn off.”
“You think that’s why I’m trying to escape?? Javi, women don’t like talking about waterboarding with a dick inside them.”
“Okay, okay, I know. Just stay in bed. I have today off and I need to be inside you,” he said, rubbing her back in an attempt to coax her into foregoing her household responsibilities for a lazy day in bed with him.
“I have work to do. Papers to grade and clothes to wash. Oh and some pervert,” she said, poking his chest a few times. “has been stealing my panties so I have to go wash them before he gets to them.”
“Oh please, it was just one pair,” he lied, looking away quickly but it wasn’t enough for him to get away with it.
She squinted her eyes at him and he relented. “Fine. It was three. Pink one with the stripes, blue lace ones and a white cotton panty.”
“Pervert!”
“Or I’m just really in love with my wife. You should see the sweet side of it. You don’t know how other guys act on the field. It’s like as soon as they’re in Medellin, they aren’t married.”
“Uh huh?” She said as she tilted her head, her tone suggesting that she wasn’t convinced by his words. “And I’m supposed to be grateful that you aren’t sleeping around? Pendejo!” She punctuated her curse with a slap to his chest.
“That’s not what I meant!” He defended, taking her slapping hand and giving it a kiss.
“Sure, Cabrón.”
He laughed, amused at how adorable she was when angry. He pulled her down to lie down with him, her head on his chest and his hand in her hair. Mornings like these had become so rare. Even without their period of separation, they didn’t have quality time together. Work always called, always overwhelmed and left him with very little to give as a husband. Being too tired to do anything else, he couldn’t even take her out anywhere for dinner. But that would change tonight.
“I made dinner reservations for us. Are you free tonight?”
He’d booked it a while back, but he didn’t know if she would want to go with him after she left. And he didn’t want to promise her a date night before he knew for sure that he would have the day off from work. She did not take it terribly when he had to calculate on her for work, but something told him it wasn’t good for a marriage to keep breaking promises.
“Hmm, I don’t know. This pendejo said he’ll paint my nails and did a half assed job. I might have to book a nail appointment for the night,” she teased, making him laugh. He’d completely forgotten that their activities were preceded by his request to paint her nails.
“I’ll finish the job now,” he said, getting up, but she pushed him back down and trapped him in a loving hug.
“Later. I just wanna stay like this a little longer. Feels good…”
“I like when you hold me like this, mi amor,” he confessed, his voice softening as he opened himself up to allow himself to bask in the euphoria that holding her to his chest brought him.
“I- it calms me down. I need to hear your heart beating. I wake up from bad dreams sometimes and I can’t fall back asleep if I don’t lie down like this.”
He froze. He had no idea she had nightmares. “You never told me.”
“Didn’t want to worry you.”
He said her name softly, making her look up at him from his chest.
“You have to tell me these things,” he said, moving her hair out of the way so he could have an unobstructed view of her. Her features were soft, her eyes open, vulnerable.
“You have a lot on your plate already… I don’t want to be one of your problems.”
“Jesus,” he swore before sighing. “You’re not- I’ll never think of you as a problem. I understand why you worry. It’s not unwarranted. I would never ask you to hide your feelings for me. I thought we talked about these things. You’re the one who’s always telling me that we should communicate about difficult things. What happened to that?”
“Do you remember when I made you choose? Either date me for real or stop coming over for anything other than sex?”
He hummed in response, encouraging her to continue. They'd been fooling around for around two months back then and one night when he was dressing himself to leave, she forced him to confront how he’d been treating her— he’d been giving her mixed signals, pulling her in and pushing her away. He’d act like her boyfriend one minute but get distant the next and she was understandably annoyed.
“And you said you wanted to date me but you warned me that your job was dangerous and that attachments were a weakness. I didn’t want to be your weakness, I still—”
He shook her head, interrupting her mid-sentence, “I was talking out of my ass, I was just scared. And it’s different now. We’re—”
“Yeah but when I think of you strapping a gun and badge on yourself to go out and get shot at by those malparidos, I want to stop you,” she choked on her words, getting up off his chest and hugging her knees to her chest. “I told you I could handle it. That day and the day you asked me to marry you. But, I can’t. I can’t handle it. Ever since Steve was kidnapped- and I know you said he wasn’t in any real danger, but fuck! It was terrifying to see Connie like that and I couldn’t help but worry and put myself in her place. And I couldn’t stop thinking about every terrible thing that could happen to you and I just wanted to lock you up at home. So I left- because I don’t want to be your weakness. But I can’t be brave, I can’t be strong.”
It broke his heart to know that behind the scenes, behind her easy smiles and her strong shoulders he leaned on everyday, there was so much fear. So much insecurity. There was shame too. Had he been more attentive, he would’ve known without her having to tell him, without her having to run away.
He sat up, pulled her close and placed a kiss on her head. “You are brave and you’ve been so strong, putting up with more of my shit than you need to… Sometimes I think I won’t get through this with my soul intact if it weren’t for you. So never think that you’re my weakness.”
She listened, her eyebrows furrowed and eyes never leaving him. She bit down on her lip, pulling at the skin with her teeth, something she did when anxious. He reached over and thumbed her lip, not wanting to wait until she started bleeding.
“I… I’ve put you in a difficult position, but I would never ask you to hide your fears for my comfort. And you leaving definitely did not make me stronger. Just scared the hell out of me. I thought I’d done something so shit that you’d left for good.”
“Sorry I left… I just—”
“I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to me. Not like that would’ve solved anything,” he scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing short of stopping that bastard is going to solve this.”
“I know, I know…” she sighed.
“I’ll get him,” he affirmed, taking her hands in his. All the things he’d done since he landed in Colombia, all the things he’d lost because of that man… To think he might lose her too… It was chilling. He’d lost friends, made enemies, became the guy everyone called an asshole for not cutting corners, for not putting up with anything that wasn’t right. He’d lost so much, but she wasn’t going to be one of them. He wouldn’t allow it.
Javier Peña wouldn’t rest until Escobar was history.
javi fucking a cartel don’s daughter, telling himself it’s to gain intel but really it’s the way you scream his name and suck him in like he’s the only man who’s ever existed.
he’s addicted to you, he comes crawling back to you whenever he gets a moment of peace. you’re not like his other escapades. you’re kind and warm and good and he tells himself you’re just part of the system, you’ll fuck him over one day, but he can’t think about that when he’s burying himself in the warmth of your cunt or coating your tongue. or when you’re tearing up from feeling so good and javier has to stop himself from asking you to be his, so he holds onto whatever he was feeling.
and javi knew exactly what it was, he knew he’d spent far too many nights between your legs, getting off just by your taste and voice, to warrant any casual feelings but he would deal with that later. right now he would enjoy making you feel like you reached god.
a/n: the urge to make a one-shot about cartel don’s daughter!reader and javier …lemme know what y’all think
