#daniel van ness x f!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

creativekat · 3 years

Text

Your Mouth Was Made to Suck My Kiss

Pairing: Daniel Van Ness x F!Reader

Gif by @bendro-pascarnes

Word Count: 1,853

Rating: M **** 18 and up only!! ****

Warnings: hot kisses in the rain; protected sex (danny is a good boy!); missionary then cuddling

A/N: Thank you so much to @the-purity-pen for her encouragement in writing this story. Especially the smut portion. She was the one who told me side characters need love too and I love Daniel Van Ness to the moon and back so I appreciate her giving me this nudge. This is definitely going to end up being a series, even if it’s only for myself!

You never thought you’d fall for a man who wore a suit to work. You worked at a club that was not quite a dive bar, but definitely not upscale. It featured live punk/rock/grunge music and you dressed the part -- Ripped jeans, nose piercing, heavy black boots, short plaid skirts, t-shirts advertising your favorite bands. So, you would have said a man who wore a suit to work was definitely not your type, but then you met Daniel Van Ness.

At 6’4” and 220 lbs of muscle it would have been difficult not to notice him. The fact that he almost literally threw himself into celebrating the music being played was endearing to you. After all, if you hadn’t been working you would have been doing the same thing. In fact, you were a little jealous at the abandon with which he enjoyed himself.

When he took his shot and asked you out, you wrote your phone number on a coaster and tucked it into the pocket of his own equally ripped jeans, and smiled before walking away. When he called the next afternoon you realized he wasn’t about playing games and that made you like him even more.

You met him the following Sunday afternoon at a coffee shop you frequented and, as luck would have it, it was a midpoint between your place and his. You arrived to find him waiting outside and were pleased when he opened the door for you. You considered yourself a feminist but you enjoyed it when a man was thoughtful in little ways. You also noticed when you got to the counter that he waited until you had ordered before proceeding.

When you had gotten your drinks and sat down, you found that he was really easy to talk to. It wasn’t a surprise to you that you loved a lot of the same bands and the same songs by those bands. You both spoke fluently in song lyrics and movie quotes. You found your eyes drawn to the dimple in his chin and the way his eyes never left yours whenever you were speaking. You asked him what he did for a living and it surprised you when he said he worked for the government. He didn’t expand on that information and you didn’t ask even though the mystery of it made you extremely curious.

By the time you left the coffee shop, you were completely smitten with this large pudding cup of a man and you hoped he asked you for a second date. Instead, he asked if you wanted to continue on to get pizza and then go for a walk. You couldn’t think of a single reason to say no, so you nodded your head and when he took your hand you felt a warm rush of heat up your arm. You wondered, briefly, to yourself if sleeping with him on the first date was a bad idea. You had a strong feeling he was trustworthy so you figured you’d see how the rest of the date went.

When it began to rain during your walk Daniel gripped your hand tighter and guided you to the dry safety of a gazebo at the edge of a duck pond. You were soaked by the time you got under the protective awning but you didn’t mind the fact that your hair was dripping and your Nirvana t-shirt was clinging to you. You were having the most fun you’d had in a long while and laughing even as you ran to avoid the sudden torrent.

Your laughter died in your throat when you saw the look in Daniel’s eyes as he looked down at you. His own shirt was clinging to him in all the right places and you only had a moment to lick your lips before the space between you closed. You weren’t sure who made the first move, but it felt like a mutual decision as your lips met and arms wrapped around one another.

He didn’t kiss like a man who wore a suit to work. The lyrics to a Liz Phair song ran through your head, “your kisses are as wicked as an F-16” and you wondered if the following line would match up to him as well. You felt as if you knew what sin tasted like after one kiss and your body was urgently prodding you to explore more. When you pulled away, Daniel tried to follow but you placed your hand on his chest and smiled up at him, suddenly shy at what you were about to ask.

“Should we go to your place or mine to get out of this rain?” His eyebrows raised comically and for a moment you worried you’d made a mistake, but then he leaned in to kiss you again.

Then next time the two of you came up for air, he placed his forehead to yours and whispered, “I live right across the street.”

You laughed when you realized, “this means we’ll have to brave the rain again.”

Daniel laughed as well, shrugging his broad shoulders, “Totally worth it though, right?” He looked at you, questioningly, to make sure you’re both on the same page.

You licked your lips again, nodding because you definitely were. Then you took each other’s hands once again and made the mad dash to the apartment complex across the street. By the time you got inside his place, you were breathless with the sprint from the park and the need you both felt.

Daniel effortlessly lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he kicked the front door closed. He wasted no time in carrying you to his bedroom and the two of you fell onto his bed, your wet clothes soaking the blanket. Neither one of you seemed to care about that as your hands worked to peel your shirts off. Daniel paused briefly to check in with you, “Are you sure about this?” He looked at you intensely, concern etched into his features, and your heart melted.

Nodding, you replied, “Definitely. Do you have condoms?”

Daniel grinned at you and proceeded to reach under you to unclasp your bra. His mouth seared a path across your jawline and down your neck, then your collarbone. He took his time, licking and nipping at your skin as if trying to memorize the taste of you. When he finally swirled his tongue around, first one nipple then the other, your body felt as if it might combust. Breathlessly, you gasped, “Danny… I can’t wait any more… please.”

His face tilted up in your direction. His face reflected the surprise and pleasure at your use of the nickname for him. He loved the sound of it falling from your lips. You blushed briefly then shrugged. It had felt natural and you liked that you felt so at ease with him. With a chuckle, he pushed himself off of you before taking a moment to peel your jeans down your hips then from your legs to the floor.

He reached into the bedside table drawer and grabbed a foil packet while you sat up and helped him out of his jeans. Your breath caught in your lungs as his manhood sprang free and you realized that he lived up to the stereotype regarding tall men. As he rolled the condom on, you laid back and finished undressing by removing your panties.

Daniel took a moment to grab a pillow, lifting your head with one hand and placing the pillow beneath it with the other. Leaning over you, he kissed you once more as he reached between your legs to caress your folds to ensure you were ready for him. Two long fingers dipped into your warmth and his thumb stroked your clit, the friction making you moan into his mouth.

Finally, when you thought you couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer, he pulled his hand away and began to press his length into you, taking his time. He kept his eyes on you as he slid into you, making sure you weren’t uncomfortable. You lifted your feet to rest on the mattress, opening yourself up to him, so he could fill you more easily.

You both paused for a moment, smiling, before you bucked your hips encouraging him to continue. That was the only hint he needed as he began to move, pistoning slowly at first. Your mouths met once more and your hands explored one another. His thrusts began to pick up speed and you inched closer to climax.

His hands gripped your hips and your nails dug into the flesh at his shoulders as you crested the wave crying out his name as you came. Daniel didn’t slow down and a moment later was groaning as he emptied himself into the condom then settled on top of you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kissing his neck. You lay that way for a while, wrapped up in the afterglow of sex, then he carefully withdrew and got up to go to the bathroom.

You sat up as he left the room, looking around his room and wondering what came next. Now that you’d let him fuck you would he become a different person? You really didn’t know him all that well even if you had felt like you did. He returned with a glass of water and leaned in to kiss the top of your head as he handed it to you, “Do you want to stay here tonight?” He opened the top drawer of his dresser and retrieved a pair of boxer shorts. You hadn’t answered yet but he opened a second drawer and pulled out a dry t-shirt for you to borrow.

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” You take the offered Nine Inch Nails shirt and slide it over your head while he steps into his boxers. You grabbed the pillow he’d placed beneath your head earlier and propped it back at the head of the bed then you crawled beneath the comforter. Daniel turned off the overhead light and you felt the bed shift as he climbed into bed next to you. Immediately you felt him reaching for you in the dark and pulling you close. You talked for a bit before you drifted to sleep.

The next morning, you wake to the feeling of Daniel kissing your forehead. You raised your head, fogged with sleep for a moment, before realizing he's fully dressed, in a grey suit, white button-down shirt, and blue tie. Your eyes widened for a moment but then you focused on the fact that he’s telling you that he has to go to work but you were welcome to sleep longer or help yourself to coffee in the kitchen. He kissed you once more before saying good-bye and walking out the door. A moment later, you hear the click of the apartment’s front door closing. You fell back against the pillow thoughtfully.

You never thought you’d fall for a man who wore a suit to work. But, it seemed you were well on your way.

#narcos #narcos story #narcos fiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #agent daniel van ness #daniel van ness #daniel van ness x reader #daniel van ness x f!reader #daniel van ness/reader #daniel van ness/you #daniel van ness x you #matt whelan character fic #matt whelan character fanfiction #matt whelan character fanfic #18+ only #smut

49 notes · View notes

lavendertales · 3 years

Text

Wicked game (Javier Peña x f!reader)

Part 16 of Lay It On Me series

summary: during an undercover stakeout, you and Steve talk personal stuff, and when the topic inevitably lands on Javier, the night culminates with a surprising call.

word count: 4.5k

gif: @nickblaine

series masterlist | AO3 | playlist

Cali was an entirely different story.

Barely three weeks into your mission to put an end to its cartel and you already felt helpless. The Cali cartel was much more resourceful and organized than the Medellin one, much more dangerous, and by that point, it was estimated that they were running about 80% of the cocaine market worldwide.

Which meant the stakes were higher than before, as was the pressure weighing down on you, Steve and Javier.

The rules were poles apart from what you used to know. Since the three of you were in charge of the operation alongside Colonel Hugo Martinez, Chris Feistl and Daniel Van Ness, you had to be utterly professional and shift your entire attention to the operation. Nothing could be left out, nothing could be done randomly. And, being the determined and stubborn person that you were, your number one priority was bringing down the cartel.

“There’s a party tonight,” Hugo announced loudly.

“So, are we all invited or not?” Chris joked.

Unimpressed, Hugo’s face remained impassible whilst looking at the rest of the team.

“We got word that the Rodriguez brothers will be there,” he continued. “And it is also rumored that Pacho Herrera will be there, meaning the big three. What we need is more intel. We cannot arrest them just yet.”

“Why the hell not?” Javier interfered. “We got everything we could need to get our hands on those bastards.”

“Because that’s how we do things here, Peña. With careful consideration. We don’t just throw ourselves head first into danger.”

Visibly displeased, Javier only grunted and kept his mouth shut, staring at the ground. Chris and Daniel, on the other hand, asked more questions, as opposed to how silent the three of you were.

“And because we want to keep things on the low and follow them tonight, figure out where they go into hiding, I’m gonna ask you two to go.”

You and Steve exchanged a somewhat worried look, but replied nothing.

“I’d like you two to go undercover at that party tonight. Simply observe them and follow them when they leave.”

“Why them?” Daniel asked, somewhat disappointed.

“Because they’re smarter than you give them credit for. And they know when to keep their mouths shut. Which is imperative for this particular mission.”

“Alright. I guess we’re partying tonight,” you said.

“Remember, blend in and keep your distance as much as you can.”

“Got it.”

“No interactions at all. We want them to feel like they are in control, as usual.”

“We can pretend we’re just out for some drinks,” Steve suggested.

“Good. You’ll act as if you’re on a date, in the background. No actual drinks. We don’t want anyone’s inhibitions or mental faculties to vanish.”

Both you and Steve chuckled while the team slowly spread out. Javier was the first to exit the conference room, rushing outside for a smoke. Ever since he left Medellin, he promised himself he’d cut the cigarettes, but it seemed that with all the stress and pressure, he needed something to cut the tension. And nicotine and alcohol were the only sources of coping he had left.

“I’ll pick you up at nine?” Steve asked you.

“Sure thing. I’ll give you my address.”

“Still can’t really get used to the surroundings. Feels kinda weird not living on the same floor with Javi.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

You haven’t sounded so harsh and cold in a long time, and you embraced it. You had big things to focus on and not even Javier Peña was going to stand in your way.

“Are you guys okay? You and—”

“We’ve got work to do. We’re in the middle of a war, Murphy. Let’s just do our jobs.”

Steve didn’t bother adding or asking anything else. He knew a refusal when he heard one, and he pushed you no further, despite his instincts telling him that life at the office would be living hell now that you and Javier truly hated each other.

Steve drove you to the venue where the party was being held. When you arrived, a few minutes before ten, the party barely started. Everyone was dancing, talking, drinking and, by the looks of it, smoking heavily. You had to remind yourself that you were supposedly on a date, meant to sit in the back and observe.

“Here, let’s have a seat,” Steve guided you to a small table.

“We can’t talk in English. We have to blend in, and if they hear a couple of gringos here, we’ll stand out immediately.”

“Luego hablamos en español.”

Then we talk in Spanish.

You looked surprised at Steve, who only flashed a bright and proud smile in return.

“No está mal para un Americano, ¿eh?” he continued.

Not bad for an American, huh?

“No está nada mal. ¿Cuándo aprendiste a hablar tan bien?”

Not bad at all. When did you learn to speak such fluent Spanish?

“Todavía estoy aprendiendo.”

I am still learning.

“Tal vez quieras perder el típico acento americano.”

You might want to lose the typical American accent.

“¿Cómo?”

How?

“En inglés, se rueda la R. Pero en español, se pone énfasis en ella.”

In English, you roll your R. But in Spanish, you put emphasis on it.

Steve leaned in over the table and whispered, “Can you teach me how?”

You smiled. “Just hear me talk.”

“Then… talk to me.”

“Eres un gran hombre, Steve Murphy. Un gran amigo, un gran agente... también genial en la cama. Y espero que salgamos vivos de esto porque me gustaría mucho tenerte como amigo en mi vida. Necesito cosas buenas. Necesito buenos amigos como tú.”

You’re a really great man, Steve Murphy. A great friend, a great agent… great in bed, too. And I hope we make it out of this alive because I’d very much like to have you as a friend in my life. I need good things. I need good friends like you.

“What I got from that is that… I’m great—”

“Mhm.”

“And… you sound really good when you talk in Spanish—”

“Also true.”

“And that we’re friends.”

“Yes.”

“I’m confused, I thought this was a date.”

You giggled, and Steve followed suit. Each of you took a few sips from your beers and resumed staring at the crowd. As told, Gilberto and Miguel were there, dancing and making conversations with the other guests. You settled for listening to the music and simply examining every single person there. You looked at their clothes, the hairstyles, the jewelry, everything you could visualize in the dim, colorful lights.

“Hey, listen,” Steve said after a while, moving closer to you. “About what happened with you and me, and—and Javi…”

“Don’t make it weird, Murphy.”

“I wasn’t trying to, I just—“

“Then don’t talk about it. It happened. It was fun, it was great—“

“It was really great.”

You smiled, eager to finish the conversation and move way past it.

“It was… a one-time thing,” you finished. “We are all colleagues, and our main objective right now is to sit here, quietly, and keep tabs on the Rodriguez brothers.”

“Okay, fine. But from where I’m standing, things are far worse between you and him. It’s the worst it’s ever been. You’re not even talking to each other.”

“Why should we? We’re just colleagues.”

“I can see why he used to think he hated you. You really are stubborn like him.”

You frowned, taking another sip of the beer. Slowly, the desire to drown yourself in alcohol overawed you, but you fought it. You were on the job. You couldn’t afford any distractions.

“’Used to think’?” you repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, used to. I told you, you two are two peas in a pot. Same coin. Of course he would hate you, and vice versa. But now… you are just so fucking infuriating with all this ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. It’s worse than the ‘I hate you’ one. At least that one was sincere.”

“Murphy, don’t push it.”

“All of this could be solved with one conversation. You know that just as much as I do, and he knows that, too.”

“We’ve had the fucking conversation.”

“What?”

You managed to block out the sound, the laughter, all of it. All you could hear were the hysterics from your last conversation with Javier, over a month ago. His husky voice yelling at you how you controlled his every move, his every decision, his hands roaming around your waist, his lips at your neck, whispering how gorgeous you were, your legs around his waist, all of it tore you apart in millions of tiny pieces.

So you blocked it all out.

“We’ve had the conversation,” you repeated. “We agreed it is both of our interest to be colleagues, civil around each other—”

“Civil? You’re not even talking to each other.”

“It’s what’s best.”

“For whom?”

“For me! For both of us! He’s not the guy who commits, and I am not the girl who commits. All I’ve ever been great for are one night stands. And it’s been working flawlessly. I don’t want or need any attachment. Much less to the womanizer of Medellin. And I want to do what is best for me.”

“Denying yourself of the one thing that brings you joy isn’t what’s best.”

You stared furiously at him, finishing your beer and ordering another one right away. Of course you would feel displeased when somebody pointed out exactly what you were doing wrong because you did not need anyone else bringing you down. You did that plenty in your spare time.

But at the very least you did not lose sight of neither Gilberto nor Miguel, their figures still distinguishable in the crowd.

“Se supone que estamos hablando en español,” you reminded him.

“Baila conmigo.”

We’re supposed to be talking in English.

Dance with me.

You sighed, but succumbed nonetheless. Steve was taller than you, so the ratio of height whilst dancing with him was rather enjoyable. But it was also overwhelming to think of the hold he had over your waist as the phantom of Javier’s. It was cruel to him, though he may not have known it, and it was cruel to you, under an entirely different form.

It was simply excruciating. Every touch, regardless who its owner was, made you think of Javier. Every breath, every sound, you could trace it all back to him. So you forced yourself to shut down with alcohol.

“No eres malo,” you remarked amusedly.

You are not bad.

Not bad at all.

“I used to dance with Connie every now and then,” Steve smirked.

“Me doy cuenta. Tienes un buen ritmo.”

I can tell. You have a pretty good rhythm.

Very good, if I remember correctly.

“I miss her,” he sighed, staring off in the distance.

“I wish I could say it gets better in time, but time is a cruel mistress.”

“It sure fucking feels like that.”

“¿Por qué no la llamas?”

Why don’t you call her?

It’s easy for you to do. You’re the guy who says something and then does it.

“Porque… tengo—uh—miedo.”

Because I’m afraid.

“¿Por qué tienes miedo?”

Why are you afraid?

“I’m afraid of hearing her, of wanting to see her when she probably won’t want me.”

You remained silent for a little. The sentiment was cruelly close to your heart as well.

Because if I don’t look at you… then I don’t see the pain in your eyes. The disappointment, the anger or the beauty. Because that way… I don’t feel… things. And that way… my mind isn’t trying to memorize every detail of your face like it’s the last thing I’ll ever see.

Javier’s words were ingrained in your mind like a sharp knife, impossible to remove without causing significant damage. The speech ringed awfully like a goodbye, and once again, you understood it. You reciprocated the sentiment regardless of how much you despised it.

“Estoy dispuesto a apostar que si cogieras el teléfono y la llamaras, te contestaría. Y te escuchará a pesar de todo.”

I am willing to bet that if you picked up the phone and called her, she’d answer. And she’ll hear you regardless.

Steve smiled fondly at you, spinning you around once before bringing you back to his chest. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t get that, did you?”

“I think I did. But I don’t—I don’t wanna think about that tonight.”

“Distraction it is then.”

You danced with Steve for longer than you had anticipated. You must’ve drank about five beers when you finally began to feel drunk, and when you finally sat back down at the table, your vision was somehow on high alert for Gilberto or Miguel.

And when you spotted both of them leaving around two a.m., you and Steve knew it was go time.

Steve drove slowly and steadily, with you dead silent in the passenger’s seat. You managed to calm yourself down and focus on the job again, which was liberating, but not enough.

It was pretty clear that both you and Steve had issues to fight through and you needed to find something to help you cope in all of that debilitating stress. Alcohol wouldn’t cut it, not when you were literally following the Cali cartel’s big bosses to their private headquarters and you needed to stay focused more than anything.

Steve pulled up at the end of a darkened street, at the end of which stood a very lavish villa. You failed to contain your surprise, although the scenery was exactly what you would’ve expected from someone who loved living in style.

“Jesus fucking Christ, they’re not even hiding this,” Steve breathed, examining the surroundings.

“Do you know where we are?”

“I memorized the road to this place. We gotta call Javi.”

You took the phone out of your bag and dial Javier’s number, numb to the flood of emotions that threatened to pass through you.

“Peña.”

“It’s me. We’re—”

“Can you give me Murphy?”

You rolled your eyes and made sure that he heard you sigh annoyingly before passing the phone to Steve.

“Have your precious Murphy,” you whispered under your breath, eyes on the road.

“What the hell was that?” he queried.

“Where are you?”

“Apparently, we’re at the Rodriguez hideout. At least that’s what they call it, but it’s a huge fucking villa, lots of security—”

Steve stopped, and you noticed why. Right before you, the garage door opened and you saw Gilberto, Miguel and Pacho, clear as the sun.

“What’s going on?” Javier cooed.

“We’ve got sight of the Rodriguez brothers. And Pacho.”

“You’re looking at them right now?”

“Right now.”

“Are you safe? Both of you?”

“Yeah, we’re—we’re fine, they can’t see us.”

“Okay, good.”

“Listen, Javi, we can get in there right now and bust them—”

“No, we can’t,” you said.

“You can’t,” Javier agreed.

“I’m buzzed, and we don’t have enough backup.”

“You don’t have any backup. It’s just the two of you, you can’t do it.”

You exchanged a concerned look with Steve, mentally debating for longer than you cared to admit or even want, but you both agreed Javier was right. It was a suicide mission, and you weren’t really on your best behavior.

“Fine,” you cooed.

“Give me Y/N on the phone.”

Steve passed you the phone and you resentfully took it, placing it to your ear. “He knows words,” you said mockingly, wanting to pinch and sting him however you could.

“You have to get out of there. You’ll tell us the address and we’re gonna check it out tomorrow, but you can’t go in there, drunk, no less—”

“I am not drunk, you moron. I’ve had a couple of beers.”

“So that’s about, what, five?”

And then you got mad.

“Do not talk to me like if you know me better than I know myself, Peña. If you’re resorting to hating me and not talking to me, then do that.”

“Just get out of there. Martinez gave clear instructions and we would prefer to have you both alive.”

“Doesn’t sound like it coming from you.”

You only heard Javier’s ragged breath on the other line and you hung up, fuming. It felt like you had been transported back a year, when all you and Javier could do was snap at each other on the smallest grounds you could find and tear each other apart verbally.

Only this time around, the anger vanished within minutes and it was replaced by sorrow.

Unwilling to dive into the topic but very eager to have another drink, stronger, you gestured to Steve to drive you home, and he obeyed. That was the great and refreshing thing about your dynamic with Steve: he was kind and straightforward, and you could share a laugh—or a sweaty night together with another, apparently—without the fear of what tomorrow would bring to you. Javier, on the other hand, could be easily categorized as being too straightforward at times; and at other times, so quiet that it was nearly out of character. You thought you had become acquainted with him and you truly felt like whatever he felt, you did, but lately, he sent too many mixed messages, too many parallels to however it was that he might’ve been feeling like.

And you were tired of trying to guess and wonder.

When you invited Steve upstairs, he instantly accepted. He seemed deep in thought as well, but perhaps for reasons that were entirely different than yours. Neither one of you said much when you poured whiskey in two glasses, chugging it down with each passing minute and finally entertaining yourselves after yet another long day.

“I tell you what,” Steve giggled, cheeks reddened and words slightly slurred. “I call Connie, like you said—”

“Mhm—”

“And you call Javier.”

You burst out laughing even though that hadn’t been your intention. You wanted to stare disapprovingly, to mock him and to openly bash Javier, but instead, you sat on the floor, legs crossed and alcohol running in your bloodstream like an angry river.

“Right now?” you asked.

“Right now.”

“Oh, Steven… don’t you know drunk calls are terrible?”

“Not when it comes to Javier motherfuckin’ Peña.”

You nodded, toasting with Steve for whatever reason. There needn’t be one, though; it was just about lowering your inhibitions and your walls for a little while with a friend.

“Why are you both so fucking stubborn?”

“I get it from my mom. She, uh—once she was set on something, she went through with it. She didn’t use to care.”

“Is—is she—?”

“Dead? No. I just haven’t spoken much to her since I was sixteen.”

Steve frowned, understanding in his drunkenness that you had reached a sensitive topic that you never willingly shared before. He straightened his position as if to listen to you better and patiently waited for an explanation of any sort.

“She kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen,” you said, gaze fixed somewhere in front of you, staring at nothing and yet seeing everything from that one painful moment you just mentioned. “I told her and my father that… I like boys… and girls as well. I told them I like both. I told them I like… people. Actually I hate people, but—but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“She said she’s not gonna raise a mentally ill child, a broken one. Next time I heard from her was when she called to tell me my father died in a motorcycle crash. And then… a few months later to tell me that my uncle was dead, too. And nothing since then. Over ten years.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’m—I am so sorry.”

You shrugged and poured yourself more whiskey. “It’s in the past.”

There was much more Steve would’ve liked to add, to say, yet he couldn’t find the proper words. Everything he planned thoroughly in his mind would’ve came stupid at that time, so he dropped it and indulged you in drinking more. He nearly gasped when he saw you take out the phone and dial.

“What are you doing?” he asked, half dying of curiosity and half concerned.

“Calling Peña like you told me to. If this gets you to talk to Connie, then so be it.”

“Wait, I didn’t think you’d really—”

“Peña.”

“Oh, you sound grumpy. What’s the matter?”

Javier, on the other line, was entirely stunned. He recognized your drunken voice, but he made nothing of it. He was still awake at that ungodly hour and truth be told, he was uncertain whether you were just entertaining yourself or if there was something wrong.

“Having fun from what I hear,” he remarked.

It was hurting him, distressing him in ways it really shouldn’t have. Just the sound of your voice was awakening something in him that he couldn’t recall ever feeling.

“The stakeout is over. Now it’s just a lot of drinking.”

Javier huffed, getting out of bed. He rubbed his forehead and temples, very tempted to get into the car and drive all the way to you. But he didn’t. He faltered, he questioned himself—and you, subsequently—and chose to sit there dumbfounded, phone in hand.

“Did you need anything or—why the hell did you call?”

His words stung and they come out much harsher than he wanted, but he couldn’t take it back. Not with you. You’d see right through his crap and call him out on it without hesitation and relentlessly.

“Steve kind of needs me to do this.”

“He needs you to call me at… two in the morning?”

“Kind of. He said that if I call you now to talk, then he’ll call Connie. Long story.”

“Okay, then… why did you call me?”

“To talk.”

“I can come over.”

This time, you hesitated. Next to you, Steve was listening to every word of what you and he exchanged, but you paid him no attention. You focused on your breaths instead and thought about every single word that you wanted to get out.

“No,” you replied, slightly taken aback by your own boldness in that state. “Because that would require… eye contact, and… we don’t do that, right?”

Javier gulped.

And you heard it.

“I want to,” he admitted, managing to shock even Steve. “I really want to. But—“

But.

“It’s too complicated.”

“Like hell it is!” Steve whispered angrily and you immediately slapped him over his arm.

“It’s really not. We make it complicated because we don’t wanna risk it all in this war. We don’t wanna have something dear to hold onto that can be easily taken away by those fucking narco traficantes. I feel you. I—”

“I know you do.”

You were left without a smart reply and breaths. All air was confined into one painful spot in your throat, not ventilating properly to your lungs, and you forced yourself to clear your throat in hopes of clearance.

“But I do give a shit about you, Javier,” you admitted as well. “You think this is easy for me, saying these things? It’s not. It’s really fucking not. And… part of me is glad you didn’t look at me for months because… I stared enough for the both of us.”

Javier groans your name, the sound a painful reminder of the good times you’ve shared thinking they meant nothing more but stress relief.

“There’s no point in this call, really. We agreed it’s best to drop the whole thing and—”

“Fuck, I—listen, I—I want to try and make things right and be the kind of person you want to… I don’t fucking know, spend time with, if we have it…”

“Then do something about it!” Steve yelled.

Silence.

On the other line, Javier froze. He realized that you were still with Steve, and he thought back to the entire stakeout, how it must’ve went, how the two of you had to play pretend for hours on end and share drinks and laughter—

And he ached again.

But he knew Steve was not terrible like he is. He knew that if there was any man that would treat you right, it would be him.

So he let it happen. He let those intrusive thoughts slide out of his mind and focused on the job instead.

The job comes first, he said once under your hesitant approval. And this made no exception.

“Don’t call me next time at this fucking hour unless there’s a good reason,” he said and hung up.

He knew he was no good and that he was acting like an asshole. But how else was he supposed to function in that war and with you by his side every single day?

Steve tried to catch your attention, but you cut him off immediately.

“I knew this would happen. Every single fucking time we try to talk… either he loses his shit or I lose mine and we end up fighting. This wasn’t any different. And neither of us will change.”

“You two are the most infuriating people I have ever fucking met. I hate you both.”

You kept on drinking, amusement fading from your system. What the hell were you thinking? Calling Javier Peña in the middle of the night without the prospect of it being a booty call was a lost cause.

“You two boneheads are crazy about each other and in your stupid process of ignoring each other you hurt everyone around you, including yourselves,” he said, taking the almost empty bottle of whiskey from you.

“What do you want me to do?! I have tried and tried and, yes, I am—I might just be crazy for this shitty ass man who won’t even say it in return when it’s clear that this is—this is more for him to. We both… fuck, we both know it’s something more, but this fucking… fear, Steve, it’s—it’s crippling.”

“Well, cut it out already. You’re bumming us all out.”

“Yeah, cause being in love with Javier Peña is an easy task. Like you can just—”

And it clicked.

You stared at Steve with a panicked look on your face like you’d just seen the devil himself. You felt shocked, terrified and eased, all at once. The last time you had even thought about the L word was over a decade ago and truthfully, you didn’t believe you would ever say it again. At least not in that context or not to that degree.

But it was true. It was maddeningly true. It had to be.

You were madly in love with him, in spite of everything, and there was no way around it. The second that word slipped out of your mouth, rolling down your tongue and through your vocal chords, you felt it, too. You felt its meaning, its implications and its overwhelming effect on you.

All because of a goddamn office hookup.

previous | next

300 notes · View notes

danniburgh · 3 years

Text

Rushingly Bittersweet, (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 1.

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel's operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn't seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +2.1k

Series warnings: talks and mentions of misogyny and sexism, cursing, smoking, drinking, eventual sex, cartel shit, watch me make some shit up to fit reader inside the narrative, guns, dea shit, feels, javier actually being a little bit more introspective, just basically me inserting reader into the third season

Chapter warnings: depictions of misogyny and some cursing

A/N: This chapter is set in season three, episode one. // this has been simmering in the back of my head for way too long, i even made a post about it just trying to ease the weight of my thoughts but my mind keeps racing with more things about this exact story, so here goes nothing. THIS GOES ALONG THE CANON OF THE THIRD SEASON kinda (so yeah, spoilers if you haven’t watched it yet), i actually had to watch it to write this because in the end, you’re a fucking DEA agent baby (also please keep in mind that english is not my native language, im really trying for this to be GOOD)

Read on ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

// next→

You knew you chose a difficult job, hell, a difficult career, you knew you had to prove yourself, your worth and your abilities countless times, at this point it wasn’t even that much of a surprise anymore. Every time you encountered another man in the office or in the field, you had to spend an incredible amount of time first proving you were capable and you knew what you were doing before even getting to work.

Yet you got comfortable in your previous destination, you had a team, you had people to trust and trusted you back, they knew you were more than capable, you didn’t have to tell them to listen to you or your ideas, you didn’t have to ask for anyone’s approval. You were just another agent.

But now you had to do it all over again.

“Shit” you growled, trying to unwrinkle your blazer with one hand, the flight down to Colombia hadn’t been at all gentle to you and you were tired and cold. Your feet were sore, your back was killing you, you were fighting the desire to get rid of your suit skirt and run to put some pants on, everybody was lying when they said Colombia was a hot place, the air was chilly, and the dress suit you were wearing barely provided any meaningful heat, and the fact that nobody went to pick you up at the airport made you even more frustrated. You were still pulling around your suitcase because apparently the embassy is such a fucking mess that not even one person told you where you were going to live yet.

You showed your badge to the guards at the doors and they let you in without much of a look. You walked right through the lobby into the elevator, sighing in relief. Thanks America and its air conditioned buildings.

The elevator doors opened and you walked straight inside of the DEA offices, they were small, cramped and dark, great, just how you liked your work spaces.

“Hi” you said, approaching the small front desk, the receptionist looked up at you and smiled, it was the first smile you saw in a while and that made you feel a little less frustrated, you pulled out the badge again and showed it to her “can you please direct me to the office of Javier Peña?” you asked.

The girl tilted her head to the left in confusion.

“Are you agent Martin?” she said with her thick american accent, you put the badge again in the pocket of your dress pants and nodded to her.

“Yes, is he– is he expecting me?”

“Not really, but agent Feistl is,” she said, pointing to a cornered desk almost in the back where a blond man was sitting, he looked up at the sound of his name and you sighed again.

“Oh, yeah, I talked to him on the phone, thank you,” you said, smiling a bit back to her while you walked around the unoccupied desks in the front of the office “Feistl” you said his name once you reached his desk, stretching out your hand to shake his “agent Martín” you said “it’s nice to meet you” he looked at you, frowning, but took your hand nonetheless and shook it.

“Chris Feistl” he said, a little taken aback and another man approached both of you “this is my partner, Daniel Van Ness” the larger man gave you a single nod and you shook his hand again.

“You’re agent Martin?” Van Ness said.

Here we go again.

“My last name is Martín, first name Florencia” you said, accentuating the í in your last name, inhaling the tension around and making it your own, yet another time “I’m guessing you were expecting a man?” you dropped, they looked at each other “don’t worry, it happens everytime” you finished with a small grin.

They remained silent, looking at you, yet another time you let them, although for a single moment you actually wondered if there was something wrong with the way you looked; you gave a glance to yourself on the elevator walls on your way up and aside from your hair being close to look like a mess you were ok, you take another second to try to analyze the men in front of you, the way they were standing, the expression on their faces, they were shocked that was for sure, but also… relieved? and somehow… happy?.

“Is there anywhere I can put this?” you asked, glancing at the suitcase.

“You came here all the way from the airport?” Feistl asked, you nodded.

“Yeah, no one showed up so I just grabbed a cab” Van Ness snorted and you looked at him. He didn’t say anything, “where’s my desk?” you asked again, starting to feel more frustrated but also a bit amused when again they didn’t say a thing, “you did get the memo that you’d be getting a new person today, right?” you questioned in a huff, a bit louder, looking at them in utter disbelief. Fucking embassy, fucking DEA.

“Is agent Martin here?” you heard your name being called from behind you, the men in front of you just widened their eyes and looked at you.

“That would be me” you announced, turning around, seeing a tall, tanned skin, sweaty man approaching you, “and you must be Javier Peña” you said, allowing yourself to be more assured, stretching your hand again.

“You are agent Martin” he said, making it sound half like a question, half an assertion, looking at you up and down, he put his hands on his hips, not bothering to take your hand.

“Florencia Martín, yes sir” you dropped down your hand and pronounced your last name again, trying to get american people to pronounce your name was hard, and you hoped at least Javier Peña would understand it, yet he said it wrong. He just stood there and you glanced at him discreetly, he, differently from the men behind you, was a walking ball of frustration, you sympathized and tried to read his posture. He was trying to be cocky but his try died in his eyes, he was shocked, surprised and not at all entertained.

“No wonder why I couldn’t find you in the airport” he growled.

“You were also expecting a man” you affirmed, this time, a small hint of disappointment grew inside your stomach “don’t worry, it happens all the time” you repeated roughly. You turned around to your new partners, not caring and ignoring the look your new boss was giving you “my desk?”

Van Ness pointed a small cubicle behind his and Feislt’s big desks, you suppressed a sigh and walked towards the space, still pulling your fucking suitcase, feeling the looks of three men in your back. You were used to this, you had done it countless times, and you knew you weren’t the only woman that has gone through this. But after spending the time you spent in one single place, with the same people, doing the same thing, after having an amazing partner that had believed in you since the day you almost punched the shit out of him on the academy, after having your own office to work with him, after having faced many masculine faces disapproving you being in the same rooms as them while chasing bad guys, after receiving thousands of condescending looks when you said anything, and yet being capable of raise everybody’s expectations, starting it all over again not only sounded hard, it also sounded exhausting.

Javier couldn’t believe his fucking luck when he looked at you. He certainly was expecting a man, Washington only told him so much and he assumed what everyone did when they heard your last name, in the end it was a masculine name. For some reason he felt guilty when you told him you always get that reaction.

He tried to examine you, ever the analyzer, but he got nothing, not from the way you were still standing in front of the ridiculously small cubicle, tapping your foot against the carpeted floor, or the way you kept putting a thin strand of hair behind your ear and it kept falling in front of your right cheekbone, nothing from the way you reached for the manila folder that was waiting to be picked up or the way your fingers moved around the pages. You seemed unreadable to him and he didn’t like that. Not one bit.

You turned around when you felt his stare, he was still just standing there, looking at you.

“Is this really everything I have to be briefed on?” you questioned him lifting the folder in your left hand. He nodded and turned to the right to walk to his office “well fuck that” you murmured under your breath. You heard Van Ness snorting again and looked at him giving you a small smile, maybe you didn’t say that as quietly as you wanted, you gave him half a grin and he shook his head.

You took off your blazer and sat on the incredibly uncomfortable chair.

“Shit” you whispered again.

“Fuck” Javier said under his breath, loosening his tie and crashing into his chair. He rubbed his eyes with the ball of his hands and sighed. What the fuck did the people at Washington think. He was after a whole fucking cartel, he didn’t have his trusted partner this time, he was alone and he had to lead a team to do that, he had just lost two agents after they were stupid and reckless going around Cali and they dared to send down one random chick in some sort of replacement that for some reason seemed just so small and frail to him.

He was pretty sure you weren’t due to the fact that you were a DEA agent, but when he looked at you the only thing he could notice was the way your eyes were dimmed, maybe due to the fluorescent lights or the fact that you had flown who-knows how many hours to be there, or the way your hands seemed way too delicate to even handle a gun, or how your body looked breakable to the touch.

He didn’t like the way his mind was forming his thoughts about you, it wasn’t right to think that way of a woman- no, a person- no, an agent he had just met, he just knew it was the macho part in him that saw you that way. He knew that if Washington had sent you all the way down to a god forsaken country fighting an unfair war, you had to be capable to endure it.

Javier scratched his stubble and reached for the thinest folder he had on his desk, it was your file. He grinned when he opened it, unbelieving of the almost non existent amount of information it had about you. It did have your full name, though, so, mistaking you for a guy was indeed his fault, just because he didn’t read the file before.

He browsed through the last locations you had been sent to and raised his eyebrows when he saw the amount of time you’d spent in the last place. No wonder why you were being so reluctant about everything you saw and how you were being treated. He remembered how he felt when he was a newcomer and he remembered what he had to go through with Steve when he first came to the country, it was awful, and even without the language barrier, as your file said you did speak spanish, he assumed you must feel like an outcast. It was never easy, arriving at a place where everything seemed like it belonged there but you.

Javier closed the file and threw it back to the pile of manila folders in front of him. He did have his doubts about you, and surely he was wondering why he had only been sent that joke of a file and nothing else, and he didn’t want to make your stay in Colombia or at the embassy a living hell, but he did want to see what you were able to do, he couldn’t wait for you to show him what you had in you.

That last thought sent him for a bit through a deliciously nasty tangent, and he had to bring himself back to the initial train of thought: you.

You were now his. No– you were now in his team. He was now your boss. He couldn’t think of you in any other way even if sometimes it couldn’t be avoided.

Javier rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, wondering what were you working on before arriving, trying to think what was happening in México that made you stay that long.

And a question was forming in his head… What the hell did you do to be sent to Colombia?

// next→

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña fanfic #javier pena fanfic #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #rushingly bittersweet tag

229 notes · View notes