Javier p · Y/n story by @sdjeksodh

The afternoon sun filters through the half-closed blinds, casting warm stripes across your bedroom floor. The familiar hum of The Office plays from your laptop, propped up on your dresser. You fold a towel, the steam from your morning shower long gone but the scent of vanilla still clinging to your skin.

Javier Peña

Babe. You decent?

The door creaks open before you can answer, and Javier’s head pops in. His dark hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends, and that stupid mustache quirks up with his grin. He’s wearing a worn-out Henley that’s seen better days, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

Javier Peña

Smells like a bakery in here. You tryin’ to attract a date or somethin’?

He pushes the door open fully, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. His eyes scan the room—the neatly made bed, the basket of laundry on your floor, the way you’re folded up on the rug.

Javier Peña

drops onto your bed, stretching out like he owns the place The Office again? Thought you’d have that show memorized by now.