#javier pena x oc
Text
practical magic. | javier peña x ofc
Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?
There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:
Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.
Words: 12k
Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book
A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3
reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
also on AO3 - masterlist
He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.
Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.
And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.
But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.
Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—
“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.
“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”
“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.
“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”
Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.
So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.
Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.
“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”
“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”
“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”
“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”
“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”
“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”
Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?
Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.
There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.
It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.
Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.
He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.
She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.
“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.
But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.
It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.
“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.
He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.
He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.
He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.
He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.
Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.
Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.
He never regretted it.
He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.
Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.
I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.
Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.
“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.
Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.
“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”
She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.
“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.
He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.
“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”
“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.
“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.
“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.
“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.
He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.
And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.
Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.
“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”
“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.
“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.
“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.
“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”
“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”
“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.
“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.
“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.
Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.
“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”
She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.
“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.
“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.
“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”
“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.
“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”
“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.
Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.
“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”
“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”
Helena felt like she was losing her mind.
The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.
The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.
And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.
Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.
And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.
“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”
“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”
“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.
She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.
Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.
Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.
She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.
Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.
“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”
“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”
He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.
“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.
“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.
“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.
“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.
“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.
“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.
“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.
“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.
He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.
“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”
“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.
“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”
He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.
“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”
Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.
“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”
It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.
“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”
She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.
She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?
She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.
Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.
But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.
And it’s all because of him.
“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”
“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”
“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”
“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.
“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.
Your letter, he almost said. You.
“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”
“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.
“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”
“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”
“He’s not here, no.”
“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.
“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.
“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”
He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.
She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.
“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”
“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”
“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”
“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”
“I never asked you to, I never—”
“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”
“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”
Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.
“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”
“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”
“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”
“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.
“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.
“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”
“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”
They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.
If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.
Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.
“You want a confession?”
In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.
“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.
“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”
“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.
“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.
“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”
“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.
“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”
“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.
“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”
“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”
“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.
Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.
And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.
But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—
Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.
She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—
“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”
He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.
He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.
He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.
“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?
He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.
And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.
Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.
What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.
“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.
Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.
“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”
There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.
“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”
“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”
“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”
“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”
He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.
“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.
“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”
“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”
“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.
For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.
Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.
She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.
So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.
“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”
Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.
“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.
“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.
“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.
“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”
“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.
“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.
“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”
It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.
“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”
“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.
“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”
Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.
But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.
“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”
“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”
“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.
“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”
As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.
“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”
“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.
“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”
“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.
“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.
Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.
“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.
“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”
“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”
Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.
The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.
He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.
Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.
“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”
“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.
“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”
“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”
Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”
“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”
“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”
“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”
“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”
Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.
“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.
“I know why—”
“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”
“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”
“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”
“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.
“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.
“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”
Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.
But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.
Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.
She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.
James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.
Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.
“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”
For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.
And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?
“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.
“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”
All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.
“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”
“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.
“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”
“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.
“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”
“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.
“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”
She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.
Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?
There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:
Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.
#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña x ofc#javier peña x oc#javier peña x original female character#javier peña x reader#javier peña imagine#javier peña fic#javier peña#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x fem!reader#javier peña x you#javier peña fanfic#javier pena fanfiction#pedrostories#javier pena x ofc#javier pena x oc#javier pena x original female character#practical magic#redahlia
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javier peña. | NARCOS.
go back to bed.
accident.
#javier peña#javier pena fanfic#javier pena angst#javier pena one shot#javier pena smut#javier peña x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena imagine#javier pena fic#javier pena narcos#jack daniels#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#javier pena fluff#javier pena x oc#javier pena masterlist#narcos smut#narcos fanfiction#narcos#narcos masterlist#pyl: javier peña masterlist#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal one shot#promising young lady : enid writes📝
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Kiss In Stitches
Summary; Javier Peña x Fe!Reader/OC (Agent Jackson) -> Turns out, Javi is scared of hospitals so you distract him in the only way you can think of at the time, but it comes back to haunt you.
Disclaimer: Doesn't really follow Narcos, techincally. Fluff, angst, not proof read. Mentions of death in hospitals etc.
You had met Agent Peña during a field opp. It had been you - working for Interpol - and Murphy until Peña finally arrived back to the DEA and you all made your way into the apartment block.
With the drug trade growing, Interpol got more and more concerned. That was when they sent you. You were one of the best agents to graduate from your academy year. No-one had marksman ship like you. They also didn’t know as many languages as you, either.
Both of your parents were diplomats. Your mother had the higher authority so you spent more time at home with your dad - who had taught you to speak Italian, Spanish, Russian and French.
It had been a rocky start; Peña not being told you existed was the main thing.
“Who’s she?”
“She has a name.” You voiced before Murphy could introduce you both.
“Javi, meet Agent Jackson. Interpol.”
“Interpol?” Peña questioned before looking to you. “I wasn’t aware-”
“Clearly. Shall we?”
By the time you both got back to the Embassy, you and Peña had gotten onto better terms. Mostly because he’d saved your life. As one sacario shot at you and you shot back, one appeared behind you. If Peña hadn’t gotten there first, you’d probably (definitely) be dead.
It had been a quick turn around and before you knew it, you found yourself permenatly partnered with Peña and Murphy. You became a good trio. It was also nice to learn that Steve had a wife. Connie.
You both got on like a house on fire. And, with your sister back in Europe helping at the hospitals, you had 24hr access to medical knowledge - especially when it came to children.
Your sister had trained, originally, as a general surgeon before she decided to retrain almost 10 years ago to be a midwife and help mothers and their children. Most of your medical knowledge came from your sister because, during the time of her exams, she didn’t have anyone else to help her revise and study. So, you became a sound board.
It just helped that you listened.
This was how you knew, during a raid, that Peña needed stitches. Several to be exact.
“What?”
He seemed a little panicked as you helped him stand and both looked down to the scar in his leg.
“Murphy!” You yelled, and two seconds later, the blond came round the corner.
“Yeah? Oh.”
“Medic’s are still 20 minutes out. I can get him to the hospital in 10. Mind holding down the fort, here?”
Murphy nodded. “Sure.”
“I don’t need a hospital.”
You scoffed and titled your head for a second as if to say Come on, Peña. “We both know that isn’t true.”
Grabbing him by the upper arm, you secured your gun away before dragging Peña out of the building, down the stairs and towards your car.
“Honestly, I’m fine. I can wait for the medics-”
“Shut up.”
By the time you arrived to the hospital and basically had to drag Peña all the way inside to the point where he wouldn’t even sit down on the bed once they found him a room, so you had to place both your hands on his shoulders, walk him backwards til his legs hit the bed and sit him down.
“They’ll fix you up in no time.”
“I didn’t-”
“If you say you didn’t need to come, I will personally shoot you myself.” You warned.
It was over the next 10 minutes that you saw Peña’s emotions.
You had sat down on one of the chairs and for at least 8 of those minutes, Peña had been picking his finger nails, bouncing his leg, flattening his ‘tash over and over, running a hand at the back of his neck and through his hair.
“Penn-ya?” You sounded out, getting his attention.
This was a man who was on the hunt for Escobar. A man who you had been shoot down plenty of sacarios, risk his life every single day doing a job that he loves and yet…
He’s scared of, what? A hospital?
“Are you-”
But you didn’t get to ask, “Are you nervous?” because a moment later, the door opened up and in walked the doctor ready to complete his stitches.
You watched as Peña tried to remain calm throughout it all. Every now and again, he’d swear under his breath. Even though they’d given him some pain-killers, he wanted back on the job.
More so, he wanted out of the hospital.
But as it was getting down to the final few sitiches, the pain seemed to be getting worse.
And so was Peña.
His nerves were sky rocketing because he didn’t want to look at his wound being sown up right before his eyes, but he also didn’t want to see around the hospital.
So standing by his side, you got him to focus on you rather than the pain and the white-washed, bleach smelling walls.
And that was when you did what even you least expected.
You kissed him.
It was…a surprise to say the least. The doctor paid no attention, finishing up Peña’s stitches whilst his body was completely still. The kiss, although lasted, still felt (oddly) too short.
hankfully, by the time you pulled away, the doctor had finished and was writing Peña a perscription for some pain killers.
“These should disolve, but if there are any signs of infection, come straight back.”
Peña, after a moment (having to tear his eyes from yours), nodded and stood up.
“It will be sore for a few days, so I say rest. I understand your job isn’t exactly the most ideal, but try where you can.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Peña signed himself out and it was awkward silence all the way to the car. But he broke it.
“Thanks, by the way. For the…kiss. I was nervous, that was why you did it, right?” God, he’d never been this awkward around a woman. It was like he was going bright red from just the word kiss. What was he? A teenager?
“It was the only way I could think about taking your mind off it.” You answered as you walked around to the driver’s seat. “Why…why do you not like hospitals? You attend med school and, what? Faint in the reception?”
In all honesty, you did want to know. But now it was also to deflect from the kiss.
Peña gave a small laugh as he lifted himself into the car and shut the door. “I don’t know…I’ve just never…They’re never a good place. They help people, but anyone I’ve met who’s gone in…9 times out of 10, they didn’t come back out.”
“So? What? You’ve never been in one since?”
Peña smirked. “Welll, if i got kissed every time I went, I’d be sure to turn up more often.”
Your smile back turned into a laugh that both of you shared. So, good, you both thought it was something to laugh about.
But…one question remained.
Why didn’t it feel like that? And why did you (both) want to to happen again?
Okay, maybe two questions.
The weeks that followed, everything seemed to go back to normal. Or, at least, what you both thought was normal.
But, no.
Murphy knew different. Everyone did.
When asked by Connie, Steve couldn’t exactly pin-point it. It was just…something. Like, the way you’d look at Peña when he wasn’t looking, or the way he’d look at you when you weren’t. Or it was in the way, when left alone in a room together, Murphy could walk back in and he could cut through the tention.
But it wasn’t hatred.
Neither of you yelled at the other. Neither of you looked like you were ready to shoot the other given the chance.
It was just, plain awkwardness.
“Maybe the like each other?” Connie suggested. “I mean, if I didn’t know them, part of me would think maybe.”
“But…it’s Peña and Jackson. They work well together, but…romantically. I- I just can’t see it, Connie.”
“Well, have you thought about asking one of them. Maybe they might tell you. Ask Peña. If anyone is going to cough it up, it’ll be him.”
Connie was right.
Peña was a good cop and, every now and then, he could get away with a lie. But you were something else entirally.
In all honesty, no-one really knew much about you other than the information you had given up - even then it wasn’t out right. They’d have to pay close attention.
Or read what they could of your file.
They knew nothing of your childhood other than you moved around a lot, you had one sister (but you could have more siblings for all they knew), you trained in the academy when you were 20 having early admission since you graduated University early. But that was about it.
They knew nothing other than what could be infered from a file.
And they’d asked a couple of questions over the last few months - like your coffee order. But you wouldn’t even tell them that. You’d just stand and go and get the coffee’s yourself and since it was in a to-go cup - like the rest of their’s - they didn’t know what you drank. Creame? Sugar?...salt? Who knows.
You also would disappear at least twice a week at lunch. At one point, they had decided to follow you but they’d lost you after twenty seconds. You were quick and light on your feet.
This was why you were the best in your class.
They had offered you the opportunity to work for the Secret Service at one point but you had turned the job down. Plus, with Interpol, you got to travel.
Even if they weren’t the happiest of ‘holiday’s’.
But all of this changed when Murphy out right asked Peña one day, what was going on between him and yourself.
Of course, he denied everything. Nothing was wrong. Everything was normal.
So, Steve brought in Connie.
Within ten minutes, Connie had it out of Peña about what happened.
“So, she kissed you…then what?”
“We left the hospital and…that was it.”
“And you haven’t talk about it.” Connie could already tell.
“I guess. We joked about it but then we went back to work.”
“And how has it been since?”
Connie leaned back in his husband’s desk chair.
“Normal.”
“You keep saying that Javi, but you keep watching the door waiting for her to come around the corner. Have you thought about telling her how you feel?”
Javi laughed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you told her that you like her.”
“I don’t like her.” Javi denied.
It was now Connie’s turn to laugh. “Javi, please. I know a love-sick man when I see him.”
“I like her just fine, it’s just…”
“What?Javi, you can say you’re scared. Look,” Connie stood up and flattened the collar of his shirt. “Just talk to her. You might find she feels the same way. Why else would she have kissed you? She could have slapped you instead, but she didn’t. Just think about it.”
After that, he did.
And it wouldn’t leave his head.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to do it again. Because he did. So much. But you were- are a co-worker. There had to be rules around a cop dating a cop. Especially in the DEA.
Nevertheless, it still played on his mind. Day in, day out. If he even looked in your general direction, he was always fearful if you could hear what he was thinking.
Yet, it wasn’t until two weeks later, in the file room, did he try and talk about it.
You had gone in there and shut the door behind you. No-one really came in the room hours after lunch so you had the small cupboard all to yourself, until Javi entered.
“Hey,” he looked flustered.
Nervous.
“Can we talk?”
“About what?” you asked, looking back to the file. But that was short lived as he walked over and placed a hand to push to file down from your face. He needed you to look at him.
“We need to talk about it. The kiss. Why did you kiss me?”
“Jav- Peña. Look, I’m sorry it happened okay-”
“I’m not.”
“But you were shaking like a leaf and- what?”
“I’m not.” Peña repeated. “I’m not sorry it happened. I-I don’t know what else to say. I’m just…I’m not sorry it happened and I’d by lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it and-”
“Javi, please. We…we can’t do this.” It felt like the walls were closing in on you. You could smell his colounge and it was intoxicating.
“Please, hermosa.” The nickname rolled off his tough effortlessly. Like the name had always belonged to you. “Why did you…do you want it to happen again?”
His voice is soft and you can hear youself screaming, yes! but…something stops you.
Nerves.
“I…I can’t.”
With that, you left. All you wanted to do was run out of the building but the moment you left, Murphy slammed down his phone.
“Where’s Peña?”
Then he appeared by your side. “Grab your vests.”
A building of sacarios. Three of which were Escobar’s right-hand men. His most trusted.
Get one…get them all.
The sky above was growing darker by the hour and, although the temperature had dropped, it was still warm outside.
And Peña had been watching your every move.
He knew you…to an extent. He knew you well enough to know that you would say “no,” if you didn’t want it to happen. He knew, or maybe he hoped, there was still a part of you, no matter how small, wanted exactly what he wanted.
For it to happen again.
“Jackson!”
He approached the back of your car as you strapped on your vest. You tried to run, but you didn’t get very far.
“Please, can we just talk-”
“No, Javi. I…I can’t do this right now.”
Peña stopped in his tracks, watching you walk down the hill. In truth, you were maybe 6ft in front of him.
“Why did you kiss me?”
You slowed to a stop.
“You could have slapped me, punched me, shot me in the leg for all I cared. But you kissed me. Why?”
He slowly walked closer to you and before you knew it, you had turned to face him.
“Why, hermosa? Why?”
“I don’t know, okay! I don’t know. It was the only thing I could think of at the time.”
“And about what I asked you before?”
“I can’t…Javi. I…”
“Who says?”
It took you a moment. “I do. I…I can’t do this with you, Javi.”
“Why?”
He probably sounded desperate, and he was. He needed to know why before he walked away.
“I just…”
When you didn’t say anything else, Javi held your head in his hand, cupping your cheeks before pulling you closer. The grip was lose enough for you to push him away if you wanted to but when you began to kiss back and pulled yourself closer, his grip became more secure.
When he went to break the kiss, a small noise escaped your lips to which he chuckled and kissed you again.
It was…intoxicating. Addictive.
“Tell me you feel the same.”
“And that didn’t prove it?” You breathed.
Javi chuckled, holding your head against his. His hand lay at the back of your neck, holding you in place. “I need words, hermosa.”
You smiled. “I feel the same.”
#Javier Pena x reader#Narcos#pedro pascal#javi pena#pena x you#javier pena x you#javier peña#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena oneshot#fluff#angst#kissing#hospitals#steve murphy#javier pena x oc#javier pena x fe!oc#javier pena x female reader#javier pena x female oc#love#tell me you feel the same#spanish#rejection but happy ending#feelings!#pedro pascal characters#javier pena imagine#reader as oc#oc is reader
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wish you were here.
chapter five - fade into you | ao3 link | previous chapter
pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella)
rating: t (teen)
tags/warnings: angst, brief mention of infidelity, alcohol
word count: 2.1k
summary: Mariella and Javier continue to feel their way through a friendship.
a/n: sorry this is taking me so long to write. love you
A tattered floral scrapbook of Mariella’s sits, face up, on the table. She stands in the corner of her kitchen, looking at it as though it has wronged her in some way. And in some ways, it has.
In one hand she holds a glass of water and in the other, her telephone. Henry Rath’s number has been typed in, and her fingers hesitate to dial it. The trip down memory lane has proved to be a bitter one. So much of her life had been documented in that scrapbook, from graduations to weddings to the first house, to the very last birthdays she and Henry would spend as a couple together. It was hard to ignore him when he was all there—a little piece of him merged forever with a little piece of her.
She knew it wasn’t fair, what she did to him. Or rather, what she’s doing to him. In the past three months, he’s left a handful of voicemails she’s deleted before even finishing. She screens most of her calls, just on the offhand chance that it might be him, and each time it makes her feel wrong. At first, it started off with good intention—she wanted to leave him alone, to let him go back to his life. But eventually, the more she thought about what they had done, the more ignoring him became less altruistic. Every time she hears the phone ring, she thinks of him in that hotel room and that little girl that hung on his hip, and she wants as far from it as possible.
She places the telephone back in its cradle. The excuses are endless: it is Tuesday and she works tomorrow, so she shouldn’t start something she doesn’t know she can’t stop; he probably isn’t home from work yet; he’s likely forgotten about it and to call and remind him now would be cruel; his wife could pick up; closure isn’t the sort of thing either of them are particularly good at.
Mariella picks up the telephone again. She waits patiently as it rings.
“Hello?” Chucho answers.
She leans back onto the counter, swirling the water in her cup. “Hey, Chucho. I was wondering if Javi’s home.”
“Javi?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, Javi. I never thanked him for helping me with my classroom last month and I’d like to.”
There’s a beat of silence before Chucho speaks again. “Javi’s always home, just never know where,” the man laughs. “Would it be alright if I had him call you back? I gotta go find him.”
Mariella glances over at the scrapbook on the table. “That’d be lovely, Chucho. Thank you.”
When he hangs up, she moves over and closes the book shut. If she wasn’t so goddamn sentimental, she might throw the whole thing away but she is, so she can’t. Instead she tucks it away in the cupboards over her oven, where she’s stored a lone bottle of tequila for about two years now, and then she sits back, waiting. The phone rings a few moments later and she doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “Hello,” she picks up.
“Mariella?” Javier asks. His voice is low, almost a whisper.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I wanted to thank you for the classroom. I’ve been using it for about a week now, and it looks wonderful.”
On the other end, she can hear him shift with the phone. “It was no problem,” he replies softly. Then, after a pause, he says, “How are you, Mari?”
“I’m good, Javier.”
“That’s, uh, that’s good.”
“How about you?”
More movement. “I’m good too.”
“My dad says he hasn’t seen you in the movie store as of late,” she says. Javier coughs awkwardly.
“No? I guess I’ve just been busy.”
“Busy avoiding me? ‘Cause if so, I assure you that’s a safe zone. I don’t work there during the school year, remember?” It’s meant to come out teasing, but, at the current moment, she lacks the exact humor needed to pull off the weight of that sentence. She punctuates it with a laugh that is more of a huff than anything.
He protests. “I—That’s not why.”
“No?” she asks simply.
“No, not really. There’s just been a lot to do around here. We got new horses. There’s a fence that needs to be built. Chucho just needs me more than the television does.” He attempts to laugh, but it sounds forced. She doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Think you could spare an hour or two to go get dinner with me?”
“You want to get dinner?” he sounds in disbelief.
She can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. One of my new student’s parents owns the bar downtown. They gave me two coupons for a free dinner.”
“Oh,” he replies. “Well, I’ll have to get cleaned up. Can you wait?”
“Sure.”
“Alright. I’ll meet you there at, uh—“ Another pause, “—how about seven?”
“Sounds good.”
“Alright, see you then,” he replies.
“Yeah, bye,” she adds awkwardly, hanging up.
Slumping her shoulders, she lets out a deep sigh. Why must everything feel so fucking hard lately?
—-
“Thought you didn’t go to bars,” Javier says, bringing his beer to his mouth. He’s teasing, she can tell: that slanted brow, the pursued lips working hard not to press into a comely grin. She takes a sip of her own drink, and shrugs her shoulders.
“I don’t,” she hums in response.
The dinner crowd at the bar is surprisingly large, but conversation is easy to have. It’s nicer, really, in a place like this - too busy to have to worry if the table next to you is listening in. Not that she and Javier have ventured to any topics unsafe for public consumption. They’ve been good, drinking their beers, making small talk the way one might with a friend they’ve grown apart with. It’s got an intimate air to it, but it’s stilted for a strange, heartbreaking reason.
They don’t talk about all that happened weeks ago, or why they’re sitting here now. Mariella doesn’t mind, really. This is the thing she enjoys about Javier, what she has seen in him since the beginning: he isn’t interested in brewing in the past. If she were a better woman, this might worry her, but luckily enough she isn’t. She understands all too well the temptation to look forward and never backward.
The beer is making her feel warm and pleasantly buzzed. In the corner, there is a jukebox playing soft country songs and some people are dancing slowly in the middle. She and Javi watch them curiously, resting back in their chairs.
“How’s the teaching going?” He looks back over at her.
“It’s going well. The kid’s are as brilliant and witty as ever,” she smiles softly. “How’s the farm?”
Javier shrugs his shoulders. “It’s work. For the first time in months, I’m finally getting a full night’s rest, though, so I won’t complain too much.”
“I’ve always loved that piece of land,” Mariella says, looking back at the dancing patrons. “Miles upon miles of greenery. And the horses! I love driving up and watching them run.”
This makes Javier smile. “Chucho is proud of it and he should be, I suppose. I certainly appreciate it more now than I used to. In Colombia, it was like that—beautiful, I mean. And so green. Standing out in the fields sometimes reminds me of being back there.”
“Do you miss it?” she asks, before she finds the sense to know better.
Javier’s eyes rake over the crowd, too. He watches a young couple in the corner for a bit, smiling as the boy’s hand gradually works its way lower on the girl’s back. Before he touches her ass, Javi looks back to Mariella, his smile faint but present. “Sometimes,” he answers.
“I’d love to go someday.”
“You should,” he encourages. “It’s magnificent, really, unlike anything else. That shit they say in the news—it’s true, but not nearly that bad. Not for regular people with clean hands.”
Mariella shakes her head. “Just when I thought you had me sold, you had and go say that.”
“What, your hands dirty?” he narrows his eyes.
She holds her palms out. “Red,” she nods, though they aren’t. He breathes out a quiet laugh.
“I think you’d be alright—but go to Mexico first.”
“You sound like my mother,” she laughs too.
Looking over at Javi, Mariella debates whether to ask him if he wants to dance or not. The beer has made her feel a little more relaxed, but she’s not without her reason. She remembers the first day they met - really met - and how he said he didn’t know how to dance anymore. She also remembers the kitchen, and the incident that has driven them apart for a month.
Before she’s given the chance, a woman stops in front of the table. She’s pretty — big blue eyes, an endearing grin — the kind of woman for whom the country accent was made to be spoken by. “Javi,” she says, someplace between shocked and amazed.
Mariella feels bad at first, thinking this is going to be another one of those small town run-ins he hates, but when she looks over at him, she can tell it’s not. Something softer takes hold of him, something almost tender. Mariella feels almost like an intruder as he says, “Hey, Lorraine.”
Lorraine’s eyes meet Mariella’s, and then go back to Javi’s. Javi understands. “Mariella, this is Lorraine. She’s my—“
“His old friend,” she finishes for him, extending her hand for Mariella to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve known about you for years. You’re all your Daddy talks about on Sundays sometimes.”
Lorraine can’t be much older than she is—maybe five or six years—and yet she seems so much more mature. She looks like what Mariella feels she’s been trying to attain her whole life: this perfect, well-rounded, soft-spoken girl who says words like ‘Daddy’ and manages not only to sound sincere, but sweet.
Mariella shakes her head and smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
Lorraine glances over her shoulder, holding her finger up to a man standing by the entrance. “My husband,” she supplies, looking back at them both. “Listen, I better get going but I just wanted to say it’s nice to see you out and about, Javi. A lot of people here missed you.” Lorraine looks over to Mariella. “And really, it’s lovely to meet you, Mariella. I wish I had more time to sit and chat, because so many people have been telling us about your school. I’ve got a little one about school going age, and I’d love to put her in it.”
“Oh,” Mariella says, “Well, I can give you my number if you’d like.”
“Could you?” Lorraine smiles. “Oh, that’d be lovely.”
Mariella reaches into her purse and rummages around for a pen. When she finds it, she takes one of the napkins from the table and quickly jots down her information. “I wrote down my home number and the school’s. I wouldn’t mind answering any questions you have, but if you’re interested in enrollment information, the office number will be most helpful.”
Lorraine nods. Her hair bounces with her head, and Mariella can’t help but feel like she’s encountered a real life Barbie of sorts. She can imagine that she and Javier must’ve been real good friends, but it doesn’t do anything more than amuse her.
“Bye, Javi,” Lorraine says, throwing up a hand. She pats Mariella on the shoulder on the way out, “Thank you again,” she says softly.
Mariella rushes out an “Oh, you’re welcome” and Javier offers a wordless smile. They both watch her return to her husband, but Mariella returns her eyes to Javier long before he does to her. She watches the way a frown takes over his lips.
Javier brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly shaking the encounter off. The tenderness is replaced by whatever was there before. It’s no less kind, but certainly not as intense.
“She was my fiancée, once upon a time,” he explains. Mariella wouldn’t have asked, but she’s happy he’s willing to give her that information freely. She nods her head, not saying anything in reply.
Her eyes return to the crowd, and they both settle into an introspective silence. Mariella forgets she ever wanted to ask him to dance in the first place. For a little bit, she even forgets her own troubles, too.
She didn’t entirely know why she had called for Javier like she had earlier. He’d been on her mind, sure, but no more than Henry. In fact, a lot less than Henry. Something inside of her had told her to do it, so she had. She’s happy she did, now.
Misery loves company they say, and she thinks she might’ve found herself a companion in one Javier Peña.
#javier pena x reader#javier pena#javier pena x you#javier pena x female oc#javier pena x oc#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#javier peña x female oc#javier peña x oc#javier peña#javier pena fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal character#narcos fanfiction#narcos fic
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Exile 4. Weakness
Summary: After Steve Murphy's unforgivable death in the never-ending fight against Pablo Escobar, Javier Peña finds himself stuck with a new partner. A girl that they brought from Miami. Smart, devastating, strong. Nothing he would have thought her to be. Their rivalry builds up to something intense, destructive.
CW: canon violence, mentions of death, smoking and drinking, language, bullshitting my way through the Narcos plot, no y/n (3rd person), no physical and racial descriptions of the girl, eventual smut. 2000 words.
Divider by @cafekitsune
Masterlist for exile
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The next morning isn’t remotely pleasant. They’re both cranky and tired. Thankfully, the week is almost over.
“Had fun last night?” Javier asks as he parks at work. “You were loud.”
She thought she should lie. But she doesn’t. Maybe she’d finally get on Javi’s good side if she was honest.
“I didn’t. Poor guy could barely find the clitoris. I had to do all the work.”
He turns to her, intense eyes studying her through his ridiculous sunglasses. He drinks the sight of her in. Even when tired, she’s beautiful.
“Maybe you need a man who knows what he’s doing?”
“Please enlighten me, Agent Peña. Where should I find such an extraordinary and rare thing?” She rolls her eyes.
Javier wants to say he’s right there. He knows what he’s doing. He swallows and she watches the bob of his prominent Adam’s apple. She’s trying to forget what she thought about yesterday while she was trying to get off.
“That’s what I thought.” She sighs. “Look… I’m sorry for everything, last night. I won’t talk about it anymore.”
She takes his nod as acceptance. And they both go to work. Nate lingers around her desk and tries to make small talk while she fills out a report.
“Listen, boy, she’s not interested and she’s busy. Fuck off.”
The blond guy stares at him, before disappearing, almost running under Javier’s menacing gaze. She looks up from her paper. She didn’t expect her unpleasant coworker to defend her. But she knows better than to thank him.
“He probably thought this was something more... But I don’t want bad sex again.”
“Lesson two, don’t fuck your coworkers.” Javier winks and she gives him the middle finger.
She hears something unexpected. A low chuckle coming from Javier’s mouth. She can’t help but smile herself. The line is blurring between hating and liking him.
The last workdays before the weekend are uneventful. She takes a break from her coworker on the weekend and stays inside. She didn’t even want to see his face. He made her first week of work even more tiring than necessary. She calls her parents to reassure them, but that’s the most effort she did on the weekend.
The start of the following week is also slow. After the last incident, everything went quiet again. Until they have a new lead. One of Javier’s contacts said he had a sight on Gustavo, Pablo’s cousin, for a few weeks.
Every Thursday he would go to a crappy motel and meet up with the same girl, his mistress. It would be so easy to wait for him there and take him in. So, his contact joins them at a café – where she meets his contact, Carrillo. A policeman with a square face and a harsh expression.
“New recruit?” He asks as he shakes her hand.
“Yes, nice to meet you sir.” Her grasp is firm, and the man looks impressed. She doesn’t like that he talks to Javier like she’s not right there.
They plan everything with the help of the Columbian police. It gave them a good shot at getting him.
The mistress is tied and gagged expertly. She didn’t put up a fight, she was scared. They’re waiting for him inside. Javier, his new partner, and Carrillo. Police and DEA were waiting behind the building in case anything went bad.
Gustavo doesn’t resist his arrest. They bring him somewhere dark, somewhere she didn’t know about. Javier was watching his partner closely. Watching how she would react.
“Just stand by for the interrogation. It’s gonna get a bit brutal.” He whispers only for her to hear.
“I can stand it.”
Carrillo starts roughing him up immediately, punching Gustavo straight in the face. She can hear bones breaking, which makes her cringe. Javier stands in front of Escobar’s cousin.
“Dinos dónde está Pablo. (Tell us where Pablo is.)” The DEA agent orders calmly.
But Gustavo laughs, even though blood is pouring from his mouth. Javier grabs him roughly by the shirt, the chair he’s tied to moving with him.
“No me estoy riendo. (I’m not laughing)” Groans Javier and Carrillo punches him again. More blood comes out.
She has her firearm out; in case anything goes bad. Her hand is shaking slightly. They try everything. Promise immunity, get him a visa. But he’s too loyal. The only thing they can do is… get rid of him. The threat doesn’t scare him. Carrillo’s men go for it, and Javier stands back to watch.
She can’t keep her eyes away from the gorefest. After a few punches, his face is a mass of blood, front teeth gone. He still won’t talk. So, they shoot him. Carrillo will take care of the rest.
She feels her stomach protesting at the sight, and she leaves the space they’re in to get some air. Javier gives Carrillo a courteous nod, before he follows her. She bends down and empties her stomach until there’s nothing left. Javier just waits. Watches with his cigarette lit.
“Are you sure you’re fit for this job?” He asks.
“Oh fuck off, Peña.” Her voice is raspy, and she feels light-headed, so she sits down. She hides her face between her hands.
“Come on, I’m bringing you home, princesa.”
“So, you can tell everyone I’m weak and make me lose my job?” She protests.
But he grabs her arm, and she doesn’t protest.
“Take the rest of the day off.” He orders.
Despite her protests, she finds herself back at home, while Javier goes back to work. She finds the strength to brush her teeth, but then she curls on her sofa in front of a stupid show she’s not really listening to. Even Riri senses that something’s wrong with her. The black cat jumps in her lap and curls itself on her stomach, purring loudly.
She loses track of time until she sees darkness through her window, and she hears a slow tap at her door.
“It’s me.” Javier announces.
“Ugh, go away.” She whines.
But her dumbass didn’t lock the door, of course. So, he comes in.
“You should’ve locked the door.”
She just groans in response and throws him a pillow that he intercepts.
“Are you coming to tell me that I’m losing my job?” she asks as she straightens up. He sits beside her. He’s so out of place here. Riri ran away as soon as she saw him, hissing on its way out.
“No… Didn’t tell the boss anything.”
She frowns and looks up at him. “Why the fuck? I thought you’d want to get rid of me.”
“I’m guessing it was your first time seeing something like this. So, I let it slide. Plus Steve… he had the same reaction the first time.”
She’s quiet. She wants to cry and hug him at the same time. But she doesn’t move. Javier looks at her and for the first time… he thinks she truly looks fragile. But for once, he doesn’t say it.
“How do you feel?” He asks.
“Why do you care?” She sighs as she gets up to get something from the kitchen.
“Answer me.” He follows behind her, persistent.
When she ignores him to take glasses from the cupboard, he grabs her wrist and turns her body around. She almost crashes into the softness of his chest, but she keeps her distance. She pulls her hand away from him.
“I feel terrible. I feel numb. And I’m still pissed at you because I don’t know why you treat me so fucking badly. So, excuse me if I’m not answering your questions, because I think that you don’t really care.”
He wants to shut her up with his lips, but instead, he shuts down. She fills two generous glasses of wine and hands him one, even though she just wants to throw it at him.
“You know it’s not my fault if he’s dead. I’m just trying to do my fucking job.” She adds after a long sip. “I wanted this job forever and you’re not gonna stop me, Javier.”
His name sounds beautiful but sinful in her mouth. He wants to take it away from her.
“You’re right.”
Javier drinks too. Wine wasn’t his favorite, but he wouldn’t try to piss her off even more. Silence is heavy for a few minutes, but finally, he says:
“I hope you’re ready for the boss’s birthday party on Saturday at work.”
“Wait, you’re telling me this now?”
“Think it should take your mind off things for a bit.”
“But I have nothing to wear.”
“Then, wear nothing.” He shrugs. She wants to wipe that smirk off his stupid face.
“Ugh. Are you going?”
“Yeah.”
“Another fucking reason not to go, then.”
“You should come.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She drinks the rest of her wine, and he watches as the crimson liquid tints her lips. “You should get a good night’s sleep; cause you’re coming back tomorrow morning. I’m dragging your ass to work if I have to, princesa.”
“Fine.”
“Go to sleep now.” He takes the glass from her and pulls her away from the kitchen. She ignores the way electricity shoots through her skin at his warm touch. He drags her to her bedroom – their apartment is set the same way. He scoffs at the cheesy décor.
“Let me change! Go away!” She pushes him away.
“Well, since I’m hearing your whole sex life already…” She closes the door in his face, and he just laughs sincerely.
“I could say the same thing.”
She changes into her pajamas: a loose T-shirt and shorts before she opens the door on Javier. She wonders why he’s still here. If he really cares.
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re sleeping.” He crosses his arms. She doesn’t miss the way the sleeves of his shirt struggle under the strength of his biceps.
“That’s creepy.” Her body slides under the covers regardless of his presence. “Leave.” She throws a pillow at him, and he finally gets the memo.
“See you tomorrow.”
She finally hears the door closing and she knows he’s truly gone. She tries to fall asleep, and when she does, she’s shaken by the memories of the bloodbath. She tries to wash away the blood, she tries to think of Javier’s laugh. His stupid smirk.
She was fucking damned.
#exile#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena narcos#javier pena x you#javier pena x y/n#javier pena x oc#javier pena x foc
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Holiday Stress
Day 28
Summary: Javi helps Ari de-stress after the holidays.
Pairings: Javier Peña x OFC Ariana Morgan—DEA Agent and daughter of Pablo Escobar
Fandom: Narcos
Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY
Warnings: language, SMUT, oral (f rec), vaginal fingering
Word Count: 801
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“Hey, baby,” Javi murmured in Ari’s ear as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. She was washing the dishes from breakfast. He kissed the side of her neck and squeezed her tight. Ari murmured a greeting. She was tense. Javi knew the holidays were always a bit stressful, and he could see his girl needed to relax a bit now that Christmas was over. “Pop, Steve, and Connie want to take the kids to the park and then out for lunch.”
“Ok,” Ari replied. “I’m almost done with this, and then I’ll get ready.”
“Let me rephrase that, querida,” Javi said. “Pop, Steve, and Connie want to take the kids alone to the park and then to lunch.”
“What? Why?”
“I may have told them I want some alone time with my gorgeous wife,” Javi said seductively.
“Javier!” Ari gasped. “You did not try to pawn our three kids off and tell our friends—and your father—you want to fuck me!”
“I did,” Javi smiled proudly. “And I didn’t try to pawn off our kids. I successfully pawned them off. They all left about five minutes ago.”
“What?” Ari almost shrieked.
“We all knew you’d never take the help if given the choice, so we took care of it,” Javi said simply. “Now put those dishes down and follow me.” Ari tossed the dish in the sink and wiped her hands dry.
“Javier Peña, I cannot believe you right now!” Oh, she looked pissed. He was going to have to work extra hard to relax her. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to their bedroom. He pushed her down gently to lay on her back on the bed. She immediately pushed up into her elbows.
“You have been running yourself ragged since the twins were born,” Javi told her in his no nonsense voice. “I know how stressful everything has been—especially having the twins first Christmas so far from home. Now, lay back, and let me take care of my wife.”
“What do you mean?” Ari asked suspiciously.
“I mean, we have the house to ourselves for at least an hour,” Javi explained, “and I’m going to bury my face in your pussy until you come at least three times.”
“Oh,” Ari said quietly. She lay back. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” Javi chuckled and made quick work of removing her pants and underwear.
“Mmm, I love your pussy,” Javi groaned. Without any preamble, he dove in. Ari arched her back in pleasure as his tongue slide across her clit. It had been a couple weeks since he’d had the opportunity to go down on his gorgeous wife. Fuck. Never again. He needed her like he needed air. He swiped his fingers through her wetness and slid two inside. He wrapped his lips around her clit and suckled gently. She was writhing and panting. He knew she was getting close.
“Oh, Javi, right there,” she moaned.
“You wanna come, mi amor?” He murmured against her swollen flesh.
“Please,” she whimpered. He stroked his fingers along her g-spot and sucked her clit back into his mouth. A few passes and she exploded in his mouth.
“Fuck! Yes! Yes! Yes!” She screamed out. He was glad he had kicked everyone out of the house because his wife was loud. She shivered almost violently as the final tremors of her release faded.
“That’s one,” Javi said with a smirk before diving right back in. An hour—and three more orgasms later—Ari lay in his arms in the bed,
“That was incredible, Javi,” she said softly. “I really needed that. Thank you.”
“Believe me, it was very much my pleasure.”
“I want to return the favor, but my body won’t move,” she laughed exhaustedly.
“Don’t worry about me, I’m covered,” Javi said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” Javi looked a little embarrassed.
“Javi?”
“You were so fucking hot when you came that last time….I, uh…well, I came in my pants.”
“What?” Ari asked in shock.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Javi said with a laugh. “We haven’t been able to fuck since we got here. I was backed up, and you’re so fucking sexy it was bound to happen.”
“I’m not gonna lie, Javier,” Ari said, “that’s really fucking hot.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” she nodded. “If I wasn’t orgasmed out, I’d demand you fuck me right now.” Javi laughed.
“How about you take a nap while I take a shower?” He suggested.
“Ok,” Ari agreed with a yawn. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” she murmured back before falling asleep. Javi smiled and smoothed her hair back. He felt awe and joy that it was his responsibility to take care of this amazing woman.
Day 29
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#christmas writing challenge#pedro pascal#smut#narcos#javier peña#heroes and heartbreak#javier peña fanfic#javier peña fic#javier pena x oc#javier pena fanfic#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña smut
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Just Dumb Enough to Try
Chapter 26: This Must be the Place
Word Count: 4.5k+
Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Tags / CW: swearing, pregnancy, fluff fluff fluff, love notes, smut, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, unprotected PIV sex, gave javi some gray sweatpants bc he deserves it and so do we
Chapter Summary: Our heroes spend the morning together.
Notes: Chapter title from "This Must be the Place" by Talking Heads. This is the last chapter!! Holy shit! I'm putting this out earlier than anticipated because I'm getting antsy about it and I really like it as is. Seriously I'm going to go cry now, because I'm feeling sad and proud and excited all at once. I'll *probably* write more with these two in the future, though. That sounds fun. If you liked it let me know, pleaaaase, I'm a whiney baby that loves reassurance!! OK THANK YOU SO MUCH!
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Peña Ranch, Laredo, TX
November 29, 1998
Your eyes blink open to late morning light pouring onto the bed. As they attempt to adjust from the darkness of sleep, you clamp them shut, rolling over to throw your arm across Javier.
Except, he’s not there. Your arm flops onto something crinkly instead. One eye cracks open and finds a pile of papers folded in half where your boyfriend usually is. Their ragged edges are intact, proof that they were yanked out from the spine of a spiral notebook.
You pick up the bundle and blink both eyes open.
“READ ME” is scrawled on the top fold in Javi’s messy script. You take a deep morning yawn and wriggle upright, propping yourself up on a stack of pillows. The comforting scent of brewing coffee wafts into the bedroom. Javi is humming along to the radio in the kitchen. Pans clatter and cupboards slam by his hand as you unfold the stack of papers and start reading.
—
December 5, 1993
I can’t stop thinking about you. How are you even doing this to me?
Yesterday I went to your apartment building. Your bedroom lights were on and the blinds were closed. I sat outside for an hour, knowing you were there, unable to bring myself to do anything about it.
Even if I could have gathered the courage to knock on the door, what would I have said to you?
I like the feel of your hand in mine. I like your laugh. You’re beautiful. Do you want to go on a date with me?
Those words shouldn’t make a man like me nervous, but they do. So nervous that I left San Antonio without letting them leave my mouth.
—
December 1, 1994
It’s been a year since I kissed you.
I had to leave. I’m sorry. Duty calls.
Maybe we’ll meet again. Sometimes I hope we don’t. It’s for the best. You’ll find someone better.
—
June 4, 1998
I can’t tell you this. So I’m writing to you. I know you’re engaged, and you’re happy with Dan fucking Baker. Even though it makes no sense to me.
But I’ll be damned. Every time I look at you I remember exactly what you felt like. What you taste like. I crave your lips on mine again.
—
June 13, 1998
When I’m with you, we’re opposite poles in magnets resisting the inevitable. The pull is so strong, I ache. You feel it, too. I can tell.
Your lips, your touch, the perfect way I fit inside you. I can never unlearn these things. I’ve tried. They’re etched in my bones. It’s fundamental, as central to my being as breathing.
I long for you, love. It’s torture.
—
June 25, 1998
I am in love with you.
So, here I am, writing to you, imagining I had the guts to say it.
This is absolute fucking madness, cariño. But I woke up next to you and saw you there and I knew.
—
July 30, 1998
I don’t know where you are, but I saw you. I can feel you. I don’t know how I know, but I know. You’re scared. I’m scared, too. I’ve never been so terrified to lose someone.
When I lost my mom, I didn’t get to be scared. One moment she was on her way back from the grocery store, and the next she was gone. In an instant, the sun in our lives burnt out.
You would have loved her. Everyone did, she was just that kind of person. She had a wit about her. Lit up any room she walked into, but nobody fucked with her.
She loved deer because of their polarity and intuition. They’re gentle, fierce, cautious, adventurous. They shed and regrow their antlers. She said they’re symbolic of duality, listening to your gut feelings, renewal and growth. She would have loved you, too.
There are so many things I want to tell you. I should have listened to you. I didn’t let you come with me. You trusted me to protect you, and I didn’t. I’m so sorry.
I promise I will find you. I love you and miss you so much, cariño. Please hold on a little bit longer.
Tell baby Peña I say hello and that I love them, too.
—
August 1, 1998
I’m watching you as you sleep in our bed. You’re battered, bruised, stitched together… but you and the baby are ok. It’s a fucking miracle, cariño, I swear.
I introduced myself to your parents in the hospital waiting room last night. Your dad looked at my extended hand like there was shit smeared on it. They’re right to not want anything to do with me right now.
It’s a good thing their approval means approximately jack shit to you. Because I am never letting you go.
—
November 29, 1998
Today’s the day I give you the letters I never thought I would, so I can show you how much I love you. How much I’ve always loved you.
Come out to the kitchen, baby.
—
You sniffle and rub the tears out of your eyes and set the unfolded stack of love letters down on the black duvet, then scoot to the edge of the bed. The floor is cool on the soles of your feet, one then the other. Javi starts singing “I Just Want to Dance With You” by George Strait. Your heart swells with love. You grab your fuchsia robe from the back of the desk chair and tie it around your body as you emerge from the bedroom and follow his voice.
He’s leaning on the kitchen island over a newspaper crossword puzzle, one hand holding a pen as the other slides his wire framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, singing, “I caught you lookin' at me when I looked at you; Yes, I did, ain't that true? You won't get embarrassed by the things I do; I just wanna dance with you…”
You greet him with a giddy smile, padding across the floor towards him, “Good morning.”
A smile stretches across his handsome face when he peers up at you from the newspaper, “Good morning, beautiful.”
He sets the pen down and pushes off of the counter, meeting you with an outstretched hand. You take it, and he pulls you close, placing one hand on your waist. He guides you in a clumsy waltz to the tempo of the music.
You giggle at him as he presses his forehead to yours. The lyrics of the upbeat ballad drift from his mouth, hot on your cheek. When the song ends, he keeps his fingers interlaced with yours and leads you to the kitchen island, where you take a seat on a stool across from him.
He goes to the coffee pot and pours you a cup, then sets it down in front of you. Steam curls out of the white ceramic mug that reads CAVE WITHOUT A NAME. You wrap a hand around it, humming with glee, “Thank you, baby.”
“Did you sleep good?” he asks, a grin spread across his face as he leans his elbows onto the newspaper.
He is up to something.
“I did,” your face flushes as your fingertip runs along the circumference of the steaming mug, collecting condensation, “I, um- I read your notes.”
He brings his coffee mug to his lips and takes a sip, then sets it down and asks, “Did you like them?”
You nod and your mouth gapes open as you try in vain to formulate words that could possibly explain the love and devotion bubbling inside you. Every moment you spend with him makes you love him even more. A feat you didn’t even think was possible. Yet, here you are. He wakes you up with love notes, dances with you in the kitchen, smiles at you with those fucking dimples, and you’re falling in love all over again.
The euphoria that cycles through your veins when he’s touching you. The dread that clutches your heart when you imagine existing without his presence. The deep ache of adoration in your chest when you stare at him long enough to feel sentimental about it. All the ways he occupies your body and soul. Every ounce of you knows that this is it .
Everything you can think of falls flat. Your face feels hot and your heart flutters. Happy tears prick in your eyes as they meet his and your eyebrows draw together, “You really wrote all of those?”
He reaches across the countertop and closes your hand in his, nodding, “I did.”
“Oh, Javi-“ the lump in your throat chokes you up and you wipe away the tears spilling onto your cheeks, “I’m sorry for crying, I just-“ you sniffle and pout at him, “I love you so much. I don’t even know how to explain.”
“I love you too, cariño,” he rubs his thumb along the back of your hand affectionately. His smile hasn’t faltered, even as he tells you, “I think I’m going to get you to break your record today.”
The record he speaks of is the number of times you’ve cried in a day. For the past week, tears have become a common reaction to overwhelming emotions. The pregnancy hormones are mingling with your recent life changes, on top of your predisposition to being a crybaby already, and have made you a sappy, teary-eyed disaster.
Yesterday, he found you outside watching Pickles wriggle around on his back. Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, face wet from bawling. When he asked what was wrong, your answer was, “Nothing, he’s just so cute I feel like my heart is going to explode.”
Your record is 10 cries in one day. You’ve been awake for about a half an hour and have already cried twice. It’s an impressive start.
You sniffle again and wipe the stagnant tears away, then start laughing because you can’t even continue to take him seriously. He’s just fucking beaming at you.
“What the fuck are you laughing about?” he starts laughing, too, then makes his way around the counter to you.
His rough hands cup your cheeks and you shake your head as you grin up at him, “I just think you’re really great.”
“Yeah?” his smile widens, and you nod in response. He leans in and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is a sweet peck, and you link your arms behind his neck to draw him in again, lingering longer this time. He inhales sharply as your tongue meets his, flipping your stomach upside down. His touch trails back to the hinges of your jaw, and he brushes the sleep-mussed hair from your face as the kiss deepens.
A soft moan rumbles in your throat and you get to your feet, arching your back into him. His hands find your waist and pull you closer, and you can feel his cock hardening against you under the loose constraints of his lazy Sunday morning sweatpants. But he pulls back, speaking to you between needy, wet kisses, “Wait- mmm, gotta- gotta show you something-“
You pout and look up at him as you bring one hand down to his tented pants and rub your thumb in a circle against the tip of his length, “Can it wait?”
He throws his head back as a hiss sucks the air from his lungs, then brings his eyes back to yours and shakes his head, “Can’t wait.”
“Are you sure?” you bat your eyelashes and continue to tease him, feeling a bead of pre-cum wet the fabric between his cock and the pad of your thumb.
A huge smile spreads across his face as he shudders, then pulls you back in for a smoldering kiss. He shakes his head as he gasps against your mouth, “So impatient, cariño.”
“You want me to stop, baby?” you ask innocently, then roll your tongue against his and wrap your hand around his sweatpants-bound cock. He grabs your wrist gently and laces your fingers with his, then brings the back of your hand to his lips, where he plants a kiss.
“What I want-“ he lowers himself onto one knee and pulls a little black velvet box out of his pocket. Every cell in your body comes to a standstill. He releases your hand so he can open it, revealing a gold band with a solitary sparkling white gemstone, “Is for you to marry me.”
A surge of adrenaline floods your bloodstream, making you lightheaded, and you breathe, “Wh- what?”
Your heart pounds impossibly fast in your chest as he looks up at you with those puppy dog eyes and asks, “Will you marry me?”
Tears brim your eyes for the third time this morning, cheek-burning smile breaking out on your face when you answer him, “Fuck yes I will.”
“Yeah?” he laughs and his smile is all dimples and perfect teeth when he plucks your hand up and slides the ring onto your finger.
You laugh through your crying and nod. He gets to his feet and cups your cheeks again, thumbs wiping the tears away, and he kisses you with heat, guiding you backwards until you butt up against the dining room table.
You cease kissing and throw your head back as laughter bubbles from your throat, “I can’t believe you just let me keep fondling you when you were going to ask that!”
A smile stretches across his face as he chuckles and shrugs, “You’re very persuasive.”
Your eyebrow quirks, “Oh yeah?”
“But I couldn’t wait any longer,” his face softens into a loving gaze and your heart aches as it melts in your chest. He takes your left hand and holds it up so he can look at the ring he just adorned on your finger, and questions, “Do you know what today is?”
Your stomach flips and you nod, “I met you five years ago today.”
“That’s right,” the corners of his mouth upturn and he plants a kiss on your hand, “I fell in love with you five years ago today.”
Your eyes sting as tears flood them again, the deep well of adoration and love you have for this man just too much to bear, and you pout, “This really isn’t fair, you’re trying to make me cry now.”
His eyes fold into crescents as he laughs heartily, then presses his forehead against yours, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Javier,” you raise your hands to his face, thumbs scraping against the stubble he hasn’t shaved off yet this morning. He kisses you slowly, a series of lazy, wet lingering pecks.
His hands trail down to your waist, then over and under your ass, palming the cheeks over your thin cotton robe.
His nose nuzzles against yours and he hums in contentment, “Where were we?”
“I think,” you drop your gaze to his tented pants and smirk as you bring your grasp around him, circling the dark gray wet spot with your thumb, “We were going to the bedroom.”
He groans at the touch, then shakes his head as he guides you onto the table and nudges your knees apart, “I want you right here.”
You let out a soft coo when he tugs on the sash of your robe until it’s undone and falls open, exposing your naked body. He cradles your head like it’s made of something delicate and priceless, then drags his tongue across yours, sending molten heat dripping down your spine. His lips press against your jawline and he hesitates.
You whisper, “Kiss my neck.”
“Are you sure?” his eyebrows press together and he pulls back to meet your eyes, searching for reassurance.
Recently, you both learned that touch to your neck is a trigger now. He has been cognizant not to touch you in the area since an incident, in which he innocuously put his hand to your throat during sex, led to your hyperventilating on the bedroom floor.
Throughout your recovery after those two days in hell with Dan as your keeper, Javi has been fucking wonderful.
When you wake up in the night, screaming and crying, thinking you’re still in that closet, he holds you, rocking back and forth, singing quietly as he strokes your hair and lulls you back to sleep. You do the same for him sometimes.
In the first few weeks, when you would be alone for an extended period of time while Javi and Chucho were out working, panic attacks found you. You would call Javi from their home phone and he’d have you tell him all the things you could see that start with a certain letter, then he would talk you through grounding exercises.
If it weren’t for the support you receive from him and your therapist, you would be a catastrophe. As opposed to what you are now, which is simply a mess.
You nod and tilt your chin up, exposing the column of your throat, “I want it. I trust you.”
“Will you tell me if it’s too much?” his touch falls to your ribcage and ghosts down your sides to your hips, pricking your skin with goosebumps.
“I promise,” you breathe, and it turns into a gasp when his tongue massages a circle into your pulse. Your whole body shudders when he seals his lips against you and sucks gently. He migrates down your neck, leaving a trail of saliva shiny on your skin, sending your heart racing and your center vibrating with lust.
“Oh, Javi, that’s so good baby,” you whimper to the ceiling, raking your fingers through his hair. His lips emit a low hum against you, moving to your collarbone where his teeth catch your skin. Your back arches into him, moaning in approval of the sharp sting. He soothes the bite with the gentle caress of his tongue.
Rough hands skate along the tender skin of your thighs. The contact floods you with a neediness, and you grab at his shirt, whimpering, “I want you, Javi.”
He brings his lips to your ear and purrs, “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Come on,” you pout and reach for his swollen member, but he redirects your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.
“You need to learn patience, babygirl,” he chastises, then flicks your earlobe with his tongue before grinding it between his teeth. A spring of pleasure flows down to your cunt. You moan in response, pelvis thrusting forward with a mind of its own. He whispers, “Does that sweet little pussy need attention?”
The words slither around inside you, making you squirm, and you nod breathlessly, “Y-yes.”
His free hand splays across your chest, “Well, that’s too fucking bad . Gonna take my time with you,” he warns as he pushes you back gently until you recline onto your elbows, “Gonna make you beg for it.”
His hot gaze meets yours as his velvet tongue flattens on one of your pebbled nipples. His head swivels back and forth, dragging his tongue across the sensitive bud at a torturously slow tempo. Another shudder runs down the middle of you.
“Fuck- “ you gasp, arching into the contact, head falling backwards for a moment before you return to meet his love-blown eyes.
He responds by taking the nipple between his front teeth and tugging ever-so-gently. You moan from deep in your throat at the ripples of ecstasy that shoots across your body. Your cunt clenches around nothing. He moves to the other tit and works away, lapping and nibbling down on your nipple until you’re writhing beneath him, a constant stream of whimpers falling from your mouth.
“Fuck me, please, Javi, please- “
“I will, cariño,” he promises, planting a hot, wet kiss on your sternum, then your belly, never breaking eye contact, “When I’m ready.”
His tongue draws slow, lazy circles down the soft skin of your abdomen. The sensation rolls across your body and liquifies. He has you shivering and gasping at each touch.
You huff, "Now?"
He chuckles at your frustration, then instructs, “Scoot towards me.”
You follow his order, wiggling forward until your glistening pussy is right on the edge of the table. His hands run down the backs of your thighs, and he spreads you open wide, on display for him.
His eyebrows press into a crease and his lips form an "o" and he drops to his knees at the sight, purring, “I haven’t even touched this pretty pussy yet and, fuck, you’re already so wet.”
“So fucking wet,” you whine, rolling your hips towards him, wordlessly begging him to touch you.
His hot gaze locks on yours, looking up from between your legs as his tongue drags up the middle of your sex. Just a tease. A taste. You ache with want.
“Fucking amazing, baby,” he breathes, and his gaze falls from yours as he gives his full, undivided attention to your cunt. His soft tongue starts rolling across your clit and you ascend to a different plane of existence. Those same molasses circles he drew all over your body, leaving a shiny trail of saliva to where he is now. Over and over and over again as he groans against you.
The throbbing of pleasure keeps accumulating, condensing, slowly and steadily pushing you to new heights. Your face gets flushed and sweaty as your heart pounds in your chest. You roll your hips against his tongue, trying to get more.
He rises to his feet and brings you closer, pressing his forehead to yours, cradling the back of your head with one hand as he pulls his sweatpants down with the other. His pants drop to the ground in a gray heap, releasing his thick, gorgeous cock. His lips capture yours with force, and he growls between messy kisses laced with your arousal, “See- how fucking- good you taste, cariño?”
"I love the way I taste in your mouth," you pant.
His thumb slides hard against your overly sensitive clit. The stimulation feels like an electric cattle prod to your pussy, sending your body bucking and shuddering. The pain is layered, though, and a deep want lays beneath.
"Please, baby," you whine, grabbing at his shirt and tugging at him, "I need you, please-"
You bite your lip in anticipation as the head of his cock nudges your entrance. His nose nuzzles against yours and he continues in a gravelly tone that ricochets down your spine, “Is that what you want, baby?”
Your lips form a pout and you nod, then gently thrust your hips against his, dipping him inside just enough to pull a rumble from his throat. The electric sharpness of his touch on your clit is overtaken by a wanton need for him to fucking destroy you.
“Yes,” you whisper, tilting your pelvis against him, “Fuck me, Javi.”
He slowly drives his hips forward at your admission, filling you, sending waves of pleasure surging from your cunt to the tips of your toes. A moan is ripped from your throat and you throw your head back. He starts to fuck you, pumping into you deep and merciless.
His lips find your neck again. He lays hot, wet kisses on the delicate skin. You run your fingers through his hair and gasp, “That’s fucking perfect, Javi, holy shit,” then tug at the front of his shirt, "Take it off."
He ceases movement, fully sheathed, and sits up, pulling the shirt off over his head. The shirt takes his new glasses with them and they clatter to the floor and he winces. You giggle at the clumsiness. The gentle jostling of your body around his cock trickles ecstasy into your center, and you gasp at the sensation.
A sheen of sweat glistens atop his skin and he's panting as he meets your eyes with a grin. He looks happy. And in love. You probably do, too, because that's how you feel. The way your heart swells almost fucking hurts.
You beckon him closer, and he follows, leaning in slowly to press his plush lips against yours. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, arching your back into him, digging your fingernails into his skin. He throbs inside you, making you gasp. His moan vibrates into your lips, and he starts pumping into you, faster, more frantic now.
The way you're huddled against each other, whimpering between kisses, reveling in the divine pleasure each movement, each touch, brings you both. As it always does, it feels like you were made for each other.
As if he can read your mind, he rasps, "I fucking love you."
"I love you, Javi. So- fuck- so fucking much," you pant, pulling his lips against yours again.
He moans in approval and brings his hands to your waist, trailing up your back to your shoulders. He gets a grip on you here and leverages you down on his cock as he thrusts forward, setting a brutal pace. Your whole body buzzes and tingles, and the kisses grow more desperate.
His hips snap into yours, bringing you up higher and higher as your muscles tighten and your body starts to quiver.
“Javi-“ a choked sob escapes you as you start to ascend towards bliss, “I’m fucking cumming- oh, fuck-“
"Fuck yes, cum for me, babygirl," he orders through gritted teeth, "Wanna feel you squeeze me-"
You come completely undone, overtaken with ripples of ecstasy from your center. Your legs clamp down around his hips as your body spasms, and you can hear Javi moan in response to the sensation, pumping into you with reckless abandon a few more times before he spills inside you.
Slowly, your muscles slacken and soften, but before you can release his shoulders from your grasp and lay back on the table, he whispers breathlessly, "Hold on tight."
"Wh-"
His hands move to your ass and you squeal when he picks you up. He carries you into the bedroom as you giggle into his neck, then you both tumble sideways onto the mattress.
"Oh, that's so much better," he groans and sprawls out.
You curl up into the crook of his arm, "You're the one that wanted to- nay, insisted that we- fuck on the table."
"Mmm," he hums and closes his eyes with a small smile playing on his lips, "Just wanted to eat your pussy for breakfast at the kitchen table."
This makes you laugh, loud and untethered, "Worth it?"
He chuckles and nods, eyes still closed, "Worth it."
There's a flutter inside your belly and you gasp, "Oh my god, Javi."
"What?" his body tenses and his brow furrows.
It flutters again and your eyes well with tears, "She's moving. I can feel her moving."
A dimpled smile stretches across his face and he sits up, placing a hand on your small, but still noticeable, baby bump.
"I don't know if you'll be able to feel her kick on the outside," you tell him softly, then chuckle, "She's only a papaya right now."
"That's ok," he mumbles, smiling down at your belly, "Little Miss Rosemary Peña will be able to kick my ass before I know it."
"Probably," you tease.
He grins at you and shakes his head, then lays back down, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to cuddle you closer. A comfortable, warm silence embraces the two of you, and your fingers trail along his chest, his belly, his face. Writing love notes on his skin. He plays with your hair and watches you with love sparkling in his dark eyes.
You're home.
[ The End ]
#javier peña x you#narcos fanfiction#jdett#narcos fic#narcos#pedrostories#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier peña x ofc#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena x you#javier pena x oc#javier pena#javier peña narcos#javier peña smut#javier peña fluff#javier pena x reader#javier pena fic#pedro pascal fandom#javier pena smut#javier pena fluff#javi peña#javi peña x reader#javi peña x you#javi pena
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you where to find me, and I know where to look.joel miler/athena kallis/javier peña - poly!katipō.
commission done by @irlplasticlamb
-
omggggg, this looks amazing!! THEY look amazing, my fav poly pair ever! haha. I'd like to thank the talented @irlplasticlamb (once again) of my poly pair featuring my tlou/nacos/spidey!OC, athena kallis, alongside both joel miller and javier peña, both of which are her partners. this turned out absolutely lovely and SO cute! I LOVE IT.
them!!!
tlou-verse: a masterlist.
#v: poly!katipō#oc: athena kallis#pairing: joel/athena/javier#hbo tlou#tlou#the last of us#hbo the last of us#joel miller#tlou joel miller#joel miller tlou#tlou art#joel miller art#tlou fanart#joel miller fanart#joel miller x oc#joel x oc#hbo joel miller#narcos#netflix narcos#narcos netflix#javier pena narcos#javier peña#javier pena x ofc#javier pena x oc#narcos art#narcos fanart#javier pena art#javier pena fanart#oc art#oc fanart
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Paradise: Chapter 8: There's No End
Pairing: Javier Peña x McKenzie Martel
Rating: A - Adult
Warnings: Angst
Summary: McKenzie reflects.
Note: This is an AU set in between season 2 and season 3 of Narcos sometime in the 90's. I apologize in advance for any historical inaccuracies! -- Woof! Sorry for the delay in getting this out. More chapters are on the way and should be semi-regular. No promises.
We are moving on to season 3 of Narcos so be prepared!
MASTERLIST --- PARADISE MASTERLIST
The house was quiet just the way she liked it. McKenzie had no clue where her roommate was and honestly she didn’t much care. It was normal for him to go off and do his own thing, normal for her to spend the vast majority of her day alone painting or doodling. Quiet days, warm ones where she seemed to seek out the cool air of her apartment, were her favorite. Days where she could sit inside and focus on her work, the windows slightly ajar to exude the fumes from whatever she was working on. It was pleasant, peaceful. McKenzie could almost forget the anguish that she had gone through in the past few days. The hurt.
She didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to think about her regrets from the night before… or was that two nights now? Kenzie didn’t know. The days seemed to blur together now. Nights seemed lonelier as the words spoken between the two of them swirled around her mind. Torturing her before her eyes shut.
His words specifically. The ones she had always wanted to hear come from his lips but had casted out of her dreams long ago.
I’m in love with you. I have always loved you
Words that she had imagined him saying, dreamed of him saying, before flesh hit flesh and souls entwined. McKenzie hated how she responded to him. She hated the words she said, the actions she made. Never in a million years did she think she would do such a thing to anyone much less Javier. Yet she did.
You don't have to love me back you just… please don't leave me like this.
Pain laced into his words and yet she still did the one thing he asked her not to do. She left. She turned around and walked away, leaving him alone. There was no rhyme or reason. McKenzie loved him still.
The past few days had been proof enough of it. They blended together without him, seconds seemed like hours, minutes seemed like days, and yet she wasn't entirely sure when it was that she saw him last. Two days? Three? She didn't know. She wished that she did, she wished she had kept track. There was no reasoning behind any of it. McKenzie felt lost.
How was it that he managed to turn her world upside down by doing so little, all he had to do was smile. How was that fair? She would fall apart while he moved on. That seemed to be the trend between them now.
McKenzie hadn't really left her room. She had so much to do, so many orders to pack and quite a few to complete and yet she had somehow managed to set all of those tasks aside just to wallow in her pain. Pain that she could only blame herself for. Pain that she knew she could rectify is she just grew up and pushed aside her own ego. If she could just forgive and forget. She had told herself that she had forgiven him. She had told herself that they could go back to being themselves again but when it came down to it, McKenzie had proven herself wrong.
Now she was crushed by the aftermath. It was completely fair despite her own feelings about it.
She wished she knew how well he was faring from it.
Before McKenzie had even known it, a week had gone by. Another warm day where Rob had left, leaving her alone. This time instead of wallowing she got out of bed and worked. She packed those orders, completed those commissions, and forced herself go go back to a somewhat normal. The after Javier.
Yet still at the end of the day she would stare at her ceiling and wonder. She would allow her mind to drift and she would think back to the before. Before he had spoken those words to her.
You don't have to love me back…
Please don't leave me like this.
I love you
I'm in love with you
Swirling around and around in her mind until she drifted off, her dreams no longer safe from the memories of the rain. The sensation of his warmth around her. In the aftermath she remembered the feeling. The scent of his skin in the rain, the way his arms wrapped around her and held her. The pleading in his voice.
Why didn't she just stay? Why didn't she just allow him to love her?
Those thoughts that spiraled and swirled until eventually she would get out of bed. Most nights she would make it halfway down the hall before she stopped herself. Never reaching the phone.
So why, on this specific warm night, did she decide to finish the journey? Why did her fingers dial the number to the ranch? Why did she tangle the cord of the phone around her fingers like an expectant highschool girl calling her crush.
It was Chucho who answered the phone. His voice deep and crackly, filled with sleep as if she had woken him up from his slumber. What time was it? 2am? It was late… or early… either way not the right time to be calling and she knew that.
Yet the moment Chucho heard her voice he seemed to perk up. His voice smoother while still sleep ridden. For a moment she heard a hint of sorrow as he spoke her name.
Then she asked for Javier. She asked to speak to him, she didn't care about the hour. The silence on Chuchos end was deafening and she hoped that was just him going to grab Javier to let him know who was on the phone.
Instead it was words that she didn't want to hear. Words she hadn't heard in years. Words that shot her back into the past. Suddenly she was sitting in his room again, a long black dress flowing at her feet, red coiled hair pulled away from her face, secured with a clip that she would have never picked for herself.
Tears stained her cheeks, her heart ripped out all over again. Chucho didn't have to say much more. McKenzie knew from his tone because it was the same one he used before. No context needed, McKenzie knew.
Javier was gone.
#fanfic#fanfiction#pedro pascal#narcos fanfiction#original character#narcos#javier pena x oc#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena narcos#javier peña#original charater#paradise
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suck the rot right out of my bloodstream. | javier peña
Abstract: He’s Javi. He’s long nights and laughter and dancing too close, he’s a reassuring hand on your shoulder during work and an extra pair of eyes while out on a job, he’s ruffled hair first thing in the morning when you get to the office and a stolen kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen but then happened again and again.
He’s Javi - he couldn’t hurt you if he tried.
Words: 5K
Content: f!reader; aftermath of SA (the scene isn't explicit, but constantly referred to), nightmares, (temporary) aversion to touch, general neglect of oneself, not eating, wounds (bruises, a black eye), javi washes reader’s hair, non-sexual nakedness, hurt/comfort, they have a Thing but it’s not exactly a relationship, there’s some fluff sprinkled in, soft javi, an overuse of “cariño”
A/N: this fic is ridiculously personal to me and putting it out in the world is terrifying. spanish nor english are my first languages and this is unedited so please be kind on that. if sexual assault is a topic that may trigger you in any way, please do not read this - i wrote it mainly for me.
the title is a lyrics from the song we’ll never have sex by leith ross
once again, thank you @lcvenderblues for bearing with me
also on AO3 - masterlist
feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
Each night ends with a scream.
Every time you close your eyes, sleep creeping up on you unwelcomed, the images replay themselves in your head over and over again. The dreams - the nightmares - are always the same. The same ceiling from inside La Catedral, the same hard table pushing against your back, the same rough hands grabbing and hitting and moving you around, the same burning, painful feeling splitting you -
You sit up with a cry, a ringing in your ears as the blood rushes in your body, covers clinging to your damp skin - and, in the distance, your name being called, a door slamming, heavy, quick steps along the corridor, the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. You feel your whole body seize, freeze, unable to do anything, not even breathe, and then -
“What happened?” familiarity settles in your bones, vision clearing as the faint light from outside renders visible the face in the shadows. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Peña,” his name is an exhale - maybe relief, maybe even in response to the ache in your lungs after holding your breath for so long. It’s a different type of pain, one that clears your head rather than clouding it furthermore. “What are you doing here?”
Your mouth feels parched - you can’t remember the last time you drank.
“What -” he’s stepping inside the room blindly, the only light being on your nightstand, untouched. “You haven’t been answering my calls, you didn’t show up to work,” he reaches the side of the bed and, at his closeness, you find yourself curling up, occupying as little space as possible. “It’s been almost a week.”
“I gave my report and took some sick days, so what?” you’re faintly aware of your voice cracking, words quivering as they leave your mouth. Javier stands so close to the edge of the bed you can feel the heat radiating off his body, hugging your legs closer as if to shield from it, no matter how inviting and alluring it may feel.
“You don’t take sick days,” he points out with a huff, and you can hear the frown forming on his face, that pout bending his lips as always when something leaves him perplexed. “You came to work two and a half hours after getting shot, so what -” he leans down a little towards the nightstand, arm outstretched in the direction of the lamp switch.
Your hand shoots out of the covers, grabbing his wrist harshly - the feeling of his skin under yours stings your palm, your breath hiccuping at the contact, quick bursts of air being pushed out of your lungs as panic mounts within you all over again.
“Don’t,” a whisper, a trembling plea, fingers wrapped so tightly around his wrist it’s most likely hurting him - but it’s the panic in your voice that makes his pulse jump under your touch. Just two minutes earlier he’s heard you scream, and this -
He pushes forward, your fingers digging into his arm as he reaches for the switch and turns it on. You groan at the light hitting your already sensitive eyes, letting go of him to shield yourself - so you don’t see his expression falling, only hear the sharp intake of breath as he looks at you at last.
“Hostia puta,” he curses under his breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”
You feel him looking at you, know what he’s seeing - bruises and scratches, a black eye, the imprint of someone’s hands around your neck; your hair left unbrushed for days, whatever remnants of make-up from that day you haven’t been able to wash off of yourself. At the very least, he can’t see the feeling of those hands all over you, still burning, still clinging to every cell of your skin.
He brushes your arm, a tender gesture, something he’s done before countless times, the tip of his fingers running from your shoulder half-way down towards your elbow - and you jerk back, away from his touch, away from him, eyes open wide as your stomach turns and you move to the opposite side of the bed.
“Don’t touch me,” a hiss. A warning. Another plea. You cannot look at him, so you lower your gaze to his hand instead, left hanging in the space between the two of you.
“Cariño,” he pulls back, gives you space. His hand falls to the mattress, your eyes remain glued on it - it’s familiar, comforting from afar. You’ve held that hand, slapped it playfully, taken glasses and cigarettes from it - you’ve had it through your hair, on your back, caressing your skin, falling between your thighs. You recoil, shaking your head. “What happened?” he repeats, softer.
He knows what happened - he’s read the report, heard the others talk about you not coming in. And he can see it, all over you, in your reactions, in your lowered gaze. You’ve always bounced back, and it’s terrifying seeing you like this.
You know he knows - it’s in his voice, his gaze firm on you.
“Vale, me lo dijiste,” it’s a mutter as you bow down your head, still refusing to look at him. “But I got what we needed, I did my report, it’s done.”
“I’m not here to say I told you so,” he could sound offended, but he does not. The gentleness in his voice is agonizing. It makes it all more real. “I’m here to check up on you.”
“You did - now you can go,” you know Javier, you know he’s as stubborn as you are. So it doesn’t surprise you when he scoffs.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and you feel yourself deflate, hiding your head between your knees. “I’ll call Connie, she can -”
“She’s seen me already,” you cut him off, harsher than you mean to. “I went to her that night. I’m -” you can’t say it.
You want to say it, but you can’t. I’m fine. Physically, you’re fine - the bruises are healing, and while your muscles are still sore from lying down all day since you got back home, there’s nothing broken. But then Javi lifts his hand, as if reaching for you, and you flinch again, lowering your gaze again.
“Mirame, cariño,” he speaks softly, lowering himself onto the mattress to look up towards your bowed head, eyes searching across your face. You blink your eyes open slowly, a shuddering breath leaving you the moment you meet his gaze - it’s warm, familiar, reassuring. “No voy a lastimarte.”
“I know,” you haven’t cried once since it happened, the pressure behind your eyes ever present but never manifesting in actual tears. As you speak with Javi, it builds up in your throat, burning at the corner of your eyes. “I know that.”
“Can I move closer?” he asks then, making sure you see his hands resting on the bed, away from you. “I won’t touch you.”
You hesitate - despise the fact that you hesitate. He’s Javi. He’s long nights and laughter and dancing too close, he’s a reassuring hand on your shoulder during work and an extra pair of eyes while out on a job, he’s ruffled hair first thing in the morning when you get to the office and a stolen kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen but then happened again and again.
He’s Javi - he couldn’t hurt you if he tried. And still you hesitate before nodding slowly, fingers pushing into the flesh of your thighs. The pain makes it almost bearable, easier to not think about it. For a few instants of dull ache, everything else vanishes - it’s just him shifting closer, his eyes not leaving you before he settles at your side.
He leans back against the pillows, legs up on the bed, careful to keep his shoes off the covers - there’s enough space between the two of you for a pillow or two, and he rests his hand in that empty space. It’s not an invitation, just a reassurance. You turn your head to look at him, knowing he’s doing the same already.
“Have you eaten anything?” he looks at you worrying your bottom lip, his eyebrows arching carefully - he knows it’s your tell. He knows you’d be lying if it wasn’t him asking the question. But he can read you so easily it feels pointless to even try.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” you murmur instead.
“Have you?” he repeats, head tilted to the side, that attentive and knowing look of his making his eyes shimmer in the warm light of the room. Your lips quiver as you shake your head - you can’t remember the last thing you ate, the thought of standing in front of the stove to cook something unbearable during the past days, the idea of going out to get something even worse. “I’ll go make you something.”
“Javi -” you try to argue, but he’s shaking his head as he slides off the bed, his shoes softly thudding against the floor as he stands. He’s moving slowly, you notice, careful not to make any sudden movement.
“No es tema de discusión,” he warns, already walking towards the door. He stops before vanishing in the corridor, hand lingering against the doorframe, head turning to look at you again; his lips are parted, as if to say something else, eyes running up and down your curled up body - then he clears his throat and walks out, a light knock against the wood of the frame as he passes by.
Javier Peña is a surprisingly good cook.
Though you weren’t hungry before, whatever it is he’s managed to put together with the scraps around your kitchen has an inviting smell that wakes up a vague appetite. You’re not sure what it is he’s doing, curled up on the couch you dragged yourself to, a way too large cardigan engulfing you.
He knows how to move around your house, has been here enough times he doesn’t have to linger and think about where is what - he fits in, and the image hangs onto something deeply buried within you, a type of yearning you haven’t felt in a while.
But then he steps closer to you to hand you the plate, and you feel your body tense, muscles so taut the pain springs up again - he seems to notice, of course he does, and rests the plate on the coffee table in front of you, then takes a step back, hands sliding into his back pockets.
“It’s Hoppin’ John - well, arroz con frijoles,” he clears his throat, tilting his head a little to point at the plate. “My mother made it all the time - learned it by being in the kitchen too much.”
An involuntary smirk catches on your lips - the image of a young Javi looking up at his mother, those dark, lovely eyes following the movements of her hands as she cooked so closely he now knows how to replicate the dish. Now he’s offering it to you, that distant piece of himself he still finds comfort in, and you find yourself sinking in the warmth of it.
You sit back with the plate balanced on your knee, looking down at the food.
“Thank you,” a murmur to which he replies with a dismissive noise, shrugging as he steps back towards the kitchen aisle. “You can -” again you hesitate, then meet his eyes. Dark, lovely eyes, where you constantly expect to find pity but don’t. There’s worry, but no different than the time you got shot in the arm, no different than when you drink too much and wobble around him. He looks at you and sees the same person he’s always seen - not the rotten thing you feel building in you. “You can stay on the couch, it’s okay.”
He doesn’t ask if you’re sure, just walks around the other side of the coffee table and settles at the opposite end of the couch with a mock weary sigh.
“You really need new chairs,” he says instead - he’s complained about the chairs in your apartment from the first morning he spent in it, the way they creak and sway when he sits down, as if threatening to give out in a moment. Every time he spends the night, he says it, a part of this odd routine you’ve created with each other.
“Yeah, I know,” you repeat each time with a scoff - this once, the further familiarity catches a semi-smile on your lips. “I will.”
“I heard that one before,” he grins, then tips his chin up. “Go on, eat up.”
It’s a silent, odd meal where you realize how long you’ve actually gone without eating, your hand trembling slightly as you bring the fork to your mouth. He tries to not make it obvious he’s watching you at the corner of his eye, knee bouncing in an almost imperceptible way - but you’d do the same, you know that. Every time he’s gotten hurt, you’ve doted on him a little more - he’s merely returning the favor.
At some point - how long has he been here already? You can’t tell if it’s three hours or thirty minutes, but certainly the middle of the night - Javier stops pretending he’s not looking at you. He’s sitting with his shoulder against the backrest of the couch, one leg curled up on the cushion, and he lets his gaze wander across your figure huddled in the opposite corner.
Your legs ache for being bent so long, ankles and knees popping whenever you shift a little, and the bruises on your hips do not welcome the hunched position - it’s been like this for the past days, the pain keeping you awake until you couldn’t anymore. Then the nightmares would come back, and it would start all over again.
Your face scrunches up and you bow your head, forehead falling to your knees.
“You okay?” his voice is soft and husky, as it always gets late at night.
“It’s just a headache,” though it isn’t exactly true, it’s easier to start there. You lift one hand to the back of your head, hovering over the knot of hair you ignored for the whole time, as he has - it hasn’t been brushed in days, and it’s starting to feel heavy and giving you a headache now that you’re not lying down in the dark. “I think I should start to try and save this.”
“Do you -” his eyes flicker towards your head resting on the tangle at the nape of your neck, lips parting with a sharp inhale as he hesitates, his hands dancing closer to his body. “Can I help you?” he says in the end.
“That bad, huh?” you scoff, attempting a line of humor as you move your fingers from the hair mass. “It’s alright, Javi, I’ll manage.”
“Déjame ayudarte, por favor,” he whispers, his gaze softening as he curls his hand over his knee - the rawness of feelings in his voice hits you square in the chest, leaving you slightly out of breath.
It’s like he knows - that you’ve walked into the bathroom always with the lights off to avoid looking at your reflection, that any time you thought about brushing your hair, it wasn’t your hand you felt on your head but someone else’s, and it made your skin crawl, that even though you tried you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You cannot care for yourself, not right now.
“Okay,” a tentative whisper, a nod.
“Okay,” he repeats, softer, and stands from the couch.
He moves to your end of it and, standing at arm’s distance, offers you his hand - he waits for you to initiate it, for you to touch him or ignore him. Ever so slowly, you let your hand slide into his, holding your breath when his fingers curl around it gently. It’s warm and familiar - its weight, the softness of his palms compared to his calloused fingers, and still he waits as you exhale and get up, bones creaking through the movement.
Javier walks ahead, his fingers threading through yours, slow steps along the dark corridor until you reach the bathroom - when he switches on the light, you turn your gaze away from the mirror, free hand clenching at your side.
“Wait, I’ll go get the stool so you can sit by the tub,” he loosens his hold on your hand - in response, you tighten yours, and his gaze flickers up towards your face.
“I’ll just get in the tub, it’s okay,” maybe it’s yourself you’re reassuring as he rubs your knuckles with his thumbs. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before already, anyway, is it?”
He chuckles, easing the slight tension and, with a gentle squeeze of your hand he lets go, stepping towards the tub and starts filling it up, then begins to roll up his sleeves - and once again, you feel frozen. You know he’s watching you from the corner of his eye as you fiddle with the hem of the cardigan, but says nothing while checking the water’s temperature.
You can’t do it - past shrugging the cardigan off of your shoulders, you can’t do it. Looking up, you meet his gaze, and by now you’re way past hiding the silent plea in your eyes. Not with him, not when he’s looking at you with such gentleness.
“I can still go call Connie,” he offers, stepping closer. You’re shaking your head already as he speaks, lowering your gaze. He sighs, carefully extending his hands - instead of reaching for your shirt, he takes hold of your wrist, leading your hand on his shoulder. “If you want me to stop, just squeeze, alright?” You nod only, holding your breath when he lowers his hands. “Mírame, cariño.”
So you hold his gaze as he peels off the layers around you - the old t-shirt goes first, then he’s undoing the knot of the sweats and pushing them down, careful to not touch too much of your skin. His eyes flicker to your sides, and you don’t have to look down to know your hips are bruised - your lower back too, most likely.
Javi sinks to his knees and you lean a little more of your weight on him as he helps you step out of your pants and, with them, your socks - for a moment it’s a knot of fabric and arms, slipping balance and cold tiles in contrast with the warmth of his hand around your ankle. He looks up and grins - a little awkward, a little bashful, and your heart warms all over again.
He reaches up again once he knows you’re stable, hooks his fingers in the sides of your underwear - you squeeze his shoulder then, hard, unable to help the sharp inhale at the feeling of his hands brushing your thighs, vision flashing white as panic settles in. He stops himself, pulls his hands back and rests them against the floor by you.
“Alright,” he coos, voice low as he pushes himself up carefully. “It’s okay - solo soy yo,” he whispers, meeting your hazy gaze. “Just me. Sigue mirándome.”
You nod with a whimper, squeezing his shoulder again as he comes back into vision - he’s still not touching you, hands held at his sides, but slowly starts rocking from one side to the other, bringing you with him in a sort of half-hazarded, soothing dance.
“What are you doing?” you manage to ask, a little breathlessly - he shrugs, muscles shifting under your hand and, at his slight pout, you cannot help flashing a quivering smile.
“I thought we’ve never danced together, have we?” you scoff at his question, shaking your head. “You’ll have to teach me, though.”
“You’re not doing so bad,” you concede, carefully letting your hand shift down his upper arm. He gives you a loop-sided smile, and you let your hand fall to his elbow, giving it a gentle nudge. “Thank you,” it’s a whisper, but there’s no sound in the room besides your breathing, and his gaze softens on you. “I got it,” you say then, stepping out of the last piece of fabric covering you.
You’ve never realized how comforting Javi’s presence is, the length he goes to so that you’re not uneasy - it dawns on you as he helps you step into the tepid water, his hold firm yet gentle on your hands, getting on his knees again as you sink under the surface up to your chest.
For a while he doesn’t speak, there’s just the splashing of water as it ripples and settles around your still form, the scraping of your hair oil bottle as he reaches to grab it from the shelf, him clearing his throat after pouring a few drops on his palm. Before reaching for your head though, with his clean hand, he takes yours and places it on his forearm, giving you a pointed look.
“Whatever it is, you squeeze,” he repeats as you bring your legs up to your chest, water sloshing with the movement again. Bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you nod, and only then his gaze leaves your face.
He’s so gentle with you - you’ve known before that Javier is capable of this softness, this delicacy, and it does not come as a surprise when he starts to apply the oil to your hair from the tips, his touch so light you can barely feel it. It feels overwhelming, after isolating yourself for the past few days, it’s this touch that makes you crumble at last.
A shuddering inhale, he works the oil through the knots, beginning to brush through it with his fingers first - lock by lock, tangle by tangle, humming soft praises under his breath.
By the time he’s done with this first passage, the pressure built up at the corners of your eyes has been released, hot tears falling down your cheeks having escaped your control. Still, you hold onto his arm, listen to his gentle voice, the noise of the water behind your back as he washes as much of the oil off his skin as he can.
“Do you want me to stop, cariño?” your vision is blurry, but you see him with his arms resting on the edge of the tub, leaning in a little. It takes you a moment to clear your sight and make him out fully - only then do you ease back into the comfort of his presence and shake your head.
“I’m okay,” still, you can’t help the tears as they keep falling, sniffling as you let go of his arm to rub at your face - your black eye hurts when you brush against it. “Just - keep going.”
“Vas muy bien,” he whispers, lifting his hands from the water. “Here, can I?”
Your lips tremble as you nod, and his touch on your face sends shivers down your spine - it’s not unpleasant, but for a moment your heartbeat quickens and a hiccuping breath leaves you. He’s far more gentle than you, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, and you ever so slowly sink into the feeling, leaning into his touch as more tears flow through his you’re okay, you’re okay.
“Lean back a little for me,” he calls then, one hand shifting until he’s cupping the nape of your neck for support. “We need to wash your hair, water’s getting cold.”
“It’s fine,” you retort, while leaning back into his hand, blinking rapidly to clear away the tears and look at him once more. His nose is lightly scrunched up, eyes trained to the top of your head - when he notices your gaze on him, he meets your eye.
“It’s getting cold,” he repeats, and guides you until the crown of your head is under the water. A shudder runs down your spine, eyes fluttering shut and open, shut and open with a puff of air leaving your lips. Javi says nothing, but a little smirk catches the corner of his mouth.
He squeezes some shampoo directly onto your head with his free hand, and you almost want to point out that’s not the way he’s supposed to do it as your lips bend in a sheepish smile - he’s still supporting your head up, his thumb tracing soothing, small circles right behind your ear. He’s not even trying - it’s a gesture he’s done before, his quiet way of saying I’m here, it’s alright.
When he lets go, it’s to lather the shampoo on your scalp - you look at him as he does it, eyelashes heavy with tears and water, his lips slightly parted, brows knit with focus, his forearm covered in tiny drops of water that are trickling down towards his rolled sleeve.
“Back,” he instructs again, and you oblige. “Mind your eyes,” he adds then and, hand coming out of the water to hold onto his wrist, your eyes fluttering shut when he rinses your hair, still gentle, still careful. For the first time in almost a week, you don’t see figures behind closed lids - it’s just nothingness, the echo of the light, the shadow of Javi’s frame, and his pulse is rhythmic under your hand, a constant reminder that he’s there, that it’s him.
It’s over with him murmuring a there as he squeezes the water out of your hair, the clear sound of drops falling behind your back, some trickling down your neck, your shoulders, your chest. His touch vanishes when he reaches to remove the stopper and the tub starts emptying.
As the water lowers around you, you look up to see him standing by the tub - he has the towel draped over his shoulder, his hands extended towards you in offering. With his help, you lift yourself up, muscles aching again through the movement - up and out on slightly unsteady legs and, from above his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.
This time you don’t avert your gaze: the black eye blinks back at you, but the bruise around your neck looks better now in the harsh lights - with a step aside, out of Javier’s frame, the shadow of vanishing scratches on your shoulder comes into view, further down the bruises on your hips, shaped like the grip of different hands, still tender to the touch, unlike the numbness on your inner thighs that reveals itself to be a stain meeting where the flesh of each leg touches. You reach for that spot, that blotch of mismatched color that, when you push a finger into it, feels like nothing - a distant soreness, perhaps, the barest hint of discomfort.
Javi says your name - soft, gentle, a hand hovering your back where you know there’s another mark, another stark reminder of what’s been done to you - and your breath catches in your throat. He’s watching you, too, and the moment your nostrils flare he’s placed himself in front of the mirror again, standing between the two of you as a shield, the towel open.
You step into it, into him, bowing your head towards his shoulder without actually resting against him, only breathing in his perfume, as rooting as his touch has been. Slowly, you turn your head and let your eyes fall shut - it’s still him, it’s still his perfume, his breath against your face - and lean into him, forehead touching his cheek as you exhale.
“I’m okay,” from now on, it’ll be a mantra, a reminder as you go on through the days, the weeks, the months. You’re okay. You’re out. You’re going on. You haven’t been broken. You’re okay. But in this moment, it’s for him only - for his hesitant touch, to relieve his heart as the corner of his mouth ghosts your temple. “Sujétame, Javi.”
Javier has never been shy about his touches - he’s never cared, really, holding you against his chest, on his lap while out for a drink with the others, or leaving a kiss on the top of your head first thing in the morning when he gets to the office, or after a job, pulling you into a quick, reassuring hug.
No matter the unspoken rule that makes sure what you have is not a relationship, it’s just because - you cannot afford to be actually together anyway, because what would happen if the other got seriously hurt or worse, with the way your work is?
It doesn’t feel like a valid rule anymore, his arms slithering around you and holding you with a newfound tenderness - for a moment, it seems like he’s terrified of breaking you, should his touch be too much. But then he tightens one arm around you, almost painful, drawing a hiccuping breath out of you as his other hand moves up to pillow your head and hold you against him.
The rule does not hold up anymore, and you melt against him at the kiss he leaves against your brow, the aching tension leaving your body at the light scratch of his mustache on your skin - that too is familiar, welcomed. Javi, your Javi, holding you up even when your knees start to buckle, a soothing reassurance falling from his lips while he rubs your back.
“Alright? You okay?” he asks all the while, and you that, were you to show the mere hint of discomfort, he’d let you go right away. So instead you wrap your own arms around him, press yourself into him ignoring the coil of dread building in your chest.
He’s Javi. Your Javi. There’s no safer place than the circle of his arms.
“Can you stay?” it almost surprises you, how the request of keeping distance between the two of you turns into a plea for him to be close, to just keep holding you. “Please,” a whisper into the curve of his neck, his perfume flooding your senses, rooting you furthermore.
“‘Course, cariño,” he’s running his fingers through your hair, as if still detangling it - he’ll keep up the gesture all night long, even after you’ve fallen asleep, even in the hazy state he falls in as dawn breaks. “I’m not going anywhere.”
#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#javier peña x ofc#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña fic#javier pena#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#javier pena x oc#javier pena x female reader#javier pena x f!reader#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x fem!reader#javier peña x y/n#pedro pascal characters
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I’m so deep in my Javier feels I’m literally drowning. I don’t know where the f this has come from cos the last time this happened was when the fkn show came out. I mean it’s Javi so we all know where it’s come from from but ANYWAY.
Please give me your Javier Peña fic recs. A girl’s dying here.
#javier peña fanfiction#Javier Peña#narcos#narcos smut#narcos fanfiction#narcos fanfic#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x you#javier peña x reader#javier pena x oc#javi sex on legs#javier pena fic#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal#please
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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / a Javier Peña fic.
PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character
SUMMARY: After being transferred back to the States from Colombia, Javier Peña is relocated to a small town in the middle Texas as the new Deputy Sheriff to help solve a string of murders that have been occurring in this more rural part of the state. Rumors of a sacrilegious group plague the community which has its citizens on edge. Along the way, he enters a convoluted relationship with the sheriff’s daughter, Paloma. Entranced not only by her beauty but also by her captivating and enticing artistry as she preforms at a local bar on weekend nights. The once DEA agent soon begins to realize that there’s a lot more at play here than initially thought. Heavily influenced by Ethel Cain’s Preacher’s Daughter album.
RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. More specific tags will be listed on chapter posts.
DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.
A/N: hey y’all! just wanna say that this was an idea that popped in my head as i was rewatching narcos for the dozenth time while simultaneously discovering ethel cain’s work (i know i’m late, cut me some slack pls) but i’ve genuinely never been so inspired to… write. so with that, i give you all a small prologue of sorts to see if there’s any interest in continuing this. it’s my first time publicly posting any of my works so i’m so fuckin’ nervous but oh well i’m just diving head first!
♰ read on ao3. ♰
♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰
The sounds of twigs snapping beneath her feet echo throughout the forest, her frantic breaths making her chest burn as she continues to run aimlessly in attempts to escape her captors. Nina had gotten lucky, her wrist burned from constantly rubbing against her rope confinements until eventually she was able to undo the tight knot and free herself from her imminent death. She wasted no time in booking it out of whatever tattered building they were in; being met with nothing but surrounding darkness.
It didn’t take long before those who had taken her realized she was missing, but it was enough to put some distance between herself and them. Her bare feet ache from the unforgiving woodsy ground, legs slashed from the various twigs and thorns that she had run through in order to make her escape. But that pain was only temporary, and currently her body was focused on survival. She had to make it back to civilization; even if she didn’t know where she was.
A few more minutes of running before the girl finds some kind of solace behind a towering oak tree, her back pressed against its ridges as she allows herself a moment to catch her breath.
To regroup.
One hand travels up to her collarbone where a delicate cross necklace sits against her skin, she grips it tightly and begins to utter a soft yet frantic prayer hoping that the God she’s devoted her life to would spare her from the horrors and fate she’s currently facing. Her eyes snap open at the sound of a twig snapping loudly and before Nina has any time to react to the sudden presence, she’s being yanked by her forearm out of the shadows and roughly thrown onto the ground.
She’s been caught.
“ Please let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. ” Nina pleads and it’s nothing this trio has not heard before.
“ Oh sweet child… ” The smooth yet dangerous voice of the leader of this tormenting group crouches down until he’s at her level, brushing a strand of tawny hair away from her face as he gazes deep into her eyes.
Deep into her soul.
“ You cannot keep the inevitable from occurring. ” Enter the other man, a heavy two barreled shotgun in his hands pointed directly at her. Nina’s lips curl into a pout as tears begin to pour down her supple cheeks. This gets a scoff out of the third person that makes up the trio, a girl that was around her age.
“ Oh poor baby is cryin’. this coulda been so much easier if you hadn’t ran, doll face. ” Her tone is patronizing as she watches Nina intently, a smirk sprawled across her own lips. “ C’mon August, we need to deal with her before we miss our window of opportunity. Again. ” she looks down at the antique watch that adorns her left hand. Only a few minutes until three in the morning.
August takes a few more moments to study the weeping girl before him, just as a predator would its prey. However, there’s a softness in his eyes that she isn’t able to fully register. He eventually stands to his full height. “ It will have to be done here. There is not enough time to bring her back to the house. ” He snaps his fingers at the man with the shotgun and he immediately lowers it, silent as ever and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a large, silver dagger that glistens as the moonlight from the full moon shines down upon it. Nina’s eyes widen at the sight of the blade and she begins to scramble backwards but August reaches down to grasp her ankle to keep her from moving.
“ Hold her down. ” He orders and the other two wordlessly comply, the dagger now in August’s possession as the guy takes hold of her wrists and the girl of her ankles. Nina begins to thrash around violently to no avail. They’ve got a strong hold on her.
“ Please, A-August please I’ll d-do whatever you want. I w-won’t tell anyone just p-please don’t kill me. ” The helpless girl cries, tears and snot mixing as violent sobs rack throughout her entire body.
The earnest begging for her life falls on deaf ears, instead August plants one foot on either side of her body, now towering over her completely with the dagger firmly in his grasp. Between her hysteric crying and overwhelming emotions, Nina doesn’t understand the words that fall past the man’s lips but she knows for certain that he isn’t speaking English.
She attempts to save herself one final time but is ignored once more. Just as August finishes his prayer-like uttering, the wind begins to pick up around them, sending leaves and dirt to swirl around them as if they had conjured up their own, mini tornado.
Nina’s eyes widen as the dagger raises itself over his head.
“ I am no good nor evil, simply I am
And I have come to take what is mine. ”
And with those final words, the dagger plunges down deep into her chest, right where her heart lies. A piercing scream shoots out of her throat, damn near destroying her vocal chords as August continues to stab the sharp blade into her flesh over and over again.
Until eventually, the life drains from Nina’s eyes.
#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fanfic#pedro pascal fanfic#javier pena x oc#javier peña fanfic#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña x oc#javier peña fic#javier peña narcos#javier pena narcos#pedro pascal#super nervous but super excited ! hope this gets some traction (:#ethel cain#southern gothic fic#preachers daughter
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bienvenido
chapter one - fade into you
pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella)
rating: m (nothing explicit or graphic, just some language and some references to sexual activity. overall fic will be explicit though so no one under 18+!)
tags/warnings: alcohol being consumed/thought about/talked about, javier peña doing his best not to be a slut (finds it hard), physical descriptions of oc
word count: 4.1k+
summary: javier mets mariella, not for the first time but certainly the best time
a/n: if you’re thinking ‘i swear to god i’ve already read a first chapter of this.’ you’re right. sorry about that. it was a little ugly and had to disappear. this is the new and improved version (i mean, hopefully improved). it doesn’t really bear any resemblance to the other one, so if you read that one you don’t have to worry about re-reading anything. this is completely new. also, this fic is going to be about lots of fun stuff: a unique mexican experience, small town gossip, kissing, television, the ‘90s, movies. especially the movies. because of this i crafted a cute little letterboxd list that will expand in time called, fade into you. it’ll have every movie i mention here. also also: if you want to get notifications about when this fic updates, follow @belovedinfidels and turn on the notifications! that’s my updates blog. okay bye. hope you enjoy this. love ya <3333 re-edited: 11/15/2023
Javier is beginning to enjoy standing at the edge of existence, his restlessness quieted by two Modelos and the sound of the Mariachi coming to him above chattering voices. Dust gathers on his boots and around the cuffs of his new blue jeans, brought over from the group dancing close to the live band. He watches them curiously, rocking back on his feet, digging himself further into his spot. The Texas sun has been working on growing kinder for the past hour, peeking farther and farther beneath the white two-story farm house at the edge of the property, and he’s taking in the last bits of it gratefully.
Originally he had said no to this invitation. A Saturday night spent in the company of the population of Laredo hadn’t exactly appealed to Javier, who, for the better part of this summer, has only gone to town when absolutely necessary. On top of that, Chucho had told Javi that the event was a party for James Tawes’ campaign for city council. Javier has no real appetite for politics anymore—not even on the local level--and he doesn't know much about Tawes aside from the fact that he's a tall Gregory Peck type, around the same age as his father, and has a daughter a few years younger than himself. In general, this event presented no real interest to Javier, but then he got lonely. Loneliness these day is akin to a slow death for Javier, so he put on his jeans and his boots, and he showed up.
Chucho had been long gone by the time he decided he couldn’t spend another Saturday alone, so he drove himself out here, remembering the way. This house used to belong to a the Ruiz family. He had went to school with their son, Misael, and had spent many nights here during high school, drinking their liquor while they were away. He doesn't know what happened to them, and doesn't care enough to ask.
Javier had parked where no one could get behind him, just in case he hated it and wanted to leave. So far he hasn’t hated it. Hasn’t loved it, either, but it beats sitting at home, flipping mindlessly through tv channels.
As he brings his third Modelo up to his lips, Javier turns his head and spots a woman coming up to him. Panic fills him, first because of the approaching figure, and then secondly because even as she gets closer, he find he can't recognize her. If there is anything worse than being accosted by those you know, it’s being accosted by those you can’t remember.
A friendly smile spreads across his face. He reconciles with his loss before it happens—knows this will be an awkward conversation, feeling around in the dark for some memory of this dark haired woman and her name. She is pretty. Surely he didn’t—? No, he has been good this summer. He’s been sharing walls with his father and hasn’t been particularly keen on sneaking out of any women’s home in the early hours of the morning, eliciting rumors. The last time he was laid was a little over a month ago, and he remembers her name perfectly: Louisa. This isn’t Louisa. This is—
“Hi, I’m Mariella,” she offers, sticking her hand out. He looks down at it, takes it into his own. The alcohol has a dizzying effect on him, loosens him up. He feels it as he begins to talk, more than he did standing there.
“Javier,” he says, putting on a winsome grin She is pretty. Smells good too, like a warm vanilla. “You can just call me Javi, though.”
“Thank you for coming to this, it means a lot to my family.”He raises his eyebrow, unsure of what she means. This makes her laugh. “I’m James’ daughter, Mariella.”
“Oh—oh,” Javier smiles, embarrassed. “Of course.”
He should’ve recognized her. She's the woman who he’s seen the most of since he’s gotten back, every four to five days at the video store. It’s called Mari’s Video. She must be the namesake, the dutiful daughter Chucho has been gushing about all summer. She helps James out during her the summers she has free and teaches at the elementary school during the school year. She is a kind girl. Chucho tells him this every time he thinks to. It comes off as more of a warning than an encouragement, though.
Mariella gives him an easy smile, raising her hand to fight against the setting sun. Javier steps into its path, shielding her from it. “Thank you,” she tells him. “I don’t really know why I came up to bother you. Just to say thank you, I guess. And to say hi. You’re the talk of the town since you came back and I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know you.”
His interest in the conversation dwindles and his smile fades slightly. “Oh, well, I’m just like everyone else.” His fingers begin to pick at the beer bottle label.
“Ah, damn,” she says, pouting, “Thought you were going to be one of those gnarly hometown hero types who never wants to shut up about what he’s seen and what he’s done.”
It takes him a moment to register that she’s poking fun at him. She’s got to smirk, laugh at him a bit, before he catches on. He shakes his head, grinning. “No, none of that. Sorry to disappoint.”
“It’s okay. You spend enough at the store to be forgiven. You keep the lights on, you know?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s been a long, boring summer. It's saved me.”
“You like Hitchcock?” she says.
“Hm?”
“You know, Hitchcock. North by Northwest? You rent that one frequently. I think you got Notorious once too, and I’ve definitely seen you with Rebecca.”
“You’ve got a good memory," he tells her, smiling softly. So she remembers him.
“When you spend entire summers at a movie store, you pay attention to what people get. It’s a good way to judge their character.”
Bringing the beer back up to his lips, he hums, “Oh yeah?” She nods. This prompts him to ask, “What would you say my character is, based on what I’ve given you?”
Narrowing her dark eyes in concentration, she thinks it over. This offers Javier the chance to inspect her more deliberately without feeling like a creep. He smirks under her gaze, taking in the plumpness of her lip gloss covered lips, the rosiness covering her high cheekbones, her tanned, slightly freckled skin skin. She looks white, has features that are undeniably her father’s, but he can tell she’s Mexican. She's got that look. He wonders if she speaks Spanish. She must.
“You’re kind of a loner, maybe even a little lost. I think you might’ve been adventurous when you were younger but now when you find something you like, you stick to it.” She pauses, debating, then she nods her head, sure. “Yeah. I think you might be a bit of the all-American type too, but you won’t admit to it. Don't want to be called gringo. And for some reason, I feel like you’ve got a little animosity towards being the hometown hero.”
Javier practically gawks. “You got all that from a few tapes?” he asks.
“Some of it. Some of it I got from the way you responded when I said you were the hometown hero.”
“Oh,” he grins, “right.”
“When you go back to the store you should get The Swimmer. You remind me a little of Burt Lancaster. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”
“I do?” He can't imagine Burt Lancaster, but he makes a mental note to remember him.
She nods, poking her hands in her pockets. “Yeah. Maybe even From Here to Eternity, too. That’s a good one.”
“I’ll check them out,” he tells her, swirling the beer around at his side.
“Good,” she smiles. She turns her head towards another crowd. “Well, I gotta go win the favor of many more people, but I’ll see you around. Maybe I'll even see you at church by the end of this. I'm not a frequent go-er but they tell me its good for the optics.”
Javier shakes him head firmly. “I don’t go to that,” he says. She looks at him, eyes wide. “And you admit it?” she jokes, hand flying to her chest in mock disgust.
He watches her leave, unsure of whether it’s the beer or the talk that has him grinning this wide. As she skirts around the large crowd, smiling politely, trying to find an opening to disappear into, he feels the familiar sensation of desire rise up in his stomach. She’s funny. Cute. Pig-tailed braids and blue jeans, the Teacher.
Almost as though God is playing a cruel joke on him, Javier’s eyes land on her father when he turns his head back. James is standing, talking animatedly to another, shorter man. Javier squints. It’s Chucho.
The desire fizzles out. He hears Chucho's voice saying: She’s a good girl, Jav.
He thinks he will leave soon.
———
She loves her father. In this family-oriented town, that’s usually considered to be a good trait. They like that her summers are dedicated to the movie store he had opened up in her honor, and that she comes to events like this, opening herself up to help him. She’s heard what they say about her: how she’s soft spoken, a good girl, smart. A daughter anyone could want. She came home like good girls should, and she stayed home. They really love that. For a child to live for their parent—it’s the ideal here in Laredo. Despite their whiteness, they've always fit in more comfortably because of this dynamic. Mariella only wishes James, in his paternal state, would stop pestering her about getting a life outside of this.
As Tamara loads the raw meat onto the dinner plate, she offers Mariella a sympathetic grin. She is the mediator in the family, and has been since she married James seventeen years ago. Tamara is the only mother Mariella has ever really known, aside from her father's mother, but she came so late into her life that she often feels more like a friend. Mariella seeks her out whenever the waves between her father and herself are rocky.
“He is just worried about you,” Tamara tells her, “He thinks that you spend too much time working. I don’t usually take his side, honey, but I agree this time. You have been working a lot this summer.”
Mariella frowns. “You know, some parents would really love that.”
“But your father never was some parent, was he? He wants you to be happy, at the expense of everything. You know that.” Tamara hands her the plate of meat. “Will you take this out to the grill? I have to go get more beers from the back.”
Mariella nods. Tamara is a smart woman, sometimes too smart, and she knows she’s right. In another life, Tamara could’ve made a hell of a therapist. She tells her all that all the time. Says that she’s wasting her talent on being an elementary school principal, but Tamara doesn’t agree. She thinks sometimes it’s almost the same thing.
“Will you tell him that I’m okay?” Mariella asks, standing at the entrance of the kitchen with the plate. “I do, but he won’t listen to me. He does you. Tell him I'm happy.”
Tamara wipes her hands on the towel in front of her, frowning. “I’ll try, but I think you relaxing a little might do more to assuage his fears. Why don’t you take a couple days off of the store, let me fill in for you? Go on vacation.”
Mariella doesn’t even think about it before she says, “No.” Tamara furrows her eyebrows and Mariella dives into an excuse. “I’ll go out of my mind, and I can’t have that before the new school year starts. Besides it’s a very good look for his campaign that I'm like this. I think the two of you should really consider how good the optics of me being a work-alcoholic is before you judge it too harshly.”
Before Tamara can say something wise, motherly, Mariella nudges the doorway and escapes around the corner with the plate of meat. She is in too much of a hurry, almost runs into someone where the hallway ends and the living room begins.
“I’m so sorry!” she gasps out, clutching the plate to her. Javier Peña stands in front of her. His features are in the middle of softening with the same realization she’s having. “Hello again,” she tells him meekly.
She really hadn’t expected him to be so charming when she went up to him early tonight. Of course she had heard rumors about him, about his womanizing ways, about his sordid history, but she had found him to be more reserved for the most part. The entire summer, he’d hardly said anything to her at the store, so when he hadn’t recognized her, she thought: Yeah, that checks out. But then he started to seem genuinely interested in her as they talked, which made her a little nervous. Men didn’t take notice of her. Not like that. Not here, anyway. She's worked diligently to discourage that kind of thing.
“Hello,” he responds warmly. He wears a pleased grin. “I was trying to find the bathroom. Do you know where that is?”
“Up the stairs to the left.” She points behind her to the staircase.
“Thank you," he says, but he doesn't move. She looks at him expectantly, waiting. He seems to catch on. “Listen,” he begins, “This might sound weird and you can tell me no if you’d like, but would you mind if I stuck to your side? You seem to have a better grip on this town than I do these days, and I’m a little sick of being a stranger around here.”
She finds herself nodding her head.
“Great,” he grins, “I’ll be right back.” There's a don't move applied somewhere in that, so she doesn't.
Standing by the bannister, a smile grows on her lips when she realizes. He’s tipsy. That’s the thing she hadn’t pinpointed before, earlier, but she can sense now. The Modelo in his hand, the way he swirled it around as they talked. The openness with which he spoke, all charm. It was alcohol.
It doesn’t take him long to go to the bathroom. His footfall on the stairs makes her turn her head. He’s aglow with a light buzz, all smiles and contentment as he pounds his way down the stairs.
“Let me carry that,” he tells her, taking the plate from her before she can protest.
“Okay,” she says laughingly, following him out to the yard.
They’re almost there when he says, “Where are we taking it?”
She points to the side of the edge of the lawn. “Over there, where the smoke is.”
“Right. And who’s cooking the meat?”
“A man named J.J. You probably know him.”
“Hopefully,” he says, “It seems I forget even those I know these days, though.”
She smiles. “Happens to the best of us,” she assures. Though, she can't say it does to her. She's the type to remember.
J.J looks happy to see them, but he's always happy to see everyone. He’s wearing an apron with a towel thrown over his shoulder, looking positively like a cook. Sweat prickles at his temple, his brown skin glistening from the heat. Mariella grimaces. “Do you have water?” she asks as Javier hands him the plate.
“Yeah, but I could really go for a beer about now.” J.J. glances at Javi, smiles at him. “Hola, Jav. I didn't expect to see you here.”
“Hola.” Javier nods in response. The Spanish comes off his tongue so naturally, it almost surprises her. She doesn’t know why. Of course he’d know it. He’d have to. Wasn’t in Colombia?
She glances back at J.J. “You sure you can cook and drink?”
He nods his head. “I’m a Mexican, mija,” he laughs. She rolls her eyes.
“You mind going to get him a beer? I don't know where they are,” she says to Javier.
He nods his head obidently. “‘Course,” he tell her.
J.J. watches him stalk off. When he’s a little ways gone, far enough to not be able to hear, he says, “So, the Peña boy?”
“It’s nothing like that," she tells J.J. immediately. "I just met him, really. You know him?”
“Sure. Haven’t really spoken to him until he was yay high, though." J.J. holds his hand to his hip. " He looks good, but makes me feel old.”
“He’s tipsy. I think that’s why he’s hanging around me.”
“Well he’s a Mexican, too. We like a party,” J.J. remarks, grinning wide. “You are too. Where’s your beer, gringa?”
“I don’t drink. Not like that.”
“Well, I think the Peña boy is bringing you back one.” He nods off in his direction.
Sure enough, Javier’s clutching three opened beers in his hand. “Here you go,” he says, disbursing them. J.J. takes it from him gratefully, popping the cap on the edge of boot.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he grins, raising the bottle to him.
Mariella stares down her own sweating bottle. “Thank you,” she tells Javier. Javier pops his own cap on the edge of the grill and she attempts that, too. When she fails clumsily two times, he takes it from her. He hands it back without saying anything, and she fights the urge to grimace at the taste once it’s on her tongue. She’s never been the beer type, but she doesn’t want him to think she isn’t grateful.
J.J. laughs knowingly beside them and Javier looks at him, perplexed. “What?” he says, faintly grinning.
“Nothing,” J.J. shakes his head. “Why don’t you kids go have some fun? Javier here—“ J.J. points his head in his direction “—used to be a helluva dancer when he was younger. Didn’t you, Jav?”
“I don’t know about that—“ Javi protests. “If I was, I’m not anymore. Two left feet and what have you,” he waves his hand, dismissing it.
“I never really learned,” she confesses.
Javi pouts his lip out. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s gringa,” J.J. tells him.
“No.” Javier shakes his head. Then he looks to her for confirmation. “I mean, not completely, right? I mean--you’re not completely white?”
“You’re good,” she tells him, laughing.
“Your mom is Mexican, then?”
She nods.
“Do I know her?”
She shakes her head. He doesn’t ask any more questions, just says hm.
“Go teach her to dance, Jav.” J.J. urges, pushing them out of an awkward silence. “C’mon, if you’re gonna follow a pretty girl around like a little lost puppy, at least ask her to dance.”
Javier grimaces. “My knees are bad. It wouldn’t be any good. She deserves a good partner.”
Mariella interferes. “I don’t want to dance. I’m not good at it.”
“You’re letting her down,” J.J. shakes his head at Javier. “If I wasn’t cookin’, I’d show you, Mari. It’s fun.”
“It’s for kids,” Javier tells him. They all look over to the area where people are dancing. It’s more than just kids. In fact, the amount of kids not in the area is grounds for laughter.
J.J. takes another sip of his beer and says, “Your pop would be so disappointed if he knew you weren’t out there with her. He and your Ma—they danced like crazy at these things. That’s where they met, you know? In Mexico.”
Javier’s smile lessens. He nods his head. “Yeah,” he says, sounding far away. She watches him, curious at the shift of mood. After a second, he looks back over to them, smiling again. “Go teach her, J.J. I’ll do the grill. I’ll take over when she’s got the basics down.”
“What, you can’t teach her? Don’t like teaching the teacher?”
He grins. “Something like that.” He nods his head towards the dance floor. “Go on, gimme those.”
J.J. shrugs and hands the pair of tongs to Javier. “Don’t burn the meat because I’ll tell the entire town you did it,” he warns, grabbing onto Mariella’s arm.
“I got it.”
Javier takes a big gulp of his beer before sitting it on the ground beside him. As he rises up, he watches as J.J. escorts Mariella away, smirking slightly.
“I don’t want to dance,” Mariella repeats as they move closer to the dance floor. J.J. smiles, says, “Yes you do, you just don’t know how. You’re lucky I’m old now, too. Perfect for a beginner. Now—“ He pushes her out from him, holds her arms outwards. “Like this,” he begins, moving his feet.
—
He watches from the sidelines, flipping the carne asada. Mariella stumbles a couple of times, her body colliding into J.J. 's when it’s supposed to move away, but other than that, she does just fine. It’s the cumbia. They dance it all the way through and at the end, she’s beaming. J.J.’s saying something to her and she nods. When she hugs him, Javier feels a pang of envy.
He wants her. It’s been bubbling up in him all night but now that he’s full of beer, it’s harder to deny. It’s why he won’t dance with her. If he dances with her, touches her like that, he’ll flirt, ask her home. Chucho will be furious if he takes her home. James, too, probably. He doesn’t know him that well, but in experience, Javier generally finds fathers don’t like when you fuck with their daughters. Literally and figuratively.
He craves a cigarette more than he ever has right now, watching them as J.J. hands Mariella off to someone else on the dance floor. It’s an older man, someone she seems to know. He doesn’t recognize him.
“You seem to fit right in,” a deep voice to the right says. Javier looks over and sees James. His grin is so genuine Javier thinks, Not quite the cut throat D.C. type.
“I’m sorry I haven’t made my way over to you tonight. I want to say thank you for coming. Means a lot to me.”
Javier shrugs as if to say, it’s nothing. “Thanks for havin’ me. Nice house you got here,” he says, making small talk. He’s gotten good at that over the years.
“Thanks,” he says. He glances down at the grill. “Why don’t you let me do that? Go off and enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m just filling in for J.J.” Javier goes to point to him but finds he’s gone, disappeared in the crowd.
James laughs, a real hearty laugh. “He’s prone to doing that to people. He’s a damn good grill guy but you get a beer in him and he’s done.”
“It’s fine, really. I can keep doing it.”
“No way. This is the last batch, anyways. I’ll be done with it in a few. Go have fun. Drink a few beers for the both of us,” James says. Javier gives in, not knowing what else to say. He leans down and grabs his beer off the ground.
“Javi?” James asks before he leaves. Javier raises an eyebrow. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Mariella. I saw her talking to you earlier. She seems happier tonight.”
“Oh, well…” Javier lifts his shoulders. “It’s nothing. I don’t really think it was me. J.J. was teaching her to dance.”
“Yeah, well, still. She’s a good girl, you know? I want her to enjoy herself.”
Javier can’t help laughing to himself. James smiles. “What’s that?” he asks Javier.
“Oh, nothing. Everyone’s been telling me that about her, that's all.”
James seems surprised. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You should be. She seems nice,” Javier tells him. He looks down at the bottle in his hands. “I think I’m gonna head home now, actually. Would you tell her I said goodbye?”
“You sure?” James asks. “The party will probably go on for a bit longer.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for everything. I had fun.”
“Certainly. I hope to see you again before the summer ends.”
—
Mari catches him from the corner of her eye. She sees the bright pink of his shirt moving towards the fence, to the parking lot, and she panics.
She moves through the crowd, carried by the weight of her adrenaline. “Hey!” she shouts out to him. Javi turns, looking caught off guard. “You stood me up, dance partner!”
He scrunches up his nose. “I would’ve made a bad one!” he shouts back to her. She picks up her speed, jots over to meet him. “You leavin’?” she asks.
“Yeah. It’s getting late. I’m old.”
“You’re a little tipsy to be driving aren’t you?”
“I’m okay.”
She leans against the fence. “Let me take you home.”
“No,” he shakes his head. “I promise, I’ll be okay.”
“C’mon,” she says. “For my own sake. Please.”
Javier glances back at the lot full of cars. “But my truck...”
“Leave the keys with me and I’ll make sure you get it by morning.”
He tries to come up with a reason to say no, twisting his head back again. “I parked a long way off from everyone. You’re probably backed in,” he says, but she’s already opening the gate, crossing the threshold.
She takes her keys out of her pocket. “I might not be able to dance, but I can find a good parking spot. I know that trick too.” She laughs.
Javier watches her with a pinched expression. Doesn’t she know he’s trying to be good? He would’ve sat in his car, waited out the drink. He just doesn’t want to tell her that. It seems lonely, silly. She will only want to drive him home more.
He acquiesces, joking, “So this is what you get when you have rented that many tapes.”
“Yeah,” she plays along, voice airy and light, “It’s actually rent ten movies, get one ride free but I was worried about telling you that. You came a lot and never said anything, and I don’t like driving weirdos.”
She looks over her shoulder at him. He’s fighting off a grin.
She likes him. Really likes him. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, especially because it is something that happens with such rarity for her. Luckily for him, she is good at being good. She won’t make him sweat even for a second.
Mariella will let this crush die off as quickly as it came. That’s who she is. It’s why her father worries. She is so good at being good. Enough for the two of them, really.
At least, that’s what they say. In Laredo, there is usually always a smidge of truth in even the most damning of rumors. Javier knows this best.
#javier peña#javier pena#javier pena x ofc#javier peña x ofc#javier peña x oc#javier pena x oc#narcos#narcos fanfic#narcos fic#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfic#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#josé pedro balmaceda pascal
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Exile 2. Smartass
Summary: After Steve Murphy's unforgivable death in the never-ending fight against Pablo Escobar, Javier Peña finds himself stuck with a new partner. A girl that they brought from Miami. Smart, devastating, strong. Nothing he would have thought her to be. Their rivalry builds up to something intense, destructive.
CW: canon violence, mentions of death, smoking and drinking, language, bullshitting my way through the Narcos plot, no y/n (3rd person), no physical and racial descriptions of the girl, eventual smut. 1500 words.
Divider by @cafekitsune
Masterlist for exile
Notification blog
In the evening, most of her things found their rightful place. She didn’t have many dishes, but they all found a little space in the kitchen. The cupboards were mostly empty. At least, the apartment came with the basic furniture, a luxury that filled the quiet emptiness.
Her bathroom was full of her makeup items and her walk-in closet in her room overflew with clothes. Riri was still hiding in the closet. She would be hiding too, after meeting such a "nice" guy.
She got the basics for cooking meals for the following week. But she was too tired to cook anything big today, so she snacked on some cereals instead.
It was late when she heard Javier coming back home, door slamming shut. Great. The apartment wasn’t well insulated. She can also vaguely hear his TV.
She decides to sleep it off, not wanting to think too much about her new coworker who already seemed to despise her.
In the morning, she slips on a white shirt and black slacks after forcing herself to eat and drink coffee. She looks at the clock on her wrist. 6:58. She grabs her bag and goes outside to meet Javier in his Jeep. He’s already sitting, waiting for her, a cigarette between his lips.
“Morning.” She says.
“Almost late.” He responds as a greeting.
“I had two minutes to spare.” She argues as she rolls her eyes. “Your TV was loud yesterday.”
“Get used to it, princesa. Walls are thin here.”
She can almost see the hint of a smile around his cigarette. He’s wearing a light yellow shirt, a leather jacket, and dark jeans. The yellow looks good on his tan skin.
“Where are you from, Agent Peña?” She asks as he drives away.
“Texas.” He responds dryly.
“Fun. I wouldn’t have guessed.” She finds a cigarette pack in his car console, takes one and brings it to her lips and lights it up. He glares at her in the rear-view mirror, but she smiles like a wolf she takes a long drag on her cigarette. She would need to take a lot of fucking nicotine to endure the grumpy man. “I worked in Miami. But I’m from Canada.”
“I don’t care. I only care about the fact that you can do your job.”
“Lovely.” She rolls her eyes and keeps smoking in silence.
When they finally get to work, he shows her the empty desk in front of his. She would get tired of his presence pretty fast if he didn’t miraculously become nice. He puts a pile of files on her desk.
“That’s what we have so far. Read all of it and then get back to me.”
She puts her thick rimmed glasses on her nose to read. “This will take me all day.” She complains.
“You have to start somewhere, new recruit.” Says another man she didn’t know. He’s middle-aged and large. “I’m Chris, welcome.” She offers him a smile and tells him her name.
“What he said.” Javier responds. And then, just like that, he’s gone.
She flies through the files in just a few hours. She knew most of the information already, except the most recent breakthroughs that were still under wraps. And that last report. With everything that went wrong. Faceless people who died under an attack by Escobar’s men.
Maybe that’s why Javier was such a dick. Maybe that’s why he underestimated his new partner so much.
Javier comes back to his desk for a smoke break, eyebrows shot up as he sees that chiquita is done reading and she’s laying back in her chair, legs up on the desk.
“You’re a fast reader.”
“One of my many qualities.” She responds with a grin.
She watches as he lights up his cigarette and gets a glimpse of his teeth. She wondered what he looked like when he smiled. If he ever did.
“Let’s see if you actually retained any information or if you’re bullshitting.”
Javier tosses his cigarette pack at her, and she notes that she would owe him later. They smoke face to face, vapors of their cigarettes intertwining between them. She holds his gaze, defiant.
He quizzes her from the beginning of the case, and she responds flawlessly, with numbers and dates when needed. He feels himself getting smaller and smaller with every response, like he finally met someone better than him.
And then, he talked about the latest report.
“What went wrong, you think?” His eyes are suddenly distant, far away, as he remembers everything that went wrong. The way he almost lost his job when he came back with the news. He had failed miserably.
“You underestimated the fact that La Quica could call reinforcements with a phone you couldn’t track. And how close the help was from him. You thought you had framed him. But he framed you.”
“Smart girl.” He says, lips curled around his cigarette in what resembled a smirk.
Her thighs closed at the praise. She damned her body for getting aroused at his words. She tried to remember that he was an asshole.
“You need more help from the inside.”
“And how you suggest we do that?”
“You have to find someone who’s willing to sell them for immunity.”
“Or I could send you as bait. Make them believe you’re a whore sent to please them.”
“Fuck you, Javier.”
There it was the reminder that he was an asshole.
“It’s Agent Peña for you, chiquita.”
“I’ll call you trou de cul if it pleases me. Let me see if we got more intel on the phone if you’re done bothering me.” She gets up, the cigarette she stole from him still dangling from her lips.
When she’s gone, Chris shoots an amused look to Javier.
“She’s something else, isn’t she?”
“She is.” He agrees.
“What does… trou de cul means?”
“No idea, man. But I think it’s French.”
After the last incident, it’s like everything had went quiet and Escobar was even more careful. So, she didn’t find much as she sat on the phone, listening carefully to the fast-paced Spanish. A veiny hand grabs the phone from her grasp and sets it down. She looks up at Javier.
“Hope you brought comfortable clothes. We have physical training today.”
“I don’t. How nice of you to tell me in advance.”
He shrugs. Cocky bastard. A cocky bastard who had already changed in shorts and a tight kaki t-shirt.
“Guess this will have to do.” She mutters as she gets up and rolls up her sleeves to free her arms.
She follows Javier to the gym, where a few people are already in duos practicing close combat. There was also another room connected and separated by a window, where they could see people training to shoot.
“Who am I fighting?”
“Me.” Responds Javier. “And I won’t go easy on you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. How do we determine the winner?” She asks as she takes off her shoes while Javier positions himself on the carpet, taking a solid stance.
“When one of us successfully disarms the other.”
She nods and observes where his gun is ridiculously poking out of his pants. Some people had stopped fighting and were starting to stare in their direction. A lot of the men thought that the fight would be unfair, and the girl would lose.
She noted that she also had a small knife hidden in her bra. She always had one. It would be useful against Javier.
The man strikes first, and she falls to the ground in a loud thud. She tries to ignore how heavy his body feels on her. She also ignores the public’s reaction.
She lets him think he’s winning, until the moment he’s reaching for her belt. Her hands grab his wrists in a solid grasp, her legs roll him over and he’s stuck under her as she puts all her weight on him. She lets go of his wrists and holds her arm against his throat, making it hard for him to breathe. He looks up at her, anger filling his gaze or… something else.
“You have to stop underestimating me.”
“You’re just a girl.”
A few boys let out a “woooo”.
Javier pushes her away and she falls on her back. He uses his legs to immobilize hers, trapping them in an impossible position. His chest presses against her back, trapping her on the ground. She fights with all she’s got, and when he reaches for her belt again, she pulls out the knife from her bra, still in its case, and she aims for Javier’s arm, grazes it.
The surprise destabilizes him, and she feels him weaken just long enough for her to take over again. He falls on his back and she sit her ass on his stomach. She takes off the case from her knife, aims for his balls but she plants it in the carpet between his legs instead. She turns just enough to see his stunned face as she takes his gun from him and gets up. Everyone starts clapping.
She holds her hand out to him and he takes it to get up. She swears she can see redness creeping up his neck, a deep feeling of shame settling in. She grabs the collar of his shirt and brings him close to whisper:
“Always protect your balls and expect your opponent to have more weapons on them.”
#javier pena#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fic#javier pena narcos#javier pena x you#javier pena x reader#javier pena x oc#javier pena x f!oc#javier pena x female oc#javier pena x yn#javier pena x y/n#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#javier pena smut#exile
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Heroes & Heartbreak
Chapter 20
Summary: The DEA agents attend Carrillo’s funeral, and Javi makes some very unwelcome friends.
Pairings: Javier Peña x OFC Ariana Morgan—DEA Agent and daughter of Pablo Escobar
Fandom: Narcos
Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 4,191
Warnings: language, grief, talk of death and violence…let me know if I missed anything, and I’ll happily add it here!
A/N: This is the continuation of the main storyline. I will be posting an alternate chapter 20 to go with the alternate timeline eventually.
I included conversations from the episode to help anyone who hasn’t seen it or hasn’t watched it in awhile. Sorry if it feels redundant if you’ve seen the show a million times like me.
As always, feel free to let me know if I need to correct the Spanish translations!
Chapter 19 Chapter 21 Series Masterlist Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist
“Ari?” Javi said softly. No response. He sat gently next to her. She was laying in bed on her side, turned away from him. He knew she was awake—neither of them had slept the entire night. “Ari, Carrillo’s funeral is in a couple hours. Messina is getting on the chopper to head to Bogotá soon.” She just lay there, still as a corpse. “Ari, I know you’re still…processing all of this, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you miss his funeral.” When she still didn’t respond, Javi leaned forward and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Please, querida.” He sighed heavily and stood up.
“I don’t think I can,” Ari whispered brokenly. The pain in her voice tore into his heart.
“You can, Ariana,” he said gently, sitting beside her once more. Ari rolled to her back and looked into his eyes.
“If I go…” she began in a raspy voice. “If I go, it’s real. I have to say goodbye. I have to accept that I’ll never see him again. Never share a beer. Never talk about our day, our troubles. Never hear his laugh. It’s not like when he went away to Spain. I missed him, but I always knew I’d see him again. This goodbye is forever, Javi…I just can’t.” Javi felt a tear slide down his cheek. He picked up her hand and intertwined their fingers.
“I’m not going to make you go,” he told her. “If you really cannot do it, I won’t force you. However, when some time has passed, and you’re more capable of dealing with this, I don’t want you to regret not going, so I want you to think this through. I’ll stay here with you today. Do whatever you need me to if that’s what you want.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Or, if you decide to go, then we’ll go, and I’ll hold your hand and be there for you while we say our goodbyes.”
“I thought you said you don’t do funerals,” Ari whispered.
“I don’t,” Javi replied. “The last funeral I went to was my mother’s, and I swore to never again go through that.” He looked into her eyes. “But if you want to go, I’m going with you. I won’t let you do this alone, Ari.” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over her lashes.
“I think I should go,” she said after several silent minutes. “Juliana…sh-she’ll expect me there, and she needs all the support she can get right now.” Javi admired her ability to see past her own pain to fulfill the needs of those she cared about. He lifted her hand and kissed it.
“Ok, querida,” he said softly. “Then we’ll go.”
A couple hours later they arrived at the church. Javi was wearing is only black suit, and Ari looked beautiful and somber in a simple black dress. They entered, and Ari stopped cold. Carrillo’s closed casket was just ahead at the end of the aisle. He took her hand and squeezed gently.
“It’s alright, cariño,” Javi said softly.
“Ari?” A gentle feminine voice spoke behind them. They turned to see Steve and Connie.
“Connie?” Ari asked in disbelief. Her face crumpled, and Connie didn’t hesitate to wrap Ari up in her arms.
“I’m so sorry, Ari,” Connie whispered to her. Ari’s shoulders shook with silent sobs. Connie cradled the back of her head, and just held her. After a couple minutes Ari pulled back and composed herself.
“Hey, Javi,” Connie said, looking over at him.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Javi replied.
“I got on the first flight out when Steve called me last night and told me the news,” she said. “I had to be here for you guys.”
“We appreciate it, Connie,” Javi said with a sad smile. “We really do.” He was glad to have another trusted friend for Ari to lean on. She needed all the support she could get right now.
“Should we find seats?” Connie asked, looking around.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. They began walking down the aisle. Ari grabbed Javi’s hand once more, her eyes glued to the casket. They were about to slide into the pew when Steve stopped them.
“Juliana,” he pointed a few rows up. Ari’s eyes snapped from the casket to where Steve was pointing. She straightened her shoulders, let go of Javi’s hand, and walked straight to Carrillo’s widow. He could see her putting up her walls to stay strong for Juliana. Javi, Steve, and Connie followed behind.
“Ari,” Juliana whispered when she saw her.
“I’m so sorry, Juliana,” Ari said gently. Juliana began to cry, and Ari hugged her tight. After a few minutes Juliana pulled back to look at Ari.
“Was it quick?” She asked. “Did he feel pain?” Javi saw Ari’s throat bob as she swallowed thickly.
“It was quick,” she lied smoothly. “He wouldn’t have had time to feel pain…or be afraid.” Javi saw her hand shake slightly. He knew the toll this was taking on her. She was using every bit of energy to keep her shit together for Juliana. Carrillo’s son stepped forward.
“Ariana,” he said in a deep voice that sounded so much like Carrillo’s Javi’s heart stopped for a moment.
“Horacio,” Ari said in a thick voice. Horacio was the spitting image of his father, twenty years younger. She was close to losing it. She reached out and clasped Horacio's hand tightly. When Juliana moved over to speak to Steve, Horacio went to pull Ari in for a hug. She stopped him.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “I…I can’t. I’m sorry. I need to keep it together for your mom…if you hug me right now…” His eyes softened at her admission.
“It’s ok, Ari,” he whispered back. “I understand…but you’re allowed to fall apart.” She shook her head. “After the burial.” She nodded once. He squeezed her hand and let her go. Ari sighed, her shoulders sagging for a moment. Juliana turned back to them, her eyes glossy and full of pain.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Javi said quietly.
“Our loss,” she corrected. “You three were as much his family as us.” Javi felt raw emotion clog his throat. He had been so worried about Ari he hadn’t really taken the time to acknowledge his own grief.
“He—” Javi cleared his throat. “He was a good man…one of the best I’ve ever known.” Juliana nodded.
“We better take our seats,” Steve said. The church was filling up fast.
“You will sit with us,” Juliana insisted. The filed into the front pew together. Juliana sat between Horacio and Ari. Javi made sure to take the other seat next to Ari, Steve beside him. Connie next to Steve. Juliana clutched both her son’s and Ari’s hands the entire time. Javi held Ari’s other hand.
The funeral passed in a blur. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Ari. She was worrying him. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t shed a tear, had barely moved a muscle. She stared straight ahead. Her eyes had that faraway look in them. Javi vaguely recalled this type of behavior being discussed in a lecture on psychology in law enforcement. It was a common occurrence for the brain to shut down or ‘go somewhere else’ during times of trauma or stress. Even though this was technically a normal reaction, Javi was still concerned. The woman he loved was falling apart, and he was completely helpless.
Javi snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed everyone standing. The service was over. They would head to the cemetery to say their final goodbyes. Ari sat still until Juliana tugged on her hand. She stood silently and followed them out of the church. Javi trailed behind them. Juliana and Horacio got into the first car, pulling Ari in with them. The door closed and Javi stood there, fear settling into his bones. He didn’t want to leave Ari, but he couldn’t exactly push his way into the car.
“Come on, man,” Steve said. “We’ll get in the one behind them.” Javi nodded and followed the Murphys. The burial was a quick, somber affair. Javi stood right behind Ari the entire time. She stood stoically next to Juliana. Horacio stood on the other side of his mother, just as stoic as Ari. Two pillars of strength for the widow to lean on…but both ready to crumble at a moment’s notice.
Juliana turned into her son and sobbed as the casket was lowered into the ground. Javi saw Ari’s stance waver slightly. He stepped forward until he was pressed right up against Ari’s back. She stiffened then leaned back into him just slightly, allowing him to carry just a small fraction of the burden of her grief.
“It’s almost done, hermosa,” he whispered. “Just hang on a little longer.” She nodded, eyes still trained on Carrillo’s casket disappearing into the earth. After what felt like hours, but was merely a few minutes, the colonel was in his final resting place. They all stepped forward one by one to toss a handful of dirt or a rose into the grave. Slowly the large group disbanded and headed back to the cars. Ari stood silently, staring into the hole, her hand smeared with dirt.
“Everyone is heading back to the house,” Steve said quietly. Javier glanced around. Most of the mourners were gone. Juliana was near the cars talking to a few people Javi didn’t recognize.
“Ariana,” Horacio called out gently. She didn’t move. “Ariana.” He touched her shoulder. She turned to him and looked up into the face that looked so much like her best friend, and she shattered. Horacio was quick to catch her as she fell into his arms. He held her close as she cried. He buried his face in her hair, and Javi could see his shoulders shaking with his own soft sobs.
“I’m so sorry,” Ari whispered brokenly. Steve and Connie stepped away to give them some privacy. Javi was torn. He didn’t want to leave Ari, but he felt he should give them some space. After a moment he decided to back off and give them time. He stood beside Connie and Steve, his hand shaking by his side.
“It’s alright, Jav,” Steve said softly. Javi turned his gaze to Steve. “She’s strong. She’ll make it though this.”
“She shouldn’t have to,” Javi said angrily. “None of this should have happened.”
“But it did,” Steve replied. “You gotta stop blaming yourself. We were all there. We all had the same information and agreed it was the move to make.”
“Carrillo asked me if I trusted her,” Javi whispered. “If I trusted the source…and I said yes. If I had said literally anything else, we wouldn’t have moved on it. Carrillo would still be here. And Ari…” He shook his head as tears filled his eyes.
“You know how Carrillo is—” Steve said and then paused—“was…how Carrillo was. Even if you flat out said you didn’t trust the source, he wouldn’t have let this opportunity go. He still would have moved on it.” Javi chewed his lip as he thought over Steve’s words.
“You’re right,” Javi agreed, “but he would have been more cautious. Things would have played out differently.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Steve countered. “Escobar had it out for Carrillo from day one. And we all know that asshole usually gets what he wants. He wanted Carrillo out of the picture, so I think this would have happened eventually regardless of what we did.” Steve huffed an exhausted sigh. “The point is, what’s done is done, Javi. We can’t change the past no matter how much we want to. Carrillo knew the risks with this job. This is not on you.” Javi just shook his head. Steve’s words meant nothing. Javi would carry Carrillo’s death with his for the rest of his life.
He turned his attention back to Ari. Her tears had stopped, but she was still held in Horacio’s arms. He was talking quietly to her. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was had calmed Ari down. She looked up at him and nodded. He leaned down and she stood up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. Javi tamped down on the irrational jealousy that swelled up inside him. Ari stepped from Horacio’s embrace and turned to look around. Javi’s heart swelled when he realized she was looking for him. Her gaze found him seconds after his realization, and she offered him a small smile before making her way over. Javi pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. She did the same and squeezed him tight.
“You ok?” He whispered.
“I will be,”she answered honestly. Javi nodded and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
“Everyone is gathering at the house,” Javi told her.
“I want to go back to Medellín,” Ari said.
“You sure?” Javi asked.
“Yes,” Ari replied. “I can’t do any more today.”
“Alright, baby,” he said gently. “We’ll head back now.” They said goodbye to Steve and Connie who were going to stay for the rest of the memorial and then made their way to the airport.
Once they finally made it back to headquarters Javi immediately led Ari to their room. He locked the door after the entered. Steve—wanting to spend the night with his wife—wouldn’t be back until the next day. Javi took Ari into his arms.
“I’m so proud of you, hermosa,” he whispered gruffly. “You did great today. I know Juliana and Horacio appreciated it.” Ari just nodded silently against his chest. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly.
“I want you to try to sleep,” he said. She nodded, her eyes distant. She undressed silently. Javi changed out of his suit into street clothes. Once she was just in her underwear Javi grabbed one of his t-shirts and handed it to her. She offered him a small, sad smile and pulled the shirt over her head. She turned and crawled into the bed, pulling the covers up to her shoulders and turning her back to Javi. He leaned down and, she turned her head to him. He kissed her softly on the lips and brushed the hair gently from her face.
“I’m gonna go get some coffee,” he whispered. “I’ll be back soon.” She nodded and turned away. Javi straightened up and swallowed thickly. He didn’t know what to do, but he hoped if he gave her some space she would finally sleep. He turned the lights off as he left the room. He would run over to the cafe down the street, have a coffee or two, and come back. That should be enough time for her to fall asleep.
He wasn’t at the cafe 5 minutes before a very unwelcome guest showed his face—Don Berna.
“¿Y ahora qué?” (What now?) Javi asked. “¿Qué chingadas quieres?” (What the fuck do you want?)
“Quiero ayudarlo,” (I want to help you) Berna answered.
“¿Ah, sí?” (Oh yeah?) Javi asked sarcastically.
“Venga conmigo y le muestro,” (Come with me, and I’ll show you.) Berna offered. Javi sighed heavily. What did he have to lose at this point? They needed all the help they could get after losing Carrillo. Javi followed Berna out to his car and got in. The two men remained silent during the trip outside the city. When they pulled up in front of a mansion Javi still had no idea what Berna was up to. He followed him into the house and down a flight of stairs. The stairs opened up into a fancy rec room. To his surprise, he was greeted there by Judy Moncada and the Castaño brothers.
“Agente Peña,” Judy greeted him. “Bienvenido a Montecasino.” (Agent Peña. Welcome to Montecasino) She gestured to the table in front of her. It was covered with photos. “Algunos conocidos suyos, ¿cierto, Agente Peña?” (I’m sure you recognize some of these people, right, Agent Peña?) Javi glanced down to see practically everyone Escobar had ever been associated with.
“Parace que se robó el álbum familiar…Señora Moncada,” (It looks like you raided the family’s album…Mrs. Moncada.) Javi said quietly.
“Por favor, dígame Judy,” (Please, call me Judy) she insisted. “A ver,”(Let me tell you)—she picked up a picture of Pablo— “le cuento antes de que este hijo de puta matara a mi esposa y a mi hermano, todo esta gente” (before this son of a bitch killed my husband and my brother, all these people)—she put down the picture and gestured to the others— “era amiga mía. ¿Cómo le parece?” (were my friends. What do you think of that?)
“Pues, me parece que ha hecho amigos nuevos, ¿no?” (Well, it looks to me like you made some new friends, no?) Javi said with a nod towards the Castaños.
“Digamos que tenemos un objetivo común,” (We might say that we share a common goal) Judy replied with a smirk. “El mismo suyo, agente Peña.” (The same as yours, Agent Peña.)
“¿Cierto?” (Is that right?) Javi asked quietly.
“Sí,” Judy whispered. Javi stared at her, his mind racing. Was she really implying what he thought she was? He saw it in her eyes. What the fuck? She actually expected him to work with her and those lunatics. He smirked in disbelief.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grunted. He turned to leave , but his path was blocked by Berna.
“Esprate, Javier,” (Hold on, Javier) Berna insisted. “Yo quiero que tú escuches lo que te queremos decir.” (I’d like you to listen to what we have to say.)
“Usted tiene tantas ganas de atrapar Escobar como nosotros,” (You want to catch Escobar, just like we do.) Carlos Castaño began. “No nos digamos mentiras,” (But let’s not lie to ourselves,)—he stood and walked towards Javi and Judy—“usted no se le ha podido acercar ni un poquito. La única ficha que usted tenía para eso era Carrillo. Y ya sabemos cómo terminó, ¿cierto?” (You haven’t been able to get close to him. The only play you had to get to him was Carrillo. And we know how that ended, right?) Javi suppressed a flinch at the mention of his fallen friend. What the fuck did they care about his fight against Escobar? They spent their time terrorizing communists in the jungle.
“¿Entonces se están tomando un recesivo de quemar pueblos?” (So, you’re taking a break from burning down villages?) Javi asked sarcastically.
“Vea, lo que nosotros hacemos es cubrir la ausencia del estado,” (See, what we do is fill in for an absent government) Carlos replied.
“Vamos a acabar con todo la gente cercana de Escobar, uno por uno,” (We’re going to kill everyone close to Escobar one by one.) Judy told him. “Hasta que se quede solo. Sin nada.” (Until he’s alone. With nothing)
“Nosotros queremos, señor Peña,” (What we want, Mr. Peña)—Fidel finally spoke from his seat—“que Pablo Escobar entienda que no es intocable. Queremos que sienta miedo.” (is to make Pablo Escobar understand he is not untouchable. We want him to be afraid.)
“Solo hay un pequeño problema,” (There’s just one small problem.) Judy cut in. Javi raised his eyebrows.
“¿Solo uno?” (Just one?) He asked sarcastically.
“Que para agarrarlo necesitamos toda esa tecnología satelital y espionaje que tiene su gobierno, agente Peña,” (To catch him, we need the satellite technology surveillance that your government has, Agent Peña.) Judy told him. Jesus, the fucking gall of this woman. She actually expected him to hand over classified government information. Not only could he lose his job, he would end up in jail if he did this.
“¿Y eso se lo pongo en sus manos yo?” (And I’m just going to hand that over to you?) Javi asked incredulously.
“Si usted y yo somos socios hace rato, agent Peña,” (We have been partners for awhile now, Agent Peña) Judy informed him. “Toda la información que le dio Berna se la di yo.” (All the information that he gave to you, I gave to him.) Javi looked to Berna, who nodded, confirming Judy’s words. “Simplemente estamos haciendo…un pequeño ajuste.” (We are simply making…a small adjustment.) They all watched Javi closely. There was no fucking way he could do this. Taking info from Berna was one thing…betraying the confidentiality of his country was another.
“Una cosa más,” (One more thing) Carlos said lowly, “hay otra manera de llegar a Escobar... otra persona cercana a él. Alguien que significa mucho para él.” (there is one other way we can get to Escobar...one other person close to him. Someone who means a great deal to him.) Javi’s stomach dropped. They were talking about Ari.
“Su pareja es una mujer muy hermosa, señor Peña,” (Your partner is a very beautiful woman, Mr. Peña.) Fidel added ominously. “Me encantaría conocerla algún día... tal vez pronto.” (I would love to meet her one day...maybe soon.)
“La dejas fuera de esto,” (You leave her out of this) Javi warned them. His heart was racing. They didn’t hold Ari to the same standard Escobar did. She wasn’t their family…they didn’t care what happened to her. And she wouldn’t even have the protection of the DEA. The Castaños didn’t give a shit about US retaliation. They would skin Ari alive just to hurt Escobar.
He picked up the drink Judy had poured for him and finished it in one gulp.
“Gracias por el trago,” (Thanks for the drink.) Javi said and put the glass down. He turned and walked out, hitting Berna with his shoulder as he passed him. He was pissed. Berna had kept this information hidden from him. He never would have gotten involved if he had known who was truly behind the information…
That wasn’t true though, was it? Javi wanted to take Escobar down—now more than ever. After seeing Ari shatter last night, he wanted to end this. For her, for Carrillo, for everyone. And now Ari was a possible target. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Even if it meant he would lose his job—or worse—he had to protect her. He made his way outside and lit a cigarette. Berna joined him a moment later.
“Mucha estupidez para mi gusta,” (Too much stupidity for my liking.) Javi told him.
“Los Castaños nos sirven para un propósito,” (The Castaños can be useful) Berna replied.
“Estaba hablando de ti,” (I was talking about you) Javi corrected. Berna turned to him.
“Sí, Javier,” Berna said. “Yo soy narco y creo en el honor y la lealtad, así como vos.” (I’m a narco. And I believe in honor and loyalty, like you.) The front door opened behind them, and Judy walked out. “Pablo no.” (Pablo doesn’t.)
“Berna, tráete el carro,” (Berna, go get the car.) Judy ordered. Berna left and Judy approached Javi with a sigh. “¿Regáleme pues un cigarrillo?” (Are you going to give me a cigarette?) Javi handed her a cigarette and lit it. “Pues, sí…A nosotros realmente nos interesa que usted se dé cuenta, agent Peña, del potencial que tiene la propuesta que le estamos haciendo…hmm? Porque, pues sí…toda la información del mundo no va a hacer que usted deje de ser un policía, ¿cierto?” (Well…we really want you to realize, Agent Peña, the potential of what we’re offering you…hmm? Because, well…with all the information in the world, you still have to be a policeman, right?) Javi just stared at her. “Yo sé lo que se siente que Pablo le mate a uno alguien cercano.” (I know what it feels like when Pablo kills someone close to you.) She held up a small, folded piece of paper.
“Qué es eso?” (What’s that?) Javi asked.
“Una información muy valiosa para usted,” (Information that would be very valuable to you.) she replied. “Que fue muy fácil de encontrar para nosotros. Tenga.” (That was very easy for us to find. Take it.) Javi took the note and opened it. His eyes widened slightly.
“Se está quedando con una amiga,” (She’s staying with a friend) Judy told him. “La muchachita esa, Maritza. La que lo traicionó a usted la que hizo que mataran a Carrillo. Ahí la encuentra.” (That little girl, Maritza. The woman that betrayed you and got Carrillo killed. You’ll find her there.) Judy paused as reality sunk in. “Le dije que teníamos un enemigo común.” (I told you we have an enemy in common.) Berna drove up at that moment, and Javi walked to the car. “Si cambia de opinión, échenos una llamadita. Y recuerda... si no estás interesado en ayudarnos, estoy seguro de que el agente Morgan lo estará.” (If you change your mind, give us a call. And remember...if you're not interested in helping us, I'm sure Agent Morgan will be.) Javi’s blood ran cold as he got into the car. He couldn’t let these savages anywhere near Ari. They weren’t leaving him much of a choice.
Chapter 21
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Just Dumb Enough to Try
Chapter 11: Shallow
Word Count: 3.7k
Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Tags / CW: swearing, cheating/infidelity, lying, smut, spanking, PIV sex, daddyyyy, dirty talk, we're going to pretend I know anything about ranching, i've shoehorned several headcanons in here, lotta lotta fluff
Chapter Summary: Our heroes have a sleepover (part one)
Notes: Chapter title from "Shallow" by Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper. Also small note - idk if anyone actually listens to the Spotify playlists I post for chapters, but I put "Chattahoochee" by Alan Jackson on this week's playlist… and I forgot what a fun song that is. I don't even like a lot of country music, but that song makes me want to kick a fucking door off its hinges. I'm posting a day earlier than normal because I'm bored. I might be releasing more chapters earlier than anticipated because I've been able to backlog a ton of writing. Idk, we'll see what happens!!
[ First Chapter ] [ Previous Chapter ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ AO3 ]
Peña Ranch, Laredo, TX
June 24, 1998
You follow the directions Javier scrawled on the back of a receipt, hoping that you interpret the chicken scratch correctly. Clouds of dust billow out from beneath your tires as you make your way down the desolate dirt road. The radio is off because you’re so nervous, you can’t concentrate with the music playing. Your heart skips a beat when you see a driveway branch off of the road; the gateway above it reads Peña Ranch.
You last saw Javi on Monday, only able to spend about two hours together before he dropped you off at home. He found a place to park on some back road. While rifling through his stack of cassette tapes he keeps in the truck, you found out that, much to your surprise and delight, his go-to album is Prince’s Purple Rain . Among his collection, you also found Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet, Johnny Cash’s American Recordings, and Alan Jackson’s A Lot About Livin’ and a Little ‘Bout Love. This small peak into his music taste is fucking fascinating to you.
But, to be fair, your curiosity is piqued by every scrap of information he’ll give you about himself. For instance, you asked if he's ever been hunting, then he casually told you about how he and his partner shot Pablo Escobar’s homing pigeons that were sent out to communicate via pigeon post while imprisoned. Which only made you have more questions.
“Can I ask you something?” you tilted your chin up to make eye contact with him while resting your head on his lap.
He ran his fingers through your hair, “What?”
“Well… when we went to that restaurant, in the bathroom before we, um,” you couldn’t keep a giant smile from spreading across your face, “fucked. You said something about having a um… body count.”
One hand continued to absentmindedly comb through your hair, while the other danced along your belly, causing your whole body to shudder. He hummed, “Mhmm.”
“What did you mean by that? Like, have you…” you scrunched your nose, not sure if you even wanted to keep asking this question.
He raised his eyebrows, “I’ve killed people, is that what you’re asking?”
You nodded, stomach twisting into a knot, “Do you regret it?”
“That’s a complicated question to answer,” he paused talking to think about it, but never ceased petting you affectionately. After a while, he said, “I don’t like some of the things I did in the DEA, especially… that. You lose a little humanity, you know?” he sighed, “I don’t know.”
You reached up and stroked your thumb against his cheek, stubble like sandpaper, and he leaned into your touch. You wished you could bottle this feeling. The tenderness shared between the two of you when you’re alone makes you feel whole and content.
“It’s ok to not know,” you assured him softly, running your fingers along his mustache, then down to trace his lips, “I’m just glad you’re here.”
He brought his hand up to hold you in place as he turned to kiss your fingertips, your palm, your wrist. And just like that, you were his. The gentle touching and kissing gave way to hungrier urges. Soon you were panting against his mouth as you both frantically pulled clothing off and out of the way.
Post-sex, still breathing heavy, you commented, “I can’t wait to fuck you in a bed.”
“Yeah?” he grinned over at you, basking in the afterglow, “You wanna have a sleepover?”
“A sleepover?” you grin from ear to ear at the slightly juvenile term, “I would love that.”
“Wednesday?”
And it was set.
When a well-maintained brick rambler comes into view, so does a blue merle Australian Shepherd, sprinting from behind the house to see who the visitor is. Javi steps out the front door and starts walking up to meet you, giving an enthusiastic wave and a bright smile that calms your nerves like a Xanax.
“Welcome, cariño,” he greets as you slam the car door behind you.
A grin spreads across your face at the warm welcome. You cheer when the dog skitters at your feet, wagging a stubby tail, then you drop into a crouch to pet him. Javier crouches down next to you, scratching the dog on his butt, causing one of the furry beast’s back legs to start thumping a plume of dust off the gravel driveway.
“What’s his name?” you peer over at Javi, who is just fucking beaming at you. Your stomach flips like you’re free falling.
“Pickles”
You literally squeal; small happy tears prick at the corners of your eyes, “Pickles?!? Oh my god this is the best, I love him.”
“Are you… crying?” he laughs as you both stand up and you wipe your eyes.
“I’m just really happy,” you sniffle, then try to hide your blushing face in embarrassment, “Sorry.”
His thumbs hook through the belt loops on your shorts and pull your waist against his. He leans his back against the truck, then places a light kiss on your cheek, rumbling, “Don’t apologize.”
Nodding up at him through your eyelashes, you flick your eyes between his lips and eyes suggestively. You lean in towards each other, lips meeting in the middle. The kiss is a slow, intimate thing; lips wet and mouths parted enough for your tongues to greet each other. You dissolve into it, arching your back against him, running your fingers through his silky hair. His hands snake around your waist before settling below the hem of your shorts.
The bulge in his jeans twitches as his fingers slide up the back of your shorts, where he firmly grabs handfuls of your ass. A quiet moan slips from your lips onto his. You feel him smile against you before he pulls back.
“Let me show you around,” he requests, slipping his hands out of your shorts. You push off of him, almost on top of Pickles, who has apparently been waiting patiently for you two to stop pawing at each other (dog pun).
His fingers intertwine with yours. Pickles follows behind diligently as Javi takes you on a brief walking tour, showing you one of the livestock barns, some other outbuildings, then brings you up the home’s back porch. As you’re walking up, his dad opens the sliding glass door and gives a small wave. Javi introduces you.
“I believe we’ve met,” he says gruffly, reaching out to shake your hand. He looks down at your hands clasped with Javi’s, then back up to you only after you let go of his son, “With the Bakers, right?”
“That’s right,” you nod, flush breaking out on your face right as your sweaty palm meets his rough one. when you pull back, you cross your arms in front of your abdomen self-consciously.
“Their boy Dan, aren’t you engaged to him?” he further inquires.
You clamp your mouth shut and just nod again.
Fuck fuck fuck
He turns his gaze to Javier, raising his eyebrows and pointing at you, “This is who you’ve been seeing?”
“Yeah, Dad,” Javi sighs, scratching the back of his neck and shifting his weight to one hip.
Chucho looks between the two of you, then shakes his head and chuckles, “You’re both idiots,” while sitting down in a rocking chair on the porch. Laughter bursts out of you.
“Really?” Javi rebuffs his father. Chucho simply nods and chuckles to himself. Javi turns to you, apologies written all over his face, “He doesn’t m-“
You cut him off, shaking your head and smiling with amusement, “No, I think that’s a fair judgment. We are both idiots.”
Chucho looks at him, points to you again, and laughs, “See?”
“Unbelievable,” Javi sighs, looking between you and his dad before settling his eyes on you, “You wanna go inside?”
“Sure. It was nice to see you again, Chucho,” you smile politely and wave at him while Javier guides you into the house by the small of your back. You enter the house into the kitchen. There’s a delicious savory smell wafting through the air.
“As you can see, we’ve got the kitchen, dining room, living room all right here,” he points around the open floor plan and identifies each area. It features a lot of rustic decor, brown furniture, a fire place in the living room… it’s a cozy space, warm and inviting, just like the Peñas.
“It smells so fucking good in here, what are you making? Do I get to eat it?” you question while wandering around the common areas of the house, trailing your finger pads long everything you come across.
“Barbacoa. Dad put it together for dinner, so, yes you get to eat it,” he tells you, leaning up against the kitchen island counter and shoving his hands in his front pockets. He observes you as you explore.
You make your way to a hutch that displays a variety of deer figurines, framed family photos, and other keepsakes. You zero in on one picture in particular, in which a young boy, looking to be 3 or 4, is being held by a woman. The boy has a mop of curly dark brown hair, huge dark eyes, and is laying his head on the woman’s chest, smiling so big you can see his dimples. The woman has the exact same facial features, and a bright smile is spread across her face. She’s beautiful. Her long, wavy, dark brown hair flows down her back.
“Is this you and your mom?” you ask, hunching over so you can examine the photo closer.
“Yeah. That’s a was taken at my 4th birthday party,” he tells you.
Peering back at him, then back at the photo, you smile, “You look just like her.”
You stand up straight and trace the engravings on the hutch, stopping to touch a figurine of a fawn that looks like it’s made a entirely of jade, then another that’s a glass buck standing alert. You’re so focused on the collection, studying each figurine, mesmerized by the variety, trying to determine what the criteria was for selecting each piece, that you don’t notice Javi hovering behind you, watching you closely.
His hands slowly creep around your waist as he pulls your back against him, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. The embrace is all encompassing, and you sink into him.
“Do you want to see my room?” he mumbles against your ear. The words reverberate down your spine
“I am dying to see your room,” you purr.
He leads you down the hallway and ushers you into a slightly disheveled bedroom that’s furnished with a desk, dresser, bookshelf, and a queen size bed, made up with a black duvet. The white walls are almost completely bare, save for a calendar and a cork board above the desk.
“Ooo so this is where the magic happens?” you tease, biting your lip and poking him before you walk over to his dresser and start fondling the belongings he has on display. There are framed pictures: a much younger Javi dressed in a graduation cap and gown, mom on one side of him and dad on the other, younger Javi with a pretty smiling blonde woman, and a more recent Javi next to a tall mustachioed blonde man. There’s a dish with miscellaneous coins, paper clips, pins. A pair of sunglasses, which you’ve seen him wear frequently, sits next to the dish.
He scoffs and sits down on the bed, studying you studying him.
"What are these for?" you ask when you spot a few hardcover text books on his desk. Also scattered across the desktop is a haphazard stack of files and loose papers, a paperback copy of And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, a DEA coffee cup filled with pens, an ashtray, and an open notebook filled with illegible scribbles.
He clears his throat, then falters, "I um... I look at cold cases when I have free time."
A grin crosses your face as you mutter under your breath, "That's so fucking cool."
You step closer to look at the cork board hanging on the wall above his desk, chest fluttering when you see the drawings you’ve given him: a deer and a willow tree. They're pinned up next to a calendar, along with your phone number. A confession leaves your lips, “I didn’t think you would actually keep these.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
When you turn around and face him, his brow is furrowed, mouth turned down in a frown.
“I… I don’t know. Nobody has really liked my doodles before,” you admit.
He grabs your hand and pulls you closer, resting his ear against your belly, hugging your waist as he mumbles, "I like them."
Your fingers card through his hair and he turns to gaze up at you, warm and wanting. It sends goosebumps rippling across your skin. You bend down and press your lips onto his, drawing back for a moment, only to renew the kiss with fervor. His tongue runs along yours as you part your mouth. As he kisses you, heat pools in your center from the insatiable way he nips and tugs at you. You’ve barely been touching a minute and already you want him.
Fiending for more, you climb on top of him and push him flush against the mattress. His fingers dig into your sides as he presses you down, arching his hips so you can feel how bad he wants you. It draws a shaky breath from your chest and you grind down onto him. He groans, “Fuck, baby that’s so good.”
The praise flips your stomach; you fold on top of him and growl into his ear, “stick out your tongue.” He follows your direction and moans as you lap against his tongue, into his mouth, licking every inch of the cavern desperately. You trail messy kisses down his face to his throat, where you stretch your mouth wide to suck and fondle the salty skin. A possessiveness falls over you; thinking of how women frequently approach this handsome man, you want a mark to show he’s yours.
His hands roam under your shorts, palming your cheeks in unison, bouncing your ass up and down, slow at first, with increasing speed as you arch your back into it and whimper. It sends a dizzying rush of pleasure up your middle, and you moan, “slap my ass.”
His palm meets your ass check with a loud smack. “Do you like that?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Fuck yes. Do it again,” you breathe, nodding and popping your ass up as far as you can for better access.
“You like it when I slap your ass, baby?” he growls as a sharp pain shoots across the other cheek with a smack.
The sounds ring throughout the room with an echo smack smack smack smack, turning you into a writhing, sopping wet mess, crying, “Yes yes yes, baby holy fuck-"
“Yes daddy,” he corrects firmly. His deep voice bounces off the empty walls of his bedroom, harmonizing with countless smacks that almost bury the moans escaping you.
You gasp as his hands take up more real estate in your shorts, then he spreads your ass apart, “Y-yes… yes daddy. Fuck- yes daddy.”
He growls, “Such a good girl. Take your clothes off for me.”
You’re on your feet in a second while he sits up in bed, both of you ripping your clothes off frantically. Once you’re both completely stripped, there's a moment reserved to observe each other, nude, ripe with desire, panting and sweating. This is the first time you’ve seen each other completely naked in the light of day. This is the first time you’ve been together in a bed. You try to soak in every detail, noting that his shoulders are broad and tanned, slight farmer’s tan. Prominent veins in his forearms. Sparse chest hair. Soft belly accented with a thicket of dark hair running from his navel to his engorged, deliciously thick, cock. He’s fucking gorgeous.
His lust-blown eyes scan over your bare skin; he reaches out and runs his fingers along your sides, causing goosebumps break out on across on your skin. The touch is so soft, so delicate, in stark contrast to the slaps that have surely made your ass beet red. A small whimper falls from your lips as his touch sets your nerves on fire. He whispers breathlessly, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
The words pull at your heart and suck the air from your lungs. He’s looking at you with such warmth and admiration, you start to blush and your cunt clenches. Your hands cup his cheeks, thumb rubbing along his face affectionately. His eyes bore into yours, hot and ready. You push him back onto the bed again and straddle him, sliding his cock between your slick, swollen lips. He embraces you in a kiss, sweet and gentle at first, then deepens it, pulling you down closer to him. When you pull back from his kiss just enough to press your forehead against his, you profess to him hesitantly, “I love the way you look at me. I- I love the way you touch me… you make me feel wanted. It’s… it’s fucking mad how I feel when I’m with you.”
He searches your eyes, nodding like he knows. Like he feels exactly the same. He starts thrusting, just so his cock lightly rubs up and down your folds. You shudder. His lips form an O and his brows draw together as he throws his head back.
You position yourself so his member is at your entrance, then lower down just enough to engulf the head. A groan flies from his throat as you keep him there, torturing him.
“Please,” he begs, bucking his hips up to get more of you. You lower yourself down further, working yourself open with him inch by inch, breath hitching as your pussy gets filled exactly how you need it to be.
Pleasure floods your body, rippling from your center through your toes and fingers. Your whimpers bounce off the walls as you rut up and down his shaft. He huffs and pants from beneath you, matching your movements with his own, arching his back until you’re filled to the hitch. You moan, “Your cock is- fuck- is perfect- m-made to be inside me.”
He holds your hips down against him hard and drives into you, making you gasp, then groans, “I love it when you talk to me like that, baby-“
You defy his grasp and start rolling your hips, grinding down onto him. He growls and flips so your back is against the mattress and he’s on top of you now, cradling your head in his strong hands. He begins pounding into you, and Jesus fuck the noises this man has you making as you’re panting and kissing on his lips, his face, begging for him to not stop; your entire body is humming and throbbing.
“You’re such a good girl, taking me so well,” he coos, holding your foreheads together while he fucks you into the mattress.
“Javi- baby- fuck, I’m going to cum-“ you cry, arching your back up towards him as the tingling in your center starts to grow. You whine and press your lips onto his for a sloppy desperate kiss, needing to be as close to him as possible.
His hips stutter as he starts to come undone, “yes- be a good girl cum for me baby, let me feel that tight pussy-“ and you find your release, crying out as pleasure ripples across your body and around his cock. He follows shortly after with a feral groan.
“Holy shit,” you whisper as he rolls off of you, then drapes his arm across your stomach. He hums and closes his eyes in agreement, pulling you into his chest. You settle there, content to feel his heart beat against your ear as he plays with your hair. The rise and fall of his chest hypnotizes you into a tranquil state. With your fingertips and your nails, you absentmindedly draw swirls and hearts onto his torso, trace his facial features, explore him with a wonder you can’t help but have.
He kisses the top of your head and mumbles, “I have to do some stuff outside, you wanna come with me?”
“Will I get in the way?” you ask, not sure what ‘some stuff outside’ entails.
He frowns, “Of course not.”
So you both get dressed and go outside, meeting Pickles and Chucho back on the porch where you left them.
“Hey Pop, we’re gonna go take a drive around,” Javi informs his dad as he leads you towards a four wheeler.
You get on after him, securing your arms around his waist, and Pickles jumps on behind you. While navigating around the land, Javi points out different landmarks, tells you stories, and details to you different things he keeps an eye out for while driving around like this, like fencing that needs repair, signs of overgrazing, making sure the cows are all acting normal, etc. With every nugget of information he gives you, you ask too many questions in return, but he’s patient and knows you’re just inquisitive.
Not only do you feel physically close to him, clinging onto him, nuzzled against his back, inhaling his scent… but you also feel emotionally close to him. He puts his hand on yours every so often, rubbing his thumb across your skin affectionately. You know he's giving you a tour because you’ve shown interest in what he does on the ranch, but also, you think he actually wants to share pieces of himself with you. You wonder if he’s been able to share himself freely before. You haven't been able to. Not like this. Being with him always brings you a great sense of euphoria, but it’s especially intense today.
Once you return to the barn, the three of you hop off as Javi kills the engine. Chucho is still in the rocker on the porch, but has a tall, sweaty, glass of iced tea in his hand now. It’s fucking hot out. If you were hydrated enough to produce saliva, you'd be drooling at it.
“Y’all hungry?” he asks.
“Starving,” you respond without hesitation.
Javi presses his hand into the small of your back, guiding you inside, “Let’s eat.”
[ Next Chapter ]
#pedro pascal characters#narcos fanfiction#pedrostories#daddy pedro#javier peña#javier peña fluff#javier peña smut#narcos#javier peña x ofc#javier peña x you#javier peña x reader#javier peña fic#javier peña fanfiction#javi peña#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fic#javier pena x oc#javier pena x you#javier pena x reader#javier pena#javier pena smut#jdett#javi peña x reader#javi pena
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