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redahlia-writes · 6 months

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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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sirowsky · 2 years

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Danger Close

Day 8, and today I'm giving you my first ever Javier Pena. This challenge has really got my gears going, I never would've attempted half of all this before I started this thing.

I'm putting a Mature Audience Warning 18+ONLY on this, for allusions to violence, descriptions of injuries and blood, and just general mature themes. Javier Pena x original female character (assassin), no reader insert, entirely from Javi's pov as he opens his door one night to find a "friend" in dire need of help, and nowhere else to turn.

Word Count: 1374 Author’s Masterlist Birthday Stories

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“God damnit, peligro, I told you not to go!”

She was in too bad a shape to argue, stumbling over his threshold and nearly falling to the floor, but he caught her.

“Shit… there any part of you they didn’t get?”

He growled harshly through his teeth while pulling her into his bedroom and dropping her on the bed. She was covered in blood, but he couldn’t tell where it all came from.

“You just had to pick a fight, hm. Why do you always have to pick a fucking fight?!”

He found some scissors and started cutting her clothes off, the knot in his stomach getting tighter the further he went. The more damage he uncovered. She hadn’t been shot, thank god, but she’d been cut deeply in several places along her torso and arms.

“How’d the other guy look, huh? I hope you at least got him worse, idiota.”

He was talking only to keep himself from losing it, because while he’d seen her plenty of times on his doorstep, he’d always feared that this would happen someday. She was an assassin for hire, so hospitals and doctors were out of the question. Normally, if she got hurt, she’d stitch herself back up, and if it was bad enough that she couldn’t, she had people under her thumb that she’d use to help her, knowing they’d keep their mouths shut. All of which meant that if she’d come to him instead, then someone must’ve betrayed her.

She’d been hunting a high-level enforcer for a couple of months, a seriously skilled marksman and fighter, and gotten a lead about his whereabouts a few days before. She’d come to see him to hear if he’d heard anything that might corroborate her intel, which he had. He’d told her to leave it alone, that she’d need a team to be able to take this guy out, but she’d just laughed at him.

“Why do you never listen…?”

She’d lost consciousness by then, and he wasn’t a fucking doctor. But there was no one he could call, no one he could trust to fix her without risking both their lives and the life of anyone he might drag into it. He dug through his things until he’d found a needle and thread, some antiseptic fluid, and an entire sheet to rip up and use as compresses, because that was all he had. He’d have to use duct-tape to secure them.

“If you die on me, I’ll never forgive you.”

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By sunrise, he was on the floor, leaned against the wall, trying to stay awake. He’d spent half the night stitching her up and the other half trying to get the blood cleaned up so the place wouldn’t look like a butcher shop. But it still did. It didn’t really matter, though, he’d just been trying to keep busy, keep the fear from overpowering him.

The glass of whiskey in his hand had been emptied twice, but he hadn’t refilled it again. He was watching her, waiting to see if she’d live. She hadn’t moved at all yet, not even a flicker of her eyes behind those heavy lids, and he didn’t know how long was too long for her not to show any improvement. For all he knew, she could’ve lost pints of blood before she even got there. She could already be dead, just waiting for her brain to realize it.

But morning brought distractions, thank-fucking-christ, in the form of breakfast and phone calls, primarily to work so that he could ask if any bodies had dropped nearby. It might’ve been a Sunday, but Javi was always working, to some extent, so no one would find it strange that he called in to prep for the upcoming workweek. That was his biggest flaw. His inability to leave shit alone.

He should’ve left her alone. Should’ve never invited her home after that night, but she’d saved his life and he’d wanted to repay her. He’d also really wanted to fuck her. Stupid. So fucking stupid. She was an assassin, it was bound to get messy, he knew that. And still, he’d let her in, again and again. Until he’d even started longing for her to show up. Palmed himself to the memories of their stolen moments, even seen her face while he’d fucked other women.

Somehow, she’d weaved herself into his heart, and a part of him hated her for that. Because hers was a life of death. She wasn’t just surrounded by it, she thrived on it, and that never ended well. One of these days, he’d find her dead somewhere. He already regularly looked through the photos of any Jane Doe’s that were brought into the morgues, just so he’d know if he should stop expecting her to show up. That was what he told himself, at least.

But he knew that if or when that day finally arrived, he’d be gutted. He tried to push it aside, tried to tell himself that she didn’t matter that much, but it never worked. He went back to the bed and sat down next to her, running his fingers gently over her cheek, hating that she didn’t react to it.

“Come on now, peligro… You gotta give me something.”

Still no hint of a response. Was she too warm? Or maybe too cold, he couldn’t tell. He fidgeted with the covers while he tried to dislodge the damned lump that kept obstructing his throat.

“I can’t do this shit… Why’d you come here, hm? Why here? Why-…”

His voice broke and he turned away, coughing twice while he tried to figure out if he was talking about the present or the past.

“Why me? Why’d you save me…?”

She just laid there, as much a mystery to him as she’d always been, so he sighed and got up, then bent down and kissed her lips, just once, before he went out into the living room and sat down in his sofa. Two tears managed to slip past the guardrails of his lower lashes before he was able to stop himself, and he quickly wiped them away, even though there was no one there to see him.

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“Fuck!”

He looked at his watch the moment he woke up, thus realizing he’d dozed off. It had been almost three hours since he’d last checked on her. He almost dove across the room, stumbling on a cushion that fell from the sofa with his hasty departure, and only just managed not to fall on his face. The bedroom door was open, and he careered through it before coming to a brusque and immediate stop.

The sheets were still covered in dried blood, the room still a mess of stains and discarded cut up clothes and tools. The bloodied roll of duct-tape still sitting on the bedside table. But she was gone. He checked his closet, finding a shirt and pair of jeans missing, so he ran for the front door, ripping it open in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her, in case he’d been awoken by the door closing, or something.

He should’ve known better. She was always a step ahead, and so good at her job that no one ever saw her unless she let them. For all the damage he’d done to her, she’d still beaten the enforcer. Javi’s calls to the office had confirmed it, the body had turned up that morning, literally cut to pieces, which did give him some piece of mind.

But he suspected that her top priority right now would be to find out who’d betrayed her, tipped off her mark so that he’d been waiting for her, because nothing else could’ve given him the upper hand and enabled him to hurt her so badly. She’d likely set out to make an example out of whoever it was. He didn’t exactly approve, but he understood, and he was sure as hell not gonna get in her way.

“Happy hunting, peligro. Stay safe this time, cause I won’t do this shit again, you hear me?”

Somehow, he knew that she did. And that she’d be back. And that thought had him smiling as he turned and walked back inside.

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@deadhumourist @idreamofboobear @tanzthompson @winter-fox-queen @tiffanyleen @shsoba05 @toomanystoriessolittletime @nolanell @myfavpedrothings @harriedandharassed @bruxasolta @tintinn16

#sirowsky's birthday celebration #javier pena fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x assassin #javier pena x original female character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year

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Yellow Bikini

Part of the series Neighborly Thing to Do

Fandom(s): Narcos, The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader x Joel Miller

Rating: 18+

Summary: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Simple rule to follow, you’d think. But it’s not so simple when your neighbor catches you coveting his girl, fucks her in front of you and tell you that you can help yourself to her anytime you want.

A/N: I was thinking of making this a series of smutty drabbles. If you guys have requests for these characters, send them in 💛

“Nice tits, right?”

“What?” He asks, shocked, prying his eyes off the woman.

“Come on Miller, I ain’t mad,” Javier says, popping a cigarette between his lips and bringing his lighter up to it. His eyes are on his girl as she laughs at something their friend says. He looks unashamedly. Joel feels guilty for shaming the man for looking at his own girl while he was sitting there, sipping on the beer the man offered him as he stared at his girl.

Joel shifts uncomfortably on the plastic pool chair, redness creeping up his neck and then his face as the embarrassment of getting caught lusting after another man’s girl settles in. He isn’t some kind of pervert. He likes to believe he is the same well mannered man his Mama raised him to be. But what well-mannered man stares at his neighbor’s girl swimming in her pool? What kind wondered what was under the barely-there bikini she wore?

Shit, he was literally coveting his neighbor’s wife.

“No need to be shy, Joel. I’m not some possessive asshole who’s gonna pop a nerve just because someone stared at my girl. I know what I got and I know how hard it is to resist,” he said, his eyes set on you in the bright yellow bikini, half submerged in the pool. You and Javier had moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago and you’d already become quick friends with everyone, the men in particular.

Joel was nice to you when he saw you— dropping off garbage in the morning, collecting the newspaper, at the grocery store. But he kept his distance and didn’t flirt like the other men. He didn’t want to be too obvious. And he had more manners than those men. Or so he thought before Javier called him out on it.

He should’ve said no when the DEA agent invited him and Tommy over for a pool party with his friends. But it was getting hotter by the day and Tommy dragged him over to the party, telling him that they really needed a goddamn break.

“Alright. Since you wanna be shy, I’ll be a good neighbor and help you out,” Javier said, walking off in your direction. He snaps his fingers at and beckons you and you immediately get out of the pool, abandoning your drink and your conversation with your friend.

Joel’s heart nearly stops when he sees you, all of you, dripping water down your pretty skin. He swallows when he catches a tattoo of some kind on your ass, spelling out an impolite word no one should call a woman. But it turns him on anyway. His cock twitches in his swim trunks as he imagines calling you that word.

You’re on your knees in front of Javier. He reaches behind you and pulls at the strings around your back and your neck and pockets the fabric. Joel palms himself, not caring that Javi was looking straight at him as he pulled his cock out and thrust it in your mouth.

This was just a sick wet dream. He would wake up any minute to his alarm now. Just a sick dream.

Javier has his hand in your hair, using his grip to control you like a toy, fucking your face on his cock rather than thrusting into you. He smirks at Joel and this time, he doesn’t look away at being caught. Looking away would be the decent thing to do. But is anything decent in this situation? The man is fucking his girl in front of a bunch of people for Christ’s sake!

His eyes met Tommy’s and he dropped his hand immediately. The brothers look away from each other immediately and at the sight in front of them. But none of their neighbor’s friends seem at all fazed by Javier fucking his girl’s mouth in broad daylight in front of everyone with her tits out. Anyone could see. Anyone else, neighbors. Like him. Creeps like the guy who visited the Adlers. And him, apparently.

The only one with any decency to look away is Steve, the blond guy. Even his wife seems interested.

Javi finishes on your face and you stay put on your knees, letting him come all over your pretty face. Joel wishes you didn’t have your back to him, wishes he could see that sweet face covered in jizz. He wanted the view Tommy had. Fuck!

Javi steps away and his friend, the walking stereotype of a Southern man who walked in wearing a goddamn cowboy hat takes his place. Javi walks back to Joel, cigarette still between his lips and throws your yellow bikini top at him.

“Help yourself to her anytime, neighbor. I don’t mind.”

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boogiewrites · 2 years

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Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Javier Peña x OFC

Never Break the Chain 5 Part Series (Javier Peña and the original character Esme) Complete

The story follows the moments in their relationship in which things change, carrying the story of their romance from being young and in love in Texas at age 18 to the modern Narcos timeline. We follow Esme on her rise to being a top thief and Javier Peña's rise in the ranks. We see how their paths inevitably intersect in Columbia and how they handle coming face to face after a faked death and decades apart. It's dramatic, it's a cop loving a criminal and them being torn between their ways of life and their love. There's a happy ending among the angst.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Another Man (One Shot)

You see Frankie in a new light, and that light just started a fire inside you.

Explicit 18+ : Dirty Talk, Rough sex, p in v, oral f receiving, talk of bodily fluids, ownership.

Din Djarin x Reader

Burning Star Din Djarin is a long-time associate and friend. When faced with the truth about the creed he's taken, doubts begin to grow in his mind about his choices. He comes to you, looking for a confidant and he finds more than he bargained for.Begins latter part of S2, porn with plot. A growing romance between two characters that thought of themselves as solitary creatures now wanting to no longer be alone. But with The Mandalorian being who he is, things can never be so simple.

Chapter 1

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pedrostylez · 1 year

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The First Week

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

summary: reader and Javier are coworkers that typically hate each other, but find each other helpful in relieving that stress

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count:4.4k

warnings etc: smut, dirty talk, light choking, unprotected p in v sex, pet names, oral male and female recieving. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: I debated back and forth about how I wanted to write these characters and I think this one and possibly the next 2 (?) will be all before “Mi Luz” to show the development of their relationship. Thank you for the kindness on “Before Mi Luz”, I enjoy everyone’s reactions and encouragement :)

Peña waited all week to see what you would do. He hoped you would beg, but something deep down told him that you wouldn’t do that. That not even if you had been a serious couple that you would be all over him like he was used to his previous girlfriends doing. You were too independent, too caught up in what you were doing to ever lean on someone else for help.

On Saturday and Sunday he dreamed of your mouth. Of your promises for next week, hoping that no one had in fact stepped out of the embassy while he was fucking you in the back of his Jeep. He dreamed of the noises you made and how you were a totally different person from what he saw from his desk.

On Monday he was antsy. He came into work surprisingly early-the security guards, the other workers were all surprised to see him. He just said he “needed to get a head start on paperwork.’ But when you came in you didn’t even make eye contact with him–not even a glance in his direction. You walked right past his desk, speaking lightly to Murphy (who had his head on his desk) a good morning and then down the hallway and stairs to the archives.

On Tuesday he was determined to get you to speak to him. He went all of Monday listening to what everyone did on the weekend, how the drinks were on Friday and “wish he could of made it”’s and not a peep about you and him staying late. He was confident no one knew and that left the window open to see if you would want him again. He was desperate for anything from you.

He went down to the archives twice that day, asking you for help on a couple different bits of information. He fished for any sign of nervousness or attraction and got nothing in return. He left the door open to the archives on both occasions.

On Wednesday he did not come in early, but immediately went to the archives to find Murphy there already asking for your help. “I’m hoping you can find something on him?” Murphy’s hair was a mess and you looked flustered. It wasn’t typical for you to be flustered at Murphy, but if both of you were out of sorts…

“Steve, I’m telling you, I’ve never heard that name before. I need a connection to it that I do have to see if the name pops up. Then I can create a file on them specifically.” You sounded exasperated, looking over to Pena as if to say ‘what is Murphy’s deal today?’

“What’s the name?” Peña could help without just pushing your buttons, right?

Murphy’s head whipped around, surprised to see Javier in the same room as you without poking fun at you. Murphy fed Peña the same information he said to you, you glanced down to your notes and adding a few more details as more information poured from Murphy’s brain. You tracked it, noticing the differences in what he told you versus Peña, noting in your brain where you might be able to find information.

Javier listened intently, watching you take additional notes and realizing that Murphy had been too vague originally. “You have to always give her the whole run down even if she knows who she is looking for. Being vague makes her files inaccurate Murphy.”

You looked at him with your eyes the size of dinner plates, mouth slightly open. How did he know that? “It’s okay Steve, I think I may be able to look at a few files and I can bring something up to you within the hour. I know I typically already have a grasp on what you’re talking about, I just had a rough night last night.” You smiled lightly, trying to break the tension between Peña and Murphy.

Murphy grunted, apologizing for not being as detailed and said he would go grab coffee--that maybe he was just not awake enough yet. Murphy slid past Peña, eyeing him briefly and asking if he was going to join him. “I’ll be up in a minute, have my own question.”

When the room cleared of Murphy you sighed, glancing at the door and seeing it still open. “Which file do you need, Peña?”

“I thought I was Javier now?” He smirked, leaning against one of the tables that held stacked files not yet put away. You looked directly at him, which was all he wanted for the past couple days. “Why was last night rough?”

“I went out.” You declared quickly, glancing back down at your notes and putting the pieces together in your brain of what Murphy was requesting. “Susan and Amy wanted help getting a lay and asked for me to show them how.”

He felt the heat in his body rise quickly, almost to anger. “And did you? Show them how?” He had to take a breath–it wasn’t like he asked you not to or that you were exclusive.

You thought you hid your smirk, typing into the computer quickly but he caught it and he knew he had been busted for being jealous. “What does it matter to you, Peña?”

He paused, tapping on the table and picking up a random file. “It has almost been a week and no one has batted an eye at either of us being absent from the party.” He raked his eyes to you, blue blouse with ruffled sleeves, smooth from collarbone to hip with your pencil skirt ending just above your knees. Some stylish sandals on your feet instead of sneakers you sometimes wore–it meant you drove into work instead of walking. “Do I have to wait a full week before I ask if you want to go out?”

You paused your typing, looking up at him. “We aren’t going to go out on a date, Javier.”

He felt himself melt and wince at the same time. “I figured you were the type of girl that wanted some wining and dining before doing–”

“Based on last time, do you actually think that or are you just trying to have an excuse to talk about this at work?” you scoffed, feeling your head start to hurt. The tequila flowed too easily last night, and the guy was not as good as you thought he was going to be. “Don’t come in here to talk to me about whatever it is that you want. You ask about intel, archives, and administrative things. That’s it.”

He clenched his teeth, feeling the heat of embarrassment reach his cheeks but wanted to prove you wrong. “Fine.”

On Thursday he left you alone.

On Friday he came in early and waited until you were in the archives to walk down there. Murphy was out, the office was busy answering the phones, and this was a perfect time. He walked in, seeing you on a step ladder and turned away from him. Your ass was at eye level in the work pants you were in, belt cinched around your waist and a flowing green blouse riding up so he could see your smooth back. He closed the door behind him quietly in the hopes that you didn’t hear him. “It’s Friday, hermosa.”

You jumped, almost losing your footing as you whipped your head to the direction his voice was coming from. “Peña, you can’t corner me at work. This is my job.” You were so flustered with him standing in your space. You were just trying to put files away, and the ladder wasn’t high (only a couple steps) but it wouldn’t have been a fun fall. You turned, acutely aware of his eyes on your lower half and made it so he was level with your stomach.

“It is my job to ask you questions and for your help, which means I will be in your space hermosa.” He breathed out, glancing down at your shoes and seeing your laces were coming untied. He was trying to not lose his nerve. “It has been a week and I have been dying to be alone with you.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, turning back around so his face was now level with your ass again. If he was going to be a perv then so be it. “Get your eyes off my ass and get it through your skull that we can’t do anything at work. I won’t jeopardize it-I need the money.”

He scoffed. Maybe getting you riled up was the way to get you to fuck him. “The other girls don’t seem to mind.” He was trying to get under your skin, and you weren’t going to let him know that it was working. “Your shoes are coming untied cariño.”

“What does that mean? Cariño? Hermosa?” You felt out of the loop, looking at your own shoes and grumbling, stepping down carefully from the steps.

He tilted his head, noting that your Spanish was so poor that you couldn’t even tell a pet name from a swear word. “You really are just going to ignore how I said the other girls in the office beg me to fuck them here?” He felt like he was losing a battle that didn’t really matter in the scheme of it all, but he wanted to see some sort of emotion on your face. Anything. He couldn’t stop getting you out of his mind from last week and how you laughed when you were alone with him. You had stopped getting angry with him and maybe that was a good sign, but the monotone felt worse.

“Well you didn’t say it like that the first time.” You sighed, stepping around him and being careful to not touch him. “If you need information ask it, otherwise, get out of my archives.”

“Let me drive you home later.” It was a demand, not a question. He wanted to reach out and grab your arm to get you to look at him, but instead he got in front of you and on to his knees, reaching for your shoe laces.

Your breath stuttered, holding on to the file in your hand with fluttering fingers, surprised he was here in front of you like this. “What are you doing?” His fingers reached out to your ankle, pulling your foot up on to his one raised knee and looking up at you.

“You were going to trip eventually, and I didn’t want to see your knees scraped up from that at least.” He mumbled, finishing your shoe laces and glancing up at you. Your cheeks were flushed and he felt the satisfaction settle in his stomach. “Can I drive you home later? I know you walked today.”

“How do you know that?” You felt breathless, dropping one foot as he went to pick up the other and place it firmly on his leg.

“You’re wearing sneakers instead of those sandals. And I drove by you this morning.” He smirked, seeing your eyes widen. “You were very cute walking up the hill by the corner market-”

You breathed out, rolling your eyes. “I plan on staying late and the girls wanted me to go out.”

“Again? Tell them you can’t and I’ll drive you home.” He was getting desperate. He wanted to be alone with you again. The hurt of you going out more often than not didn’t matter. He dropped your foot and stood back in front of you.

The pause was long as you looked through the file, glancing at the information and committing it to memory. You looked up, his hands on his hips staring back at you. He was biting the inside of his cheek, his only sign that he was nervous.

“Fine. But you’ll have to wait for me.” Maybe that would deter him.

“I will wait as long as you need.” He nodded, immediately leaving the archives and keeping your door open.

At five o’clock, Susan and Amy cornered you at the coffee station that was next to where Peña and Murphy still sat. You were making tea in the hopes that it wouldn’t be too hot by the time you got back downstairs. “Babe come with us! What changed from this morning?” Susan was yanking on your arm, purse already in her hand.

“I know, but I have more to finish and Tuesday night wasn’t really that fun.” You mumbled, hoping it wasn’t too loud. You didn’t need the whole office knowing your business.

Peña’s ears perked up but he left his face stoic. He was straining to listen, but he made the preemptive decision to unplug the phone at his desk 30 minutes ago so he could concentrate on what he was doing and it just happened to work for listening in to your conversation.

“What?” Amy laughed, pushing at your shoulder lightly. “You showed us all the moves and then went with what’s his name? Robert? He was so cute and clearly smitten with you!”

Peña ground his teeth. He would find this Robert.

“That’s nice and all but he wasn’t that great. And I don’t want to see him again and have him think I like him. One and done you know?” You stirred your tea bag in the water and squeezed it out, tossing it in the trash. “I’ll see you ladies on Monday. Try out the moves I showed you guys and let me know how it goes!”

Peña watched you wave them off, casually rubbing your sneakers on the back of your pants from where Susan had stepped on them. He had a single chuckle bubble out, making Murphy look up at him with a pointed expression. “Stop listening to them.”

“I just can’t believe that they ask her for moves. Her?” Peña felt like he was trying too hard to get Murphy to not see what was right in front of him.

Murphy hummed, looking back at his paperwork and stacking it up. “I’m going to drop these off to her for filing away since she is staying and then heading home. Do you want to come over tonight? Wife is making some fancy something and invited over some of her friends.”

“No, thank you I am going to finish this up and I’ll head home too. Maybe I’ll meet Susan and Amy at the bar?” Peña laughed, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag.

Peña hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long for you.

An hour and a half later, you appeared in front of Peña’s desk. “Are you still working?” You questioned, your bag on your shoulder and your fingers playing with the buckle on the end of the strap.

He looked up at you feeling suddenly breathless. “No, just busy work. Are you ready to go?”

You nodded, giving a stiff closed-mouthed smile, and waited for him to grab his jacket and turn off his lamp. You followed him out to his Jeep, again the only car in the lot, and casually glanced at him once you were in his passenger seat. His eyes were already on you, sticking to you like glue while turning over the engine to bring the car to life. “Stop staring, Peña.”

“Can’t I be Javier now?” He smiled, pulling out of the lot and onto the main street toward his apartment. “Would you want to have takeout with me? There’s a mean Indian place down the street that is actually pretty good given that we aren’t in India.” He laughed, looking over at you again to see your eyes already on him. “Or we could have something else.” He felt himself wanting to ramble.

You smirked, making him feel butterflies in his stomach. “I like Indian if you pick the meals, Javier.”

He really didn’t know how he got here-truly.

One minute you both were watching some stupid movie while opening up the food that was just delivered, even though you couldn’t understand what was being said in the movie. He was questioning how you had not learned any of the language you were immersed in, especially since you read transcripts from all the intel. You explained how it was all translated to English by the time it was on your desk, and you typically could play the “stupid American” card when you were in the store.

The next minute you were on your knees in front of him after he made a comment about how you swore much more when you were relaxed and that your mouth would get you into trouble.

Peña’s chest rose and fell heavily, anticipation making him clench his fists around the fabric of the seat cushion. “How much trouble do you think I could get into?” You asked, smiling as you ran your hands up his legs still covered in his jeans.

He was impossibly hard. From 0 to 100, ready for you. “I think you could get into lots of trouble, especially looking like that.” The way his voice dropped never really made sense to him, but he couldn’t help it. And he saw the way your eyes lit up when you noticed the tone he took with you, and it made him want to find a way to speak to you like this around others.

“How do I look?” You asked, cheeks going red as you realized what you asked. You weren’t typically one to fish for compliments, but something in the way he spoke made you want him to keep going.

His pupils were blown out as he reached for your jaw and skimmed his thumb across your bottom lip. “Like you want to beg for my cock.”

The whine that left you couldn’t be helped. You didn’t mean to, but Peña didn’t mind. You reached forward to unbutton his pants as his hand traveled down your neck and across your collarbone, pulling at the flimsy buttons that pieced together your blouse. He could see the blush that started just above your breasts, traveling up to your face and lips, making them look plusher. He lifted his hips as you pulled down on his jeans, cock slapping against his stomach as you took him in.

“Are you going to beg for it?” He ground out in a husky tone, feeling the pearl of precum drop onto his lower stomach. He saw your eyes on him, unable to pull away from his lower half, making him move his hand up to the back of your head and tug at the hair at the nape of your neck.

You gasped, eyes raking up to his face and seeing a similar flush on him. “Please, Peña.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed his fingers, slightly digging into the back of your head. “Try again bebe, you know how to get what you want.”

You could guess what that word meant and it made your heart flutter. “Please, Javier.”

He groaned, pulling your head closer to him, watching your mouth as it opened, tongue sticking out slightly to greet the head of his cock first. The minute your lips were wrapped around him, he threw his head back and exhaled deeply. “Fuck-that’s it. Show me your moves Susan and Amy won’t shut the fuck up about muñeca. Huh?”

You lifted your hand to the base of him, giving him one short stroke and then holding firm to direct him where you wanted. Your eyes fluttered up to his face as you pulled back, bringing spit to the front of your mouth and letting it drool onto the head mixing with his precum. “I don’t know what you mean, Javier.” You smirked, leaning back down and giving one long lick from your thumb to the underside of the head wrapping your lips back around him and bobbing.

The minute you started bobbing your head on him after that little show, he knew you had every guy left in your path thinking about you constantly. The way you gripped him, the way your tongue seemed to wrap around him to aid your sucking had him flying to the moon.

He groaned, looking down at you and seeing your spit gather at the corners of your mouth, how you breathed out of your nose only when he was mostly pulled out, and how your eyes were watching his mouth. “Do you want to kiss me azúcar?” He huffed, pulling you off of him and letting you take a deep breath.

Without letting you answer he grabbed your upper arm, yanking you to him and enveloping your mouth with his. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, desperate to be closer to you.

Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, sitting on his upper thighs in a similar way that you did in his car. He detached himself from your lips, kissing down your neck and bringing his fingers to your blouse. He bit at your collarbone, unbuttoning the last few buttons and pushing the sleeves from your shoulders, revealing a green bra that matched your shirt.

“Will you let me have you again cariño?” He breathed, looking up at you as he pulled down the cups of your bra, squeezing your chest and rubbing his thumb over your nipples. “What do you need?”

You felt like you could cry by how good he was making you feel. It had been a long week of avoiding Peña to not get too worked up. You tried to find someone else-anyone else-but it just wasn’t the same. The thrill, the encouragement-

“Where did you go, baby?” He looked up at you, concern apparent on his face as he slowed his touches, pulling away from your chest. You yanked his hands back to you, leaning in to kiss him quickly.

“Just fuck me, Peña.” You whispered, standing up to undo your own belt as he tried to compose himself. He took off his own shirt, watching as you dropped your pants and stood straight again. He stood as well, wrapping his hands around your hips to reach your ass and squeeze.

“Bend over the couch.” He said lowly, twisting you around and maneuvering you to the arm of the couch, hips resting firmly on the end and your hands outstretched. He groaned, slapping your left cheek lighting and then kneeling down like he did earlier to tie your shoe, but now to taste you. “Just give me a taste hermosa, you look too good to not have a little.”

You moaned into the couch cushion, his nose at your entrance and his tongue snaking out to lick at your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking lightly. His hand was wrapped around his own cock, pumping it quickly as he lost himself in the taste of you.

He stood soon after, continuing to pump himself as he lined himself up and pushed to the hilt, both of you groaning in unison. “Fuck–I can’t get enough of you.”

The snap of his hips made your hips push into the arm of the couch in an almost painful way, the sound of his skin slapping against yours absolutely obscene. “Oh-ahh-Javi fuck yes.”

You used his name again and again, and it made his eyes roll in the back of his head. Did you not understand what you did to him? He reached forward and grabbed your hair, pulling lighting to direct you to stand up. “Do I feel good inside you baby? Huh? Tell me no one fucks you like I do.”

You resisted, hands reaching forward to the arm of the couch but he pulled back harder making you squeal out. He continued to push into you, his other hand reaching around and squeezing at your chest. “Yes, y-you do. Fuck-you make me feel so good.”

“Is anyone else able to make you feel like this?” He persisted, moving his hand down to your core and finding your clit easily, and making lazy circles with his middle finger. “I can’t fuck anyone else but you now, don’t you understand?”

You nodded slowly, sweat building on the back of your neck as your core began to shake. “Only you make me feel like this Javi.”

He smiled, pushing into you quicker and letting go of your hair, moving his arm around to your neck and holding you up from there. “That’s right baby, only me huh? Fuck-I can feel you squeezing me. I want you to cum. Can you do that?” He continued to circle your clit, not changing the pace or pressure.

You nodded frantically, holding on to his forearms as he wouldn’t let you lean forward moaning as your release began. “I’m-fuck–I can’t stop.”

“Don’t want you to stop hermosa, cum all over me. Make a fucking mess.” He was straining to hold out, wanting to hear you before he lost himself too.

You started your release, bigger than the last time you were with him and he immediately started to release too. Groaning together in unison as you saw white, breath leaving you quickly as he continued to push into you until he stuttered and held your hips to his.

A few moments passed with him leaning his forehead on your back until he was sure you were ready and he pulled out of you slowly. He silently went to the bathroom, found a towel, and brought it out to you.

“Thanks.” You laughed awkwardly, cleaning yourself up before finding your underwear and pulling them up your legs. You looked at him, still naked and going soft as he scratched the back of his head.

“I uh–I want to let you know that if you want to I would be okay doing this more often.” He stumbled out, glancing at your and your perfect recline on his sofa in only underwear, breasts out and legs shaking.

You laughed lightly, looking at him again. “Yeah, I think I would be okay with that Peña.”

#javier pena x reader smut #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

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albertasunrise · 3 years

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Unlucky - Chapter 1

Masterlist

Summary: As a barmaid, you learned many secrets from Escobar’s sicarios after their lips loosened from liquor so you felt it right to feed what you learned to the dashing DEA agent that frequented the bar. After taking you in to protect you, you then learn the cost of being Javier Peña’s informant.

Warnings: Angst, Sex, Female Relations 18+

Relationships: Javier Peña x Reader, Reader x Original Female Character

You’d been so shy at first when he’d initially approached you but as you had talked you'd allowed yourself to be swept off of your feet by his charm. He had asked you about the men that came to the bar. What they spoke about, what they told you and when he’d learned that you were often told their plans he had asked you to feed him information in return for protection.

You then fed the DEA agent information for months and because of you, they went on to execute several successful busts but Escobar’s men caught on eventually and after an incident that had left you black, blue and bloody. Javier had carried you from the bar and taken you back to his apartment where Connie had nursed you back to health and your relationship with Javier had developed from there.

He then managed to secure you an apartment in his building upstairs opposite the Murphy’s. He spent most evenings at your apartment, the two of you eating dinner and fucking until you were left boneless where you lay. He'd awoke something within you that you’d never knew you possessed. A sexual demon that would do anything to give and receive pleasure. He knew how to play your body and make you cum like no other had before him and you soon found yourself falling hard and heavy for him but he maintained that what was between you was casual so despite how that hurt you continued with it, only asking that he tell you if he fucked anyone else. You deserved that at least.

The previous night he had made you cum on his tongue after you had left Murphy’s for dinner, making you sing as you clutched to the kitchen counter and he ate you like a man starved but after that, he had left, telling you he had a meeting with Carillo. You had begged him to let you return the favour but he had simply pulled you into a biting kiss before turning his back to you and leaving, not realising his coat was still slung over one of your kitchen chairs. It had been almost a month since he had last fucked you and you found yourself craving the release that only he could provide, your fingers simply not enough. You were growing more and more isolated the less he stayed and you wished that you could leave. Hit a bar and let your hair down.

Just for one night.

When you'd noticed that Javi had left his coat behind you decided it was the perfect excuse to go see him, knowing that he had the day off today so you thought perhaps today he'd be in the mood for you to thank him for the head. Skipping down the stairs, your heart was pounding in your chest as you knocked on his door. A grin growing across your face when he opened it.

‘You left this behind last night.’ You cooed as you lifted his coat into view before tossing it behind him and latching your lips to his.

‘Now isn’t a good time.’ Grumbled Javier as he pushed you off of him, groaning as you palmed his length beneath his sweats.

‘I need you Javi.’ You pleaded ‘It’s been a month. I need to feel you.’

‘Javi? Who is it?’ Comes a voice from inside his apartment and he flinched as you pulled back and looked behind him as a beautiful young woman lurked into view.

‘Javier, who is she?’ You asked, your face dropping as you looked at him but he didn’t answer you.

‘I’m Vanessa.’ She replied for him, giving you a sweet smile that you wanted nothing more than to slap off.

You said nothing else. You slapped him and left, sprinting up the stairs where you dashed into your room and started to shove clothes into the duffle you stored under your bed. You didn’t hear your door go, too distracted with packing what little belongings you had and sobbing your heart out as your breath caught in your throat.

“What are you doing?’ he asked, grabbing your arm and roughly turning you to face him.

‘Leaving.’

‘You can’t leave.’

‘Watch me.’ You spat, shoving him off of you as you pull open your drawers and shoving their contents into your bag.

‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘You haven’t fucked me in a month.’ You said abruptly and he looked back at you in confusion ‘You been fucking her all this time?’

‘I-’

‘Actually don’t answer that.’ You interrupted ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘This was always casual.’ He stated as he motioned between the two of you ‘You knew that all along.’

‘Yes, Javier but you also promised me you’d tell me if you were fucking anyone else.’ You growled.

‘Well as we weren’t I didn’t think it was necessary.’

‘Yet you still come here and kiss me… Suck my clit and make me cum but all the while you're fucking your favourite whore. What… am I not good enough anymore? Why bother even going down on me or kissing me at all?’

‘I…’

‘Just get out Javi.’ You spat ‘Get the fuck out of my face. I won’t leave because you’re right, it is too dangerous but I don’t want to see you or speak to you ever again.’

He flinched at your words, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he stayed glued to the spot.

‘GET OUT.’ You screamed before grabbing the hardback on your dresser and throwing it at him, the corner hitting his temple and drawing blood.

He said nothing. He lifted his fingers to his face, wincing as they grazed the cut you inflicted before he pulled them away bloody. Glancing back at you one final time he did as you asked. Leaving without uttering another word.

You were glad of your friendship with Connie and when she had invited you to go for a few drinks with her and Steve one evening you had leapt at the chance. You hadn’t even thought to ask whether a certain Agent would be there and you’d nearly left as soon as you arrived and saw him waiting for the three of you.

‘No, wait.’ Connie pleaded ‘I’m sorry I didn’t know he was coming. Please don’t go.’

‘Con I can’t stay if he’s here.’

‘It’s my fault.’ Piped up Steve ‘I told him that I was taking you and Con out for a few drinks. I had to, he’s the one in charge of your protection. I told him not to come.’

You roll your eyes, glancing at him and noticing him looking at you hopefully before returning your attention to Connie.

‘Okay, I’ll stay but don’t expect me to speak to him.’

‘No problem.’ She replied, raising her hands a little in front of her.

The three of you made it over to the table that the agent occupied and you tried desperately to avoid his gaze. You sat down beside the blonde woman and threw your drink order to Steve as he announced that he was going to the bar before staring in front of you.

‘Hi.’ He said gingerly as you studied a knot in the wood of the table sat in front of you all.

You said nothing and he visibly flinched, eyes sad as he glanced at Connie who could give him little more than a shrug in response. His guilt had been eating away at him for the last few months. He had done as you had asked and stayed away but he was disheartened to see that almost three months since that morning you were still harbouring anger towards him. He was relieved when Steve returned with the drinks, the blonde striking up a conversation about the little girl that he and Connie had decided to adopt. Javi remaining silent as you gushed at the news that they were going to be parents.

Drinks continued to flow and conversation did also. You offered to grab the next round, the allowance you were given for supplies was generous and you still had a little extra that you’d accumulated over the months you’d been in protection. Leaning against the bar, you waited for the server to reach you and you couldn’t help but notice the presence that came to stand beside you.

‘Hey.’ Came a silky smooth voice and you turned your head to see the most beautiful woman staring back at you ‘Not see you here before.’

‘I’m uh… Here with some friends.’ You replied, swallowing past the lump in your throat as battled the confusing feelings that washed over you.

‘The dark one your boyfriend?’ She asked and you glanced at Javier who was watching you intensely.

‘No.’ You replied curtly before looking back at her.

‘Good.’ She replied, smiling sweetly at you.

You talk whilst you wait, feeling a heat bloom in your belly at all the small touches as whispers in your ear as she flirts with you. The barman takes your order, you slip the girl your number and head back to the table.

‘Who was that?’ Questioned Javier and you finally looked up to see what you thought might be jealousy.

‘No one.’ Was your reply as you hand everyone their drinks and return to conversation with the Murphys.

You can’t help but notice the way she watches you as you sit in your booth with the others. You feel yourself growing wetter and wetter under her gaze and you rub your thighs together to gain a little friction as you return her gaze, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. It doesn’t go un-noticed by Peña who feels something fizzing under the surface. Eventually you can’t take it anymore and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, eyes catching hers as you disappear through the door. The door opens a few minutes later and she slips in after you, locking it behind her before grabbing you and spinning you on the spot so that your pinned up against the wooden structure. Her lips slant over yours as she kisses your hungrily, one hand holding your waist as the other snakes up your skirt and strokes your clothed sex.

‘You’re so wet.’ She says against your lips ‘This for me?’

‘You nod, heart hammering in your chest as she slips her hand past the band of your panties and slides them through your fold, eliciting a loud moan as she brushes against your swollen bud.

You’ve never done this before. You’d always found women attractive but you’d never felt desire for one before. Not as you stood there, pinned to a door as one circles your clit with her delicate fingers you imagine all the things you want to do with her. You’re torn from your imagination by a long slender finger sinking into your heat and curling just right, her palm rubbing against your clit as she pumps the digit in and out of you before adding another. You throw your head back and moan loudly as you feel yourself barrelling towards completion embarrassingly quickly but as she kisses you and curls just a little more you can’t stop it. You gush over her hand, liquid pattering on the floor as you practically scream against her lips before your legs give you and you both slip to the floor.

‘Fuck.’ You pant as she kisses you languidly ‘That was…’

‘Just the start.’ She finishes for you and you grin at her as you pull her into another kiss.

‘Come home with me.’ You whisper against her lips and she nods ‘Meet my by the door in five.’

…

Javier had headed to the bathroom after you hadn’t returned, also noticing that the girl you’d been speaking to was nowhere to be seen. He was just about to push open the door when he heart it. Your moans of pleasure. He knew them all to well but when he heard you let out a pleasured scream he felt himself snap and he stormed out the bar without a work to Connie or Steve.

…

You bid Steve and Connie goodnight, promising them you’ll be okay to walk yourself back. You meet her outside and the two of you practically skip back you your apartment, giggling as you skip up the stairs and unlock your door, stumbling inside you are on each other instantly. You blindly walk to the bedroom, laughing as you bump into things but eventually you both fall down on the bed and remove each others clothes as you continue to kiss each other hungrily.

‘Wait… Wait.’ You say suddenly as you pull away, panting as you look into her dark eyes ‘I’ve um… I’ve never done this before.’

‘This?’ She questions, smirking at you.

‘I’ve never fucked a woman before.’ You confess and she grins at you.

‘Don’t worry baby.’ She says sweetly as she cups your sex ‘We’ll take this slow.’

‘So how are things going between you and Elisa?’ Asked Connie as she sipped her wine ‘You’ve been dating what… Six months now?’

‘They’re really good.’ You replied ‘She’s been really patient with me. I was a little nervous at first as I guess I'd never realised I was bi until I met her.’

‘What’s the sex like?’

‘Con!’ You giggled at the boldness of her question.

‘What I’m curious.’

‘It’s uh… It’s different.’ You reply ‘So far all we’ve done is oral and hand stuff but I think I’m ready to experiment a little more.’

‘Oooo… Experiment how?’

‘I don’t know but I feel like there must be other things we can do.’ You said shyly 'I'm not exactly an expert on this stuff.'

‘Oh trust me there definitely is.’ Connie replied and you raise your eyebrows with intrigue.

‘What I went to college once.’ She chuckles before ‘Come, I have some stuff I can show you.’

…

You sat nervously on the couch as you waited for Elisa to come home. Connie had shown you a book one of her college friends had given her as a joke and it had shown you something that you knew you wanted to try. Upon hearing the key to your apartment turn in the lock you turn to look at your lover as she walks in.

‘Hey.’ She says sweetly as you skipped up to her and kissed her deeply ‘Nice to see you too.’

You said nothing. You just took her hand and lead her to the bedroom, pushing her down on the bed and stripping bare for her.

‘There’s something I want to try.’ You said as you slunk over to her and started to strip her of her own clothes.

You’re practically dripping at the thought of what you were about to do. It started off all hands and tongues, taking it in turns to make each other cum before you rolled her onto her back and kiss her hard. Sitting up you spread her legs and slotted yourself between them, grinning at the look on her face as she realised what you were planning. You carefully manoeuvred yourself so your bare sex was hovering over hers, moaning when your clit nudged her own.

‘Shit.’ You breathed, moaning as you rocked your hips a little and found that your combined slick made moving easy.

You started slow, swallowing her moans as you rubbed your core against hers but as her moans grew louder your hip movements increased. You both came in unison, screaming together as you felt her walls contract against you but she didn't give you long to recover before she was flipping you onto your back and taking over. Your hands grabbed the globes of her ass as you urged her to fuck you harder and when you cum again you'd almost cried at how intense it was, her climax following soon after.

‘Shit.’ She breathed as she rolled onto her side and fought to regain her breath.

The two of you lay there in silence for a short while, hands enclosed as the sweat on your skin started to dry.

‘So Connie’s invited us for dinner tomorrow.’ You said as you panted beside her.

‘Seriously?’ She chuckled and you rolled to face her.

‘What?’

‘We fuck like that... and that's the first thing that springs to your mind after?’

‘Well, she was the one that gave me the idea for what we just did.’ You giggled as you pecked her lips.

‘Well, I must thank her.’ She replied as she kissed you again a little more passionately and you melted from her touch.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ She replied, smiling sweetly at you and watched as your eyes started to flutter a little.

When she was sure that you were asleep she slipped from the room and pattered to the kitchen, pulling the phone from its cradle. Resting it against her ear she waited for someone to answer, grinning when a familiar voice sounded at the other end.

‘I’m in.’ She said simply.

Javier had been unable to avoid hearing your nightly activities. Living beneath you meant you could hear him and he could hear you. He’d managed to avoid seeing you since the night at the bar but he’d been kept up to date about your blossoming relationship with Elisa. Connie gushed about how cute the two of you were together and despite Javier and Steve begging her to tell you to be careful, she waved them both off.

‘You can’t help who you fall in love with.’ She said as she rolled her eyes at them both.

‘Well that’s very progressive of you Con but society doesn't look at it that way.’ Stated Javier as he supped at his beer ‘They could get hurt.’

‘Well, I’m sure they realise that.’ She growled ‘I know that they aren’t all PDA when they go out.'

‘Wait what?’ He asked as he shifted in his seat ‘She leaves the building with her?’

‘Well yeah, that's what couples do.’

‘She shouldn’t be going anywhere without either Steve or me.’ He snapped ‘It's not safe for her. She’s wanted by Escobar.’

‘Uh…’

‘I’ll have a word with her.’ Interrupted Steve as he placed a comforting hand on his partner's shoulder.

Connie was dragged away by a crying Olivia and Javier took it as his chance to voice his concerns to Steve. He’d stayed away from you but he had kept an eye on her, it was his job to protect you after all. At least that's what he’d told himself as he’d tailed her one afternoon.

‘I don’t trust this Elisa woman.’ He stated and Steve rolled his eyes.

‘Why the hell not?’

‘I just think she’s up to no good.’

‘Well, you would say that .’ Steve snorted in response.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Snapped Javier as he looked at his partner with dark eyes.

‘It’s clear you have feelings for her man. You’re jealous she’s found someone else and that's natural but news flash for you… You’re the one who pushed her away.’ He said, waving his hands in front of Javi’s face ‘You can’t do this to her. Girl deserves to be happy. You need to smother this green monster and move on. You had your chance and you fucked it.’

‘I tailed her to the other day.’ He confessed and this grabbed Steve’s attention ‘I saw her head into a shady ass looking house before kissing some guy and leaving an hour or so later.’

‘Javi-‘

‘I’m telling the truth, Steve.’

‘Just drop it.’ The blonde agent replied before heading to the fridge to grab another beer.

Javier pondered his partner's words.

He was jealous. He had fucked his chances with you. He’d gotten scared and ran away like a coward but he knew he was right about Elisa. He just needed to prove it.

So that's exactly what he did. He spent any hours he wasn’t working watching Elisa as she went about her daily activities. She spent most evenings with you and he didn’t need to look into that, he could hear what you were doing together. His suspicions were confirmed one evening when he caught her sneaking out of the apartment to meet someone outside and his stomach had twisted when he saw La Quica leaning against a jeep across the street. Words were exchanged before she kissed him and left and Javier could feel his blood boil in his veins. Now he just needed to get her alone.

Part 2

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