#pedro pascal character study
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A full character analysis on JAVIER PEÑA from the TV show NARCOS
I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to learn more about the character. 🖤
FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED
FULL CHARACTER STUDY:
*Contains some comparisons to the real life Javier Peña, on which Pedro's Javier Peña is based on.
Basic Details:
Full Name: Javier Peña
Nickname(s): Javi, also referred to as "Peña" or "Jav" by Steve Murphy
Appears in: Narcos, 2015 (first appearance on screen in episode 1, season 1 at approx. 31:41)
Age (if known): Unconfirmed, suspected late 30's, possibly early-to-mid 40's
Sexuality: Straight - Javi was previously engaged to a woman named Lorraine back in Laredo, and also regularly sleeps with female hookers. He also hooked up with a female colleague, Katie, and slept with M-19 co-leader Elisa Álvarez, whilst temporarily hiding her in his apartment.
Nationality: Texan, Javi is from Laredo, Texas, with Mexican roots
Family: Father, Chucho Peña. There is brief mention of an aunt.
Spouse/Partner: No mention of a current partner.
Relationship Status: Currently single, was previously engaged to Lorraine.
Current Living Status: Alive
Languages Spoken: Spanish, English
Education: Presumed at least high school educated as he works for the government and the DEA as a Special Agent
Occupation:
Job Role/Title: DEA Special Agent, and later as Country Attaché
Special Skill(s): Combat training, guns and ammo, detective work, undercover work, anti-terrorism, anti-drugs trafficking, tactical
Notable Colleague(s): Steve Murphy, General Carillo
Distinguishing Features:
Tattoo(s): None
Piercings: None
Scar(s): None notable
Other Markings: None notable
Prominent Feature(s): Clean shaven face with a prominent pencil moustache
Injuries: Javi doesn't suffer any serious injuries. He does, however, endure very minor slips and stumbles when chasing down Narcos/suspects, most notably in season 3 when he chases down Franklin Jurado and jumps down a balcony, which leaves him limping for a few moments after as he runs.
Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Colour: Brown
Personality:
Traits: Determined, persuasive, adept
Javi is purported to be originally from Laredo, Texas. (The real life Javier Pena was born and raised in Hebbronville, Texas.)
Javi starts off as a special agent for the DEA, and then later becomes Country Attaché for Colombia, as titled on his business card we see in season 3. An attaché is normally an official, who serves either as a diplomat or as a member of the support staff, under the authority of an ambassador or other head of a diplomatic mission, mostly in intergovernmental organizations or international non-governmental organisations or agencies.
Narcos is set between the late 1970's until the early 1990's.
Javi appears to type at a slow to medium pace, using both his index fingers on the keys, and uses a typewriter when typing up his reports at his desk.
Whilst Javi tends to skirt the line of morals at times, it's clear that using any means necessary to capture Escobar is something he will entertain, and states himself, even if it means getting close to his enemies and playing on both sides. This is evident when he uses and provides intel to Judy Moncada and Don Berna, which then include the Los Pepe's murders, and ends up working with the Castaño's to get Christina Jurado back.
Javi is seen making the decision to gun down Gacha in the chopper, and states that he'll "sleep tonight" when asked if he's alright. He also shoots a man - who claims he's a politician - in the gut to get answers. This behaviour indicates that Javi will make choices that potentially risk him being the "bad guy" and putting his career at risk, in order to seek justice and bring down Escobar and the Cali Cartel. Subsequently his choices catch up with him when he's fired at the end of season 2, for his involvement with Los Pepes.
Whilst we don't see Javi physically cry during Narcos, he does get watery-eyed when talking to his father Chucho in the car on the way back from the wedding, and also when Carillo shoots a child at point blank range and Steve asks him what's going on. Javi deals with his emotions by either drinking (we see him frequent many bars and drinking what appears to be Whiskey), or by indulging in sex.
Javi appears to have had specialist combat training at some point in his career - we see him descending from a helicopter into the jungle via rope line, which isn't standard training for police or DEA, unless you're in a specialist unit.
The real life Javier Peña served as a deputy sheriff for Webb County sheriff’s office in Laredo from 1975 to 1984, and then continued his service with the DEA until his retirement in 2014. In the show it appears that Javi has his career solely in the DEA as there isn't mention of anything else. Steve states that he is a "lifer" in the DEA when they're both at the airport whilst Javi is waiting for his flight home back to the USA after his dismissal.
Javi is seen drinking coffee regularly, presumed black as he is not seen adding any milk/cream or sugar, and also drinks Whiskey. When Helena asks what drink he can offer her, he replies "Whiskey or water." Javi is seen ordering a Whiskey Dry at the bar in season 3. It appears Whiskey is his drink of choice.
Javi appears to shake and twitch his left hand fingers when he's apparently anxious. He does this a few times throughout the show. (This may actually be a trait that Pedro has himself, as he also does this for his character Joel Miller in The Last Of Us.)
Javi uses flirting as a way of persuading women to help him. He does this with Colleen by complimenting her nails when he needs her signature. He tells the Ambassador she's wearing a beautiful dress when he gets her to agree to his needs in season 1. He also tries it with Christina by flirting and buying her a drink with the intention of getting her to talk, although that goes south pretty quickly due to her loyalty to her husband.
Javi looks "after his own". He demonstrates this several times by telling Steve to say he knows nothing and that it was all Javi if Steve were to be questioned about Los Pepes. He also does this again in season 3 on the plane with Fiestl and his team, telling them that it all comes back on him if it goes awry. This indicates he wants to protect others.
Javi's dad says it means a lot to his "tía" that Javi came to the wedding. Tía is the Spanish word for Aunt.
Javi calls his father "dad", "pop" and "pops". It seems they have a good, close relationship as Chucho seems to know a lot about Javi's career, and they've seemingly had talks about it before. There is no mention of Javi's mother during the show.
Javi is generally a pretty good shot with a gun; he's able to shoot the guerrilla holding Christina hostage - whilst wearing night vision goggles, which is actually harder to do than without, due to depth of field - in the face on a single shot. However, he's not a good shot when shooting the pigeons, missing every one. He claims it's because he's never been duck hunting when Steve jibes him for it.
Javi's Smoking Habits:
Javi is an avid smoker and it appears he smokes from the brand Marlboro, determined by the box shown on Gabriela's bedside table, and glimpses of the red boxes he has throughout the show.
Javi is seen actively smoking - or with a cigarette, even if it's not yet lit - in a total of 44 scenes across all three seasons. (13 scenes in season 1, 25 scenes in season 2 and 6 scenes in season 3.)
In episode 1 of season 3, Javi explains to Lorraine he's quitting smoking as he chews Nicorette gum. However, later at the end of the same episode, he's seen smoking as he wakes up in bed with Katie asleep beside him. Season 3 is the the least amount of times he's seen smoking however, indicating he's possibly trying to stay true to quitting.
Javi mostly smokes using his right hand, holding the cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger.
Javi's Lovers:
Javi has several lovers and appears to know and frequent prostitutes/hookers regularly, using them for information, as well as hook ups. This is more apparent in season 1 and 2 and less seen and mentioned in season 3. Assumed because Javi's job is more senior in season 3 and he has more of a reputation to uphold.
It appears statistically, based off of physical looks alone, that Javi possibly prefers brunettes.
He sleeps with prostitute Helena Sotomayor in season 1 whom he uses and pays for information, and it seems he does have affection for her as he states "we get better each time we practice," indicating he sleeps with her regularly. She is subsequently attacked and viciously raped, before can Javi rescue her. His first sex scene in the show is with Helena on his loveseat in his apartment.
Javi then sleeps with M-19 Militia co-leader, Elisa Álvarez in season 1, when Connie brings her to Javi's apartment to protect and hide. Although they don't have a sex scene, they are shown naked in bed together. Javi is seen discussing getting her somewhere safe, however she states he isn't responsible for her. He nuzzles in and kisses her softly.
Javi has a regular hook-up with a prostitute named Gabriela in season 2. His second sex scene is with Gabriela in her apartment in her bedroom. Prior to that, he is seen wearing his jeans and smoking at the window, whilst she is naked on the bed, assumed after sex between them, and they talk together. Javi is seen rubbing her stomach affectionately.
Javi hooks up with a colleague called Katie in season 3. He doesn't have a sex scene with her, but wakes up in bed naked with her still asleep at dawn, and smokes a cigarette he takes from her purse.
Javi refers to some prostitutes by name and nickname in season 1, "Freckles" and "Vanessa", indicating he knows them quite well when he and Steve arrest McPickle at the private brothel, which Javi swears he doesn't know about with a smirk to Steve.
Javi was previously engaged to a woman back in Laredo called Lorraine. He tells Steve that he left her on their wedding day as he couldn't go through with it, and states "she's better off." Later we see Javi talking with her at the wedding they're both guests at in season 3 in Laredo. She has since remarried someone else called Randy. Javi apologizes to her indicating he still feels remorse for what he did. Lorraine says it's taken him "ten years" to apologise, indicating the length of time that has passed between them. Lorraine also appears to have had 2 children with Randy.
Javi's sex is generally affectionate, with lots of kissing, touching and nuzzling. He does this with both Helena and Elisa, and with both these women it's indicated that he possibly feels some genuine affection for them. He has a regular thing with Gabriela in season 2 and is seen talking with her about writing and why she continues to be a prostitute. Later however, he has rough sex with Gabriela after Carillo shoots the child in front of him. He has sex with Gabriela from behind and pulls on her hair.
Javi's Apartment:
Javi's apartment is a government issue apartment in Colombia. It's on the ground floor in an apartment block.
For an in depth look at Javi's apartment, please see these amazing posts already made by @pedropascalito
A look at Javi's Apartment & Another glimpse at the details
Fashion/Outfits:
Outfits - Javi's look is styled predominantly in the time period when Narcos is set - the late 70's, 80's, and into the early 90's. However, Javi's fashion very much clings onto the 70's vibe.
He wears lots of button down shirts in different colours, patterns and fits, with some being more fitted, and other's more square and loose looking on his frame. He often leaves his top few shirt buttons undone.
He wears mostly jeans, blue denim, that are tight fitting and slightly flared/bootcut around the ankle.
When he wears a suit, it's often a dark grey, brown or blue colour or a lighter pale shade, as was the style at the time. The suit jacket often appears a little too big for him, again as was the style back then with large shoulder pads and baggier slacks. He wears a variety of patterned ties when he wears a suit. He'll also leave the top button undone on his shirt and wear his tie slightly loose at the knot.
When he's doing field work, he dresses casually in shirts, jeans, boots and jackets. He wears green camo in the jungle when rescuing Christina.
He has a black, well worn leather jacket, and also several different styles of jacket, including denim and corduroy.
He wears a plaid shirt to the wedding in season 3, in homage to his Southern heritage.
He wears boots that have a small heel, and is seen wearing cowboy boots also in some scenes.
He wears aviator sunglasses with a yellow hue lens, which was a popular look in the 70's.
Accessories: Silver wrist watch worn on left wrist, handguns Beretta & Zoraki, handcuffs, aviator sunglasses, police badge. He uses a large sat phone and then later a smaller mobile phone in season 3. He carries his cigarettes, lighter and car keys in his jacket pockets. Javi has a pager in season 1 that he wears on his belt on his left hip. He also has a brown leather gun holster that he keeps on his left side in season 1, which is seen in a couple of shots.
Javi's Shirts range in colour and pattern, yet he mostly wears short-sleeved button ups. He often leaves the top two buttons open. A selection of some of his shirts:
Javi's Jackets include leather, denim, corduroy and sleeveless styles:
Javi's Suits are a selection of dark colours and pale two-piece combos, usually worn with a white shirt and selection of ties:
Javi's sunglasses are classic yellow lens tinted aviators, as was popular in the 1970's. He wears the same pair throughout all 3 seasons:
Javi's Tac Vest is a green combat military style, issued by the DEA, with a single front holster for his Beretta. He wears it during all three seasons:
Some accessories of Javi's seen in season 2 on Gabriela's bedside table: Marlboro cigarette box & blue lighter, silver watch, handcuffs in leather pouch, police DEA badge and his Beretta:
Weapons Used:
Weapon(s): (Exact weapons pictured below)
Javi has two primary hand guns as his main weapons.
In season 1, he uses a Zoraki 914 pistol, which is a smaller model.
In seasons 2 & 3, his main weapon is a Beretta 9mm magnum 92FS series. He keeps his Beretta in his left side desk drawer when at his desk. He also wears his Beretta tucked into his belt behind his back.
In the scene where Javi & Steve are shooting the pigeons, Javi uses a Benelli M3 Super 90 Shotgun.
Javi also uses a rifle in season 3 in the episode where he rescues Christina from the jungle. It appears to be a carbine rifle, possibly an M16 model, however the exact model is not 100% confirmed anywhere.
Modes of Transport:
Vehicle(s):
Javi owns and drives a Jeep Cherokee during seasons 1 & 2 - License plates are shown as REW-950, B35-17T & MOP-920. The license plate of Javi's Jeep Cherokee changes three times during the first two seasons. This is because private car license plates in Colombia were black and white from 1973 to 1990, while yellow and black plates introduced in 1991.
Javi owns and drives a 1995 Ford Explorer in Silver Grey in season 3 - License Plate BPL-729.
Dialogue:
🗨 See Javi's full dialogue from the show, including deleted scenes.
Further Character Links (if any):
Javier Peña fandom Wiki Page
FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#javier peña#javier pena#javier pena narcos#pedro pascal character analysis#pedro pascal character study#javier pena character analysis
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of beskar and kyber {chapter 17}
Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)
Summary: Din Djarin is not a remorseful man. Everything he's done, he's done for a reason. But he finds himself in an internal struggle as he tears through the galaxy for traces of you.
Word Count: 10.3k
Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, use of narcotics, use of drugs, reader gets drugged, reader gets kidnapped, reader gets tied up, kidnapping, controlling parent, toxic parent / child relationship, toxic parent / child dynamic, din has a lot of feelings, din reflects on his time spent with reader, death, minor character death, infectious thoughts, negative feelings, feelings of inadequacy, issues with intimacy, religious guilt, feelings of religious obligation, religious contemplation, so much guilt for our tin man, violence, derogative language, insinuations of sexual favors, a few instances of shouting, din loses his hold on reality (1) time, references to past instances of self-harm, references to past instances of suicidal ideations, let me know if i missed anything please!
A/N: an all din pov chapter, baby! who's ready for ten thousand words on how this man feels? this was a fun different way to approach the story and i rather liked it even if i am afraid to post it. there are so many different interpretations of din that are all so great, and while this is my personal one for the character in my fic, i'm still worried about how it'll be received
ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi
“Mother, please.” You begged, voice absolutely wrecked. Desperation settled in your gut, making you dizzy and nauseous. The illness of it was debilitating even through the hum of drugs waning in your system. Sobs were wracking your body, exploding from your ribcage in painful bursts. You struggled against the cuffs on your wrists, the cuffs around your ankles, rotating them in hopes of finding weakness but they were strong. But they were made of beskar, strong and programmed to shock you should you jostle them too much. Using the culture of the very people who had meant salvation now for damnation. She had made sure they would hold you this time.
She just sat there, watching you from the chair by the door. Long hair pulled up into a knot atop her head, blue tunic and black trousers flowing and clean. Her hands clasped in front of her, resting her chin against them as her eyes took in the slump of your form across the small room. You were on the ground, legs numb from the hard, unforgiving stone underneath you. Boots removed and down to nothing but your simple clothing. She had taken the pendant from you, the one Din had gifted you in the wake of your confession to losing the one from Akiz. It glinted over her own chest, visible where she allowed it to drape over the front of her collar.
“Please. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to the ship. I want to go home.”
“Oh no, my darling, you won’t be going anywhere near that disgusting ship again. That Mandalorian has caused enough damage, stealing you away after taking your fob. I still had to pay the Guild fee for your bounty. Credits you know we didn’t have in the first place.” She paused, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees, and she leaned forward to rest her hand atop them. A wicked smile overtook her as she eyed you across the room.
“Luckily, I found someone who was willing to cover the cost and offer to take you as their wife. They’ve put a lot of energy and credits into helping locate you. They will be here in two days’ time to collect you.”
She looked almost mournful at the idea of you leaving so soon after reuniting. Of sharing you with another after claiming to do everything she had ever done to you out of protection.
“But he swore to protect you from any threats, from the Mandalorians that seem to be obsessed with owning you, harnessing your power to help them crawl from the cracks of the universe they ran to hide in when their planet was destroyed. This man, he’s from a very important royal line that is deeply rooted in the New Republic.”
“The New Republic is a joke, they can’t even keep their own soldiers happy, let alone protect anyone.”
“Hush now, darling.” She got up and the black tin she kept in her pocket flashed in her hand. You began thrashing even more so, tears cascading down your cheeks as she approached you. The click of the tin opening sent you back to every other time you had heard that sound in your life, eyes going wide and your breath left you as if you had been hit square in the chest. “The time will fly by with this dose and then we’ll be off to our new home.”
He’d been searching the city for days.
Despite the thrumming of pain through his head, his vision blurring, and the helmet resting too heavy on the now soft, new skin that was his injury. Tender fingers carefully spraying bacta and skin itching as the tissue tried to heal with its aid. He wished for your smaller hands to be the one caring for him, but he was alone. Alone with a fussing child that was beginning to use his powers to get his feelings across since he was still learning how to talk and use his little voice.
Not taking any time to rest, instincts telling him something was wrong, that something had happened. You wouldn’t just run off, even with what had occurred. At least…not for this long. He hoped. He…hoped.
Stalking through the various casinos and cantina’s, searching for any traces of you to be found. Even in the hectic atmospheres of the racetracks and brothels, of seedier bars and establishments you may have ducked into or been taken to by the force of whoever had stolen you away. Snatched you from whatever you had sought out to calm yourself.
He sat in front of the tracking fob given to him when he first took the job to return you to your mother for hours. Set it atop the control panels in the cockpit, helmet removed and head in his hands as he contemplated turning the device back on. He had scoured the hotels and seedier hostels with it in his grip, to no avail.
It was as if you had simply vanished.
Your smiles and laughter, soft sighs and teasing quips a figment of his imagination.
Made up in the loneliness that accompanied the type of life he led. Missions, jobs, hunting, tracking, trading in criminals and runaways for next to nothing, refueling the ship and hitting the ground running again, taking to the air and space again. And again, and again. He didn’t realize how tired and monotonous it had all become, despite the thrill of his skills proofing to be elite time and time again. He didn’t realize how much he had been missing out on until you threw it all off track. Deliver the goods and credits to the covert, ensure they were safe and protected, collect another job, hunt, track, kill, injure, collect. Broke the routine he had been so accustomed to with an utterance of his dying language. Rolling off your tongue with precision.
It had been striking. You had been striking and he had torn you down in a way he never wanted to, unintentionally with a fumbling lack of words. It was maddening, to search for days to find no trace of you anywhere.
There was no indication you ever existed aside from those left behind on his ship. The mug of caf sweetened with sugar and powdered milk at the table, the pack of your cigarras you always insisted on smoking outside while it was docked, the crate with your tools and materials used to make armor, the neat and organized labels you had applied to everything within the panels. The room he had set up for you….though you often split your time between his own and the hammock still hung up in the hold space.
He had left it all untouched, too afraid to erase the pieces of evidence that you were real. That you had been aboard his ship. That you had been trying to connect with him and he stumbled over his words so badly he made you feel unwanted on such a level that made you run.
Like the acts between you two had just been him seeking out pleasure with no real intent other than that behind them. The thought that you must’ve felt like he was just like every other person who had ever used you made his stomach turn and bile burn in his throat. Only his ploys had been steeped in honey and saccharine promises. He had frozen, the words he wanted to whisper to you lost in the panic of the moment, of wanting exactly what you were asking for. It had all been so overwhelming. It had been so real, felt so real, and it had been a jarring realization.
That he had wanted to remove his helmet and give into your request.
Despite the Creed he swore his life to. Despite the commitment he had made to you that would allow for him to do so in time.
But now it was too little too late.
After the third day, he was beginning to think you weren’t merely taking some time to yourself…
Maybe he was foolish to think he hadn’t messed up so monumentally that you had found a way off world and run even further from him. But he knew you weren’t the type of person to do that. To him, to ad’ika.
Burc’ya. Friend.
Ner kar’ta. My heart.
Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.
Vencuyot riduur. Future husband.
You wouldn’t have run from him to that degree, loyal and devoted. Loving and caring, kind hearted at the very core of who you were. Even despite the tragedies and ill-natured things you had been subjected to in your life. Good. Too good, for someone like him.
He was beginning to think something had happened.
But without the aid of your communication, vambraces still set atop the makeshift table along with your main bag and armor, he had no way of knowing for sure. Just the niggling feeling in his gut that was burrowing deeper by the second.
He sent a transmission to Karga, asking if there was any news of your arrest before deeming the planet a lost cause and raising the ramp. He took the Crest up up up and into the air, helmet scouring the shrinking planet all the while, feeling an ache in his heart that he didn’t think he would ever get used to.
He had to push through, he had to focus. You needed someone to help you, wherever you had gone or been taken. You needed him to find you. He needed to find you.
Ad’ika had been in a constant flux from eerily silent to wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow, wide eyes brimming with tears the longer you were gone. Din had taken to wrapping the child up in the cloak he had bought you, securing it with the metallic flower latches and laying him down in the cot alongside him. Never sleeping, only laying down intermittently to pass the time. Rest evading him as his mind began to think of the things that could’ve happened to you.
Tatooine was his first stop, no response from Karga when he docked and secured the ship in Pelli’s hangar. Much to his disappointment, the travel through hyperspace hadn’t been too long, so a response was wishful thinking on his part. Spurred on by the endless possibilities of what happened consuming him.
He was silent as he handed her the credits from your bag, loathing that he needed to use them as he lacked his own. Even now, gone from him and hurt, you were still offering him help. Providing for him the way he should be for you, the way that he wanted to. The reality of having asked you to travel with him weighing heavily on his mind. Once ad’ika is settled with those who could train him, Din would need to take up working with the Guild full time again to provide for the covert. A life steeped in danger and endless threats, a life you already had far too much experience with. Perhaps…perhaps he could secure a tract of land somewhere, a place to return to after jobs. A nice cabin surrounded by trees and an endless supply of anything you may need. Or perhaps a shop front on Nevarro, for you to sell you wares. He would take extra jobs to provide that for you, work his hands to the bone and until he could barely move for how exhausted he was.
Because you deserved it. You deserved to be happy and he was beginning to think that may not be with him. Not if he was constantly away or you were left on the ship for days, weeks, months at a time while he tracked down his quarries. Constantly traveling through space and left to handle the ship alone.
Would…would you even want that type of life?
Wouldn’t it be another type of imprisonment, no reward but a tired and aching man in the bed beside you only a handful of nights? Half of him given to you, half devoted to his Creed.
I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.
Thoughts consuming him, there was no argument from him as he left ad’ika with her to look through the city.
The lack of your figure emerging from the ship didn’t prompt any questions from her, though he could sense them on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.
He set out, looking for the woman who you made friends with the last time he had landed the Crest on the sandy planet.
He found her, in the middle of a scuffle in the marketplace over a stolen loaf of bread. A child whose stomach was caved in and bruises over their arms visible when the sleeves of their tunic rose up. The vendor wanted the child to be taken in, punished for the attempted theft. But he could see how conflicted Sioban was with following that heated demand.
Diffusing the situation, seeing the form he had first encountered you in mirrored in the small child, he stepped forward and offered a handful of credits to the vendor.
“To cover the bread for the child, two loaves and that chunk of cured meat.”
“Sir, this has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to put yourself out for that ungrateful litte-“
“Take it.” Din’s head throbbed, exhausted and anxious, just trying to do something good. Something you would do. They were your credits, and he wanted to do this. At the fixed stare of his visor, the vendor released the child from her tight grip, nearly throwing the small frame to the ground as she did. Roughly, she gathered the loaf that had started the whole ordeal, a second one, and the wrapped meat. Holding it out for him to take.
Sioban ushered everyone who had stopped in their tracks to go about their business. Once the small crowd cleared and attention was diverted, Din turned to the child and crouched down.
“Here, for you.” He kept his voice a hush, not wanting the modulator to manipulate his voice into a threatening or menacing tone it tended to do, taking the emotion from his words more often than not.
“T-thank you, sir.”
“Now go and stay out of trouble.”
An enthusiastic nod and they were running off, disappearing down the street.
“Well, well, well. Mando is a softie afterall.” Sioban’s voice lightly teased. “Where’s Sarad and the baby? Or is this a solo trip this time around?”
“I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”
“Something happened.” The woman’s features hardened, a slant to her brow as her eyes looked him over before settling on the visor. She didn’t look or feel like a threat, something proven further by your willingness to share a table with the woman. But Din was fighting his instincts, the ones telling him to chase chase chase, even with no actual leads as to where you had gone. And this woman might hold some clues or at least be able to offer Din a higher chance if he had someone on the ground of the planet you had run to once already.
“Yes.”
The conversation with Sioban hadn’t yielded any answers. If anything, it solidified that Din had absolutely no idea what to do. With no other leads, he fell back on his tracking tactics, searching for your last place of known residence.
Once back to the ship, he silently takes ad’ika from Pelli. Not responding to the looks or faint questioning he knew was on the woman’s mind. A nod, a formal shaking of the woman’s hand and he was guiding the Crest back into the air to comb over the planet as best he could. You had said you thought you were here when he took you from that compound, a home you had hidden away on this world after running from your mother years ago.
It took him nearly a week’s worth of days of flying low to the land before he caught sight of a structure.
Mind working overdrive as he strained his eyes through the visor with aided mechanics for any sign of life amid the vast stretch of the desert landscape. Sectors outlined and crossed out when they didn’t yield anything. Errant skeletons of a bantha, the Jawa’s traveling across the land, and Tusken settlements the only markers of time passing and the ship moving moderately along.
And then, suddenly.
There were two tall spires beside a moderate looking abode. Moisture farming equipment, the same you had told him about replacing shortly before your capture. Was all he had to go off of, a small conversation that you hadn’t expanded on in your time with him.
The structure was like most far out into the desert, mostly underground with a rounded and smooth stone roof, a door with a protected entrance to prevent sand from building up right up against it. It was modest, big enough for one person to have plenty of room. Abandoned, by his guess, the stone of the building chipped in places from sand and the spare storm weathering it down.
It had to be yours, it had to be, please let it be yours were his thoughts as he broke the lock still activated, ensuring the structure was protected even out in the middle of nowhere. Mos Eisley was an entire day’s travel away. Even more so in any other direction to another of the planets handful of moderate settlements. A good place to hide. Visibility on your side. A lonely place to hide.
I’ve always loved the forest.
The memory how your tired and injured features had lit up at the sight of Sorgan visible through the glass of the cockpit, the breathy gasp that had fallen from your lips sprung to his mind. You had been so calm, despite the precarious circumstances, stealing away moments to brush your bare fingers along the leaves reaching out from low branches.
You must’ve been miserable here. The land so dry and empty, the closest mountain ridges barely visible on the horizon. Even those were spotty with tangled roots that held little to no greenery. Sentencing yourself to the wasteland to live out your life in fear and comfortability, hoping the environment you weren’t fond of would throw those searching for you off your trail.
Glancing behind him, Din watched as ad’ika slowly made his way down the ramp. Little sounds falling from his lips as he took in the sight of his guardian in front of a new place he didn’t recognize. Raising his hands as he got to the bottom of it, Din retreated to it and lifted up the small child, holding him tight in the crook of his elbow as he descended down the few steps and through the open door.
It was dark inside, no lights on or power source even charged, no doubt. But definitely abandoned. Sparingly decorated, though he could feel that it was once your space. The kitchen equipped with a fancy caf maker, ample kitchen wares, potted plants and herbs that had long died and dried in the sunlight coming in through the windows. There was an impressively organized wall of shelving right above a desk in the large main room, presumably where you would work on crafting armor. The only way to support yourself in such an environment. Most likely making trips into town in order to sell or trade.
There were three interior doors at the back of the structure. A heavy duty one off to the side of the kitchen. That one contained a greenhouse set up, or as close to one as you could imitate underground and on so hot a planet. There was a large panel of controls beside the door on the inside, telling Din of the way you controlled the pressure and moisture of the room One to a storage room, more evidence of your time spent here. Full of large bins and crates, evidence of grains and dried food. Of the pieces of armor you lovingly and intricately crafted.
One to a fresher, the last to what was once your bedroom.
Underneath the bed is where he found it, with the aid of his helmet. The massive rug that took up most of the bedroom floor hiding it in plain sight. The trap door exposed when he moved the bed and folded the rug up.
It wasn’t secured with anything that he could see, even with the aid of his helmet. It looked just like score marks dug into the stone ground. And he recalled the way you could effortlessly wield the Force, the power you shared with the child. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted a way for anyone else to access what lay hidden beneath, using it to manipulate the hideaway you felt you needed even this deep in the desert alone. Forever paranoid and fearful of being tracked down and found out.
Sighing, Din tried to think of a way to break the barrier, knowing he needed to search the entire home.
“Ad’ika,” He called, turning to see the child had situated himself on the couch in the main room. Eyes wide as he toyed with a broken collar. He wondered if it had belonged to a creature you had cared for, run away or long since passed now. “Ad’ika, can you help me?”
Leaning down to pick up the occupied child, Din pointed a gloved finger to the marks in the stone ground.
“Ad’ika, see these lines?” A gurgle of acknowledgement, the tilting of his head. “There’s a door here, that leads underground. Mesh’la put it there, do you think you can open it?”
Din set him down in front of it, crouching down to hold his hand out in front of them both and mimic the way you would twist your hand in concentration to harness your powers.
“Just like Mesh’la, like how you take the handle from the lever in the control room?”
Wide eyes looked up at him, curiosity in them at the man’s words.
If this didn’t work…he could always resort to using the charges fastened to his belt. Force a way through the entrance, but he didn’t want to damage the space or the room below.
But the crackling of stone was sharp as it sounded in the air. The child’s small face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes clenched shut as he harnessed his powers. Quiet grunts falling from his mouth as he struggled to move the stone.
But it was working. It was opening, the telltale sounds of stone grinding on stone as the thick slab that acted as an entrance was pried open.
“Good job, ad’ika! It’s working!” He couldn’t contain the pride in his voice nor the rapid beating of his heart. Positive that any answers he was in search of would dwell below. He moved forward to help lift the heavy slab, shoving it along the floor and revealing a dark space into the lower level of the house.
Turning on the flashlight of his helmet, Din descended into the bowels of your hideaway. Dust enveloped him as he waved at ad’ika to stay put on the higher level until he cleared the space.
It was a large room, the same size as the whole top floor of the structure. Though it was only two rooms, a living room and a bedroom with a second fresher. The living room held floor to ceiling bookcases, filled to the brim with physical books. A holo net in front of the couch, signs that you spent just as much time down here as you did in the rest of the structure if not more. He hated the realization that you felt the need to hide away even this far out in the desert, this far out in the galaxy. Forever paranoid and holding the fear that you would be tracked down. And he had been a part of that fear, he had been one of the many who had sought you out.
The crate in the bedroom caught his eye, beckoning him forward. Not only because of the hefty locks sealing it shut but because there was energy around it that made the tips of his fingers tingle. Much like his blood when he felt your body pressed up to his own, the sacrament of your trust in him personified.
Walking toward it, the small baby curls of his recently trimmed hair prickled on the back of his neck.
Snapping the thick locks, he kneeled on the ground in front of it and slowly lifted the lid.
His breath left him as the visor set into a midnight blue, almost black Mandalorian helmet peered back up at him. It was in pristine condition, as if it had merely been taken off for the man who he suspected wore it to partake in a quick meal and not the reality that it had been stored here for who knows how many years untouched. He hadn’t asked if you had kept it, after the man’s death, but he was felt the question bubble on his tongue more than once. But the answer was sitting obvious and blaring right in front of him.
Lifting it revealed the very same pendant he had gifted to you, attached to a thinly crafted beskar chain.
The one you had said you intended to show him in order to garner his help, to let him know of your connection to his way of life. Lost in the scuffle of being taken off guard and whisked away, but it was here, awaiting your return. He wondered why you hadn’t worn it that day, the day that set your paths up to cross. With slow movements, he began to remove the cowl about his neck, laying it down beside him.
With a held breath, he reached for the pendant and fastened it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt and layers of protective ware fronted by his cuirass. The cowl going back in place.
Beside the helmet…beside it was a neatly arranged line of metal hilts similar to the one you carried with you at all times. Similar to the one you had tried to buy your freedom from him with when first meeting.
Similar but not identical.
There were four of them. Lightsabers, you had told him they were called. That he now knew were an integral part of the creed you had been trained in. But the fact remained that he didn’t know the why of how many you had in your possession.
You had said each person similar in skill and training crafted their own, each unique and personal to an individual much like the helmets and armor Mandalorian’s adorned. Carefully picking one up, tingling traveling further up his arms and settling down his back, he tilted it to see that it did indeed house a crystal like your own. Each one had a different hue.
He decided to stay in the place that you once called home that night, locking up the ship after checking to see if he had received word from Karga. But when there were transmissions waiting to be heard, he secured the ship. His head hurting and his mind overwhelmed at finding pieces of you, proof that you existed outside of his memories.
Settling into the bed, he knew it was a lost cause as he tried to feel close to you. Reality reminding him you hadn’t slept in either of the cots aboard the ship in nearly two weeks now, years for the bed he now lay atop, cover bunched underneath his arms as he curled on his side and regarded the journal you left behind in your haste to run. Ad’ika resting atop the pillow beside his own, wrapped in your cloak as if it was the softest blanket in the universe. The child trying to feel close to you as well, missing you and growing more concerned each day.
Sleep evaded him, your voice loud in his head, the way you had sounded so devoid of emotion when he had failed to communicate with you. Tipping into different memories, the most prominent of the events back on Nevarro.
It rang in his ears, over and over, layering itself until it was a buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.
Ner kar’ta.
The desperation in your voice, the tears in your eyes, the way your hands shook as they reached out for him, how gentle they were when they cradled his helmet. The soft press of your forehead to his chest, to his helmet, to his hands grasped in your own as he lay bloodied and injured, barely conscious and so tired. So ready for death after a life that had only allowed him a glimpse of you. To ensure you could escape and continue to live, to be safe.
You had told him, as well as you could, what you meant to him.
Had shown him, with trusting him to press his skin to yours, body tangled with his own. Nervous giggles sounding into the air and seizing his heart as he wanted for more of them. Of the breathy sighs and sounds that fell from your lips as you let him caress your skin, the soft give of your chest, the plush give of your thighs, the velvet smooth apex between them.
Trusted him with the most intimate parts of you, parts of human connection. Even in the face of all that you had endured.
And then you has whispered it, half asleep and safe underneath him.
I love you. Future husband.
And he shattered it. With a foolish blunder of words he hadn’t been able to reign in, to explain himself and his own desires in a more coherent way. That he wanted you just as you wanted him.
Jatne vod.
Contradicted with the emotion bleeding from your expressive eyes, the firm line of your lips as you closed your mouth, resigned to a notion that you gathered from his stupid, ill thought-out words. From his lack of words. The way your hands shook for an entirely different reason, the way you shrunk into yourself, away from him.
And then you had been gone.
And it hurt.
He left ad’ika in the room, fast asleep atop the pillows.
Removing his helmet and hanging his head in his hands, he settled on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian known for being so ruthless, for being so focused and emotionless behind his helmet, cried.
“Mando, I’ve received word. But it is best relayed in person. I will be awaiting your arrival.”
Ad’ika was not having a good day, he didn’t want to leave the house he could feel your presence in. He had already wailed and shook his tiny fists as Din tried to pick up him. Causing the migraine addled man to lose his grip at the sharp pierce of his cries to his head. That had only resulted in the thump of ad’ika’s bottom on the stone floor and more crying.
Din already felt bad enough, but he felt like the worst guardian in the galaxy for dropping his foundling, for not being able to manage his own pain and discomfort to care for another’s. A pang of fear floods him, igniting his instincts in a way it rarely did. And he froze in his crouched position, having been about to scoop ad’ika up.
The child must’ve shared in his foreboding, a shriek sprouting from him and causing Din to cradle his head as best he could with the helmet, knees kissing the floor harshly as he fell to them.
Something was wrong. Low in his gut, unease bubbled and stuck to his insides.
He felt like he was going to be sick, his head throbbing, pain prickling from the healing scar at the back.
And then his body felt numb, like all sense of command was not his to control and his vision blacked out.
Nevarro loomed in the distance, approaching fast. The ship rattled at the harsh landing, Din’s steps hard and fast as he disembarked, the ramp closing behind him as he crossed the new archway that had been erected in the time he had been away. Months had gone by, one with you and one without. Having to spend another week resting in the place you once called home. He had fallen ill, though of what he didn’t have an answer. Only that his head felt like he had been electrocuted and his limbs had been hard to control. Adi’ka too, had been lethargic, crying out long into the night every time the suns had set and darkness took over the planet. The search for you stretching far too long, anxiety thrumming over his skin.
Karga was in the reconstructed city hall, reading over something laid out on the table when the door boomed open, revealing the determined figure of Din, a secretary behind him frantically trying to warn the man in charge of his arrival.
“Where?”
“Sir, please, you need to check in-“
“It’s alright, he’s got clearance.” With a nod the woman was closing the door behind her, knowing it was serious if all protocol was being ignored.
Din repeated his question, forgoing a formal greeting.
“Well, I wish these were better circumstances.” The man stood up, coming around the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the still form of Din across the room. The wide eyes of the child peeking out from the bag at his hip, small hands allowing him to climb from within it and jump from the moderate height. He cooed, walking the distance to Karga and lifting his hands toward the man.
“I’m still trying to get intel on that. But I do know that it was her mother, who struck a deal with someone of the Guild. He…was here still when we took back the city. He had taken the transaction separate from the Guild, not wanting word of it to get back to me. To you.” He relayed the information as he bent down to pick up the small being.
“I’ve got him locked up, but he’s not speaking.”
“He will.”
“Mando-“
He was gone in a blink, stalking out the door and toward the prison cells kept on the lowest floor of the building.
The stone steps opened up to a line of cells on both sides of the long room, Din stopped in front of the only occupied one. Body buzzing with anger that the inhabitant had not only hunted you down and captured you but did so on the orders of someone who’s voice triggered you through a transmission. He couldn’t begin to imagine the visceral reaction you’d have upon seeing her for the first time in years, having entertained the thought of killing yourself in order to not have to deal with her again.
And he feared, heat catching in his throat as he felt the prickle of tears.
I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!
You…you wouldn’t, right? Now that you had him to return to, someone to rescue you from being stolen away from the life you had carved out for yourself. It had been so long since you had been taken, days, weeks, and entire month. And he still had no clue as to where you had been crated off to. It would be more days, more weeks, maybe another month before he could figure it out. Did you already seize an unknown opportunity, try to escape? Or had you given up, too loaded up with whatever drugs your mother and intended pumped into your system to make you compliant? Would you have taken the endless out of harming yourself, seeing it as the only option as he failed to come to your aid thus far?
Would you be able to sense the desperation and endless efforts he was putting forth to find you? That he was trying, despite the way he was still healing, despite the sense of dread that he would be too late?
Would you be able to sense his worry and fear over you having to deal with something you never wished for? A forced reunion with your mother, back in her clutches and control. A forced marriage to a man you didn’t know, the obligations that came along with that notion…the very same acts that had caused you to turn to self-harm in the past, the scars of which were displayed on the skin of your thighs, the same ones that he had run his fingers over not too long ago…
A man bound in cuffs was slumped against the floor, back leaning on the wall behind him. He appeared to be alive, though if his answers didn’t aid Din in his search for you he wouldn’t be for long. Giving into the urge to startle the unaware man, Din banged a fist on the bars of the cell. Jerking awake, the man’s eyes flew open and his chest heaved.
The second he recognized the armor, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.
“It was just a job, nothing personal, Mando.”
“Is that why you went out of your way to hide it from the Guild records?”
“You’re too self-righteous, knew you’d come after me for hunting the girl.”
The snapping of metal was loud, sickening as Din’s shoulders forced the control panel to bend and spark.
The whine of the door swinging open deafening as the man pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get up on his feet. But he was too slow, Din’s hands hauling the man up by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming him into the wall. A crack sounded as the back of the man’s head connected with the stone of the wall. A wail punched from his chest as he lost the air in his lungs.
“It’s too late, her mother married her off to some high lord. She’s probably already knocked up with his heir by now. Living a cush life in some nice palace far away from here.” He spoke unprompted by a direct question. Knowing that it was useless to try and lie to the Mandalorian.
The mere thought of someone touching you had anger swirling in his chest and stomach, igniting him in a dangerous way. You didn’t like people touching you, you didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him touching you in any way let alone intimately. His voice was low when he breathed out his next question, an edge to it that commanded the truth.
“Where?”
“Don’t know, I told her mother you were probably going to find out, track me down and kill me for the information. Don’t know why.” The man flipped the stray hairs flopping over his forehead away, teeth clenching as he recalled the way you had slammed him harshly into the side of the alley. “The bitch has a pretty face, sure, but she was a handful. Took a lot to take her out, but once I did, she begged so sweet for me to let her go.”
“Drugging someone isn’t something to boast about, it’s a last-ditch effort for those who don’t have the skill for the job.” Din’s words were a guttural sound, echoing across the floor. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, a vambrace knocked into it the longer the man talked. He didn’t know anything, but that wouldn’t stop Din from beating what he could out of the man.
“So what? It took her down and that’s what mattered. I saw her take down those Storm Troopers that overran the city, there was no way I was going to be able to without the hint from her mother. You’ll find another body to warm your bed. No need to fret over-“
Din’s hand was around the man’s throat in a flash, knuckles popping with the force. An ugly gurgle deep in his chest, body desperate for air, but he would never take another breath again. Windpipe crushing under his palm, Din took some comfort in the final, choked sound the man made before his body went limp.
Before it could even crumple to the ground, Din was walking out of the room and going straight toward the stairs.
“Mando, I sent communication to Cara, she’s-“
“I’ve got what I need.” Din was careful as he lifted the child from atop the desk where Karga had set him with a snack. Exchanging adoring coos with the tired little being. Making sure to offer the rest of the pack of dried fruit to the claws reaching out for it, a whine falling from his mouth at the idea of leaving it behind.
“Not so fast-“
“I don’t have time. I need to find her.” Din snapped, fists clenching and ad’ika ducking down into the bag at the boom of his voice. “She’s been sold like a slave by her mother.”
“I’m going with you,” Cara was firm in her decision, not wanting to take any chances of your distance becoming permanent. Of it leading to the demise of the person who you had begun to develop into that she had glimpsed.
“No, I have to handle this myself. I was the one who failed to protect her.” He moved to continue through the room, toward the door. But Cara was suddenly in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips a firm line.
“Mando, you’re gonna need help. And she’s important to me too.”
It was a quiet trek back to the entrance of the city, more ships having landed around his own. He was about to engage the ramp when two of the attending guards approached him. But they spoke with Cara at the sharp gaze of the visor on them. Another ship was offered for them to use, curtesy of the city and of Karga. Something a little smaller, a little faster, nondescript and wouldn’t give away the presence of an enraged and desperate Mandalorian searching for his partner.
When the argument for a different ship didn’t take, Karga approached through the archway.
Cara was hesitant to point out that the ship was as obvious as Din’s armor. A sign to tip off those keeping an eye out for threats. She had been quiet, sitting in the office with the magistrate and the child while the body of the now deceased Guild member who had hunted you down was taken care of. Waiting for Din to emerge from the containment level. But now she stood beside him, urging him to see the benefits to changing ships, just for the time being.
“Do we risk docking the ship in a hangar?”
“Yes, we lie about the model.” Din insisted, not wanting to leave the Crest behind.
“What if someone knows?”
“It’s an old ship, pre-Empire, no one will know.”
“They’ll run it through the system.” Karga spoke up, wanting to be a voice of reason for his friend determined to rush, to not take a beat and think things through. “Mando, you owe it to her to be as stealthy as possible. If they know you’re coming, once you track down where, they may hurt her. Take it out on her.”
Din closed his eyes, hand coming to the front of his helmet and over the visor. He didn’t want to part ways with his ship, even temporarily. It would mean he wasn’t surrounded by the things you left behind, the proof that you were real, had been with him, shared in a life with him even for a moment.
With his words more of a grunt than anything, he conceded, knowing the two beside him were just trying to help.
“What did you do Mando?” She asked quietly, the book from your crate in her hands and pages flipping as she looked through it. Hoping to find some light on how to connect with you. Din had gathered supplies from the Crest, things you may want once he managed to find you and rescue you.Your armor and more of your clothing, the first things he packed into your bag. An insistence for you to never leave the ship without the pauldrons again that he would plead with you until you conceded. People would be less likely to confront you with the tell-tale signet of a clan and the Mandalorian armor. But then again, he never planned to stray far from you outside of the ship. He knew you were capable, more than capable, but he…he wouldn’t be able to handle loosing you again if he was able to get you back.
When he got you back, he argued against the self-depreciating and negative thoughts that were attempting to consume him.
The ship was in hyperspace, a three-day trip ahead of them to make it to the mid rim coordinates of your home world. Neither had been there but knew of the inhabitants being an uneven mix of humans and a reptilian race. Oceans and sprawling fields of tall grass making up most of the environment. It was a moderately size planet, had seen bases for both the Resistance and the Empire in it’s time. Though the more recent had been the former. Most likely spurred on by your suspected return to what you knew in the wake of the Temple’s attack. An event in your life that you had yet to open up completely about, allowing him small glimpses before it became to much to talk about. But it was easy to connect the fall of Mandalore and the fall of your Temple being equally devastating, an attempt to take out entire cultures.
“I…I made a mistake.”
“…how big of a mistake?” Cara didn’t look up from the journal in her hands, not wanting to make the armored man feel cornered. Allowing him the privacy and space to turn away from the question should he want to, feel the need to.
“She fled the ship, to get some space. She must’ve been distracted, too worked up to keep her head up and on alert. It…I’m the reason she was taken.”
“Mando, you know that’s not true.” Cara tried to placate him, knowing he carried a lot of guilt over what had happened, whatever it had been to cause all of this. “She didn’t have her saber?”
“She does- did. She.. they drugged her. Like you said, it’s the only way to take her down.”
“Wait, this looks like Basic. They’re the only characters written differently…”
Din was hovering, making out the words on his own.
“Betrothed.”
He recalled the same words falling from your lips, the reason that prompted you to make an escape. You hadn’t wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s property. The name was in Basic as well, something you didn’t want to forget lest they come after you themselves. A shadow of your past hovering over you and hidden in the back of your mind as you set out on your own, determined to hide yourself away to prevent anyone from having power over you. Of belonging to someone, anyone ever again.
And yet…you had so readily agreed in his commitment to you, knowing that was the only way Din would be able to share in your affections and wants. Mandalorian religion and culture strictly forbade the removal of one’s helmet unless it was with family, with a spouse, with children of the same clan. To do so outside of those conditions would result in the label of an apostate. Striped of their involvement in the lifestyle and Creed. It was a serious thing you should hold reservations about, with your past.
And while he hadn’t pushed the parameters of it….he had wanted to. For you, for himself, to share himself with you in the way that you had felt safe enough to voice. The realization that you had agreed to such an all-encompassing thing, being with him made him reflect. Why were you willing to do so with him, for him? He was just a bounty hunter, one who had actively sought you out and intended to turn you into the very person who had stolen you away. Sold you like an object to someone for their wants and needs, to fill a space in their life whichever way they commanded it. He had been of the same mind when first encountering you, seeking you out for a trade of currency.
Din was not a good man, though he tried to be for his people. But being a good man to his people, being the sole provider for his covert allowed him to be fast and loose with what it meant to be good in order to do so. What did it matter if the person whose puck he had was truly guilty of the accusations calling for their surrender if it allowed him to delivery credits and supplies to his people? What did it matter if the job warranted for the person he was tracking to be delivered dead or alive and he chose to kill them based on the simple notion of them running and it allowed him to bring a ration of meals to his people?
What had he ever done to deserve someone such as yourself willing to let down your walls and allow him entrance? He had been at internal war, whether or not to turn you in the second you spoke Mando’a to him, healed him, saved him from that second raging Mudhorn even when you had to reason to do so. You easily could’ve let the cut on his arm fester, let the rampaging creature take out his already spent form.
But…it wouldn’t have been easy, he knows now. How you cared for those around you: from friendly vendors to women you seemed to see yourself in, to children who are simply hungry and have no choice but to steal, to ad’ika in bounds and waves, to him. The constant swivel of your head while out in crowds and among people, sousing out threats and people who may be on the lookout for you. The swiftness with which you turn into a fighter when threatened and your freedom is at stake.
The thoughts swirled around and around in Din’s mind as the ship traveled toward your home world. The last known location of your mother and potentially holding clues as to who she struck a deal with. The now dead bounty hunter not having gotten a name, only concerned with the exchange of credits for your capture. No questions, no concerns. The quarry’s capture the only thing that mattered. The man had taken the job and completed it. Had died as a result of it.
Din had been like that too, not that long ago.
Could have easily been the one being imprisoned while someone who cared about a quarry sought answers and revenge. But he was the one realizing how fragile things where, had been since taking two fobs from Karga and altering the very meaning of his life.
Something about the wide, beseeching eyes of the child had activated his heart. Opened it up and made room for the small being to fit into. The uncertainty he had sensed from the child once its eyes had looked into his own, spurring a sense of concern from the armored man over its life well beyond the need to deliver it to the client healthy and alive.
“She asked for something, for a…kiss.”
“But…your helmet.” Cara weakly argued, knowing how strongly he adhered to his Creed. Not even removing it in the face of grave injury and offered aid. Not even removing it in the threat of death.
“I know,” His words were carried on a heavy sigh. He sat heavily in the seat beside her, the hull holding a small set up for longer travels. Ad’ika crawled from her lap and over the table, situating himself in Din’s arms, claws reaching for the helmet to try and sooth the man. “She- she called me ‘jatne vod’ before she fled from the ship.”
The cracking of his voice was not lost through the modulator.
“She must’ve felt so rejected, so unwanted. And I- I just stumbled over my words so badly she ran.”
“She knows you care about her, Din.”
The sound of his name from her lips, so different from when you spoke it, whispered it, breathed it, was too much for him.
“I really messed up, Cara.” He admitted with shaky words.
“We’ll fix it, I’ll help you fix it.”
K’ath was a beautiful planet. All endlessly sprawling ocean, sandy beaches, and small clustered villages.
Simple. Life here was simple. Crops being tended to, the oceans being fished in, no signs of the war other than an abandoned base on the edge of the largest cluster.
Din hadn’t ever wanted to enter the planet’s atmosphere, to step foot on the sandy land. It was a place that held painful memories for you, the crumbling of a life you had been hopeful to return to in the wake of losing everything that ever meant anything to you. A hopeful refuge after a life of hardships, but it had only provided you with more. The stripping of your freedom and the control over your own body.
It was simple enough to find your home, your mother’s home. Asking after the armorer, claiming he was in need of repairs. A Kath woman had been kind enough to try and use her broken Basic to tell them where he could find the store front, but that no one had been tended to it for some time now. That the woman who was known to run it could be approached at her personal residence. That she was kind and could be persuaded to help even though she’d long retired from working.
It was empty, signs of disuse obvious from the outside. Tall reeds of grass sprouting up at the foundation, the windows thick with grime. It was humble, despite the ways in which Din had seen you return from a shop front, a bag heavy with credits in your possession. A skill that you learned from your mother lending you a way to support yourself and indulge in all the things you had to go without for so long.
There was only one transmission on the communication radio set up in the corner that Cara had rushed to once the door had creaked open. Sand was collected in the corners, another sign that no one had occupied the residence for some time now.
“She’s on Maldovan.” Cara shuffled into the bedroom from the main one, aware that the man was focused on something she couldn’t see. He was as still as a statue, peering into the darkness of the doorway in front of him.
The visor allowing him to take in the room you had been held captive in. There was bedding on the ground, no frame for it to sit upon. A chair on the opposite side, close to the door. No windows, no other entrance or exit. A small room that was bathed in darkness lest someone bring a lantern into the room with them.
“I don’t know that planet.” Din admitted, shifting from where he was standing at the doorway of what had been the locked room hidden behind a large wardrobe to look over his shoulder at her. The shifting of it had popped a drawer open, revealing needles and syringes, vials that had been long emptied. All signs that this was truly the home you had been kept in.
“Is that-?”
“Where San was kept locked up, yeah.” He was surging forward, hands reaching for the chains secured to the walls above the bedding and he pulled. Using all the strength he had to rip them from where they were bolted, the wall cracking and splintering as he did so. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clang, metal that sounded eerily familiar as it collapsed on itself. Kneeling down, Din reached for one of them, the cuff in his hand heavy and he sucked in a breath as he realized why such a simple contraption had been able to hold you: the chains were made of pure beskar.
Far too heavy for your drug addled body to fight against.
Programmed to shock you should you move too much, the sensors lining the inside of the cuffs telling him as much. With a shout he tore the second, lower set of chains from the wall, throwing them across the room in his rage.
The image of you shackled to the wall of this dark room, consumed with thoughts of ending your life kept him on his knees, forced his arms to support him as he crumpled to the ground completely. His modulator crackling with the heavy breaths.
Surging up, he activated bright flames to flow from his vambrace. Intent on tearing down the entire house to the last stud and beam. Cara was quick to retreat back outside, letting the man do what he felt was necessary. She stood behind him as he made his way outside, the structure entirely lit up and beginning to collapse in on itself.
Dark smoke whipped around in the breeze coming off of the nearby shoreline, doing nothing to quell the licking flames. Cara was doing her best to sooth an equally agitated child in the bad slung across her shoulders. Though she knew it would take time for them both to come back from seeing the evidence of your heavy past.
They watched as it turned from burning wood, the outer stone walls crumbling from the heat that had been trapped inside, to a pile of rubble and ash.
He knew it was against the Creed, that it was a sin to leave behind something of his people. But the beskar that had contained you glowed hot amongst the ash, left behind as he walked away from the plot of land and back to the ship.
“The holonet has little information on Maldovan. Citing that it’s a desert planet with white sands, crystalline oceans that bring in a lot of visitors.” Din announced as he exited the control room, the ship constructed of only that and one other room off the hold space. One level, but enough for them to be comfortable traveling. Cara had tried to get Din to retire to the room once they returned to the ship and left K’ath behind, but he had insisted he was fine. Though the door to the cockpit had been closed and locked for hours now, well into the trip since the ship had been jumped into hyperspace.
“And their walled city.” Cara added, as she brought up a hologram of the planet to life from her cuff. She had reached out to Karga, asking him for any aid he had to provide them on the place they were traveling to.
“Yes… and if her mother knows about you then it will be hard to make a plan. Your armor isn’t exactly common and I’m sure she’s told the royal guard to keep an eye out for you.”
“Haran.” He cursed, knowing Cara’s words were true.
Shit.
It was entirely possible, and he wouldn’t put it past the woman he personally knew nothing about, going off of the words of her that you had shared with him. But surely the only city on the planet wouldn’t go out of their way to screen the many tourists that sought out the picturesque world.
Time seemed to be moving slowly and far too fast all at the same time. Thoughts continued to consume Din, all the possibilities of what could occur, what had already occurred making him feel like he was a child once again who knew nothing of the world or how it worked. The ship’s system beeping before it shifted smoothly from traveling through hyperspace and back to sublight settings.
The planet in view was covered in vast expanses of white sand and bright blue. An ocean planet as much as a desert one. It was small, a moon to a larger planet visible in the sky even within the atmosphere as the ship descended. The only city was surrounded by a large wall, protection from the two outcroppings that looked to be a racetrack and the well-established tourist destination on either side.
Maldovan was known as a resort destination, an entire smaller sector off set from the main city. The sector looked to be abundant with hotels, spas, shopping, anything and everything to keep individuals occupied and a steady supply of credits flowing into the local economy.
Cara had suggested she be the one to guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere, handle the communication with the intake group, and land the smaller ship into the hangar. She suggested he stay behind on the ship while she registered the ship, paying the station fee for several days. And when she returned, there was a frown on her face and a worried furrow to her brow.
The woman was frustrated, that much was obvious. Din merely watched her as she closed the ramp, turning to him and explaining what information she had gathered during the short interaction.
There were two glaringly obvious problems:
Everyone wore light, flowing coverings and outfits in order to gain access into the main part of the city.
And there were wanted posters depicting Din’s armored form.
previous chapter || next chapter
dividers: by the lovely @cafekitsune
taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls
#dev writes#fic: of beskar and kyber#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin#din djarin series#din djarin fanfic#din djarin fic#din djarin pov#din djarin character study#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin smut#star wars#star wars fanfiction#cara dune#greef karga#din and grogu#grogu#angst#bounty hunter din djarin#ao3#ao3 fic#ao3 link#archive of our own#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom
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this is just me being a bit fun and silly, but:
i’m studying (are you really jo) and every time I do, I end up messaging someone (mainly @thetriumphantpanda ) to ask her to send a pedro boy to help me stay motivated and study.
but, now I’m curious, which pedro from the list below, do you want to be with you and help YOU study:
pls reblog for a wider sample 😏
#jo thoughts#jo is studying hard can you tell#pedro pascal characters#yes it annoys me that york is capitalised :(
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#university#study blog#studyblr#study aesthetic#student#studying#studyspo#study motivation#student life#misha collins#motd#pedro pascal#original character#neil gaiman#natural hair#margot robbie#accounting#plants#mua
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i fucking love a good character study like yes give me 10k words of exposition and all the introspection and sadness this character is carrying with about 7 lines of dialogue and oh another 10k of porn thank you i love you
#yeah this is about joel miller#joel miller#pedro pascal#the last of us#joel tlou#writing#character study#vee’s thots
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Made this nearly a year ago, and idk you might like it.
#the mandalorian#star wars#din djarin#pedro pascal#spotify#fanmix#fan playlist#spotify playlist#character study#I mean it’s not that serious it’s a combination of music I think describes him and music I think he’d listen to if he could
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A idea, thought or thot has occurred:
What if…. @legendary-pink-dot the keeper, tracker and manager of all the curls and follicles did a combined class on Pedro character and Oscar characters hair. Because she’s the expert. She has a PhD in them. Like a dual degree program, hit it from both sides. Or them. Whichever.
Sandwiches are provided by @for-a-longlongtime
Snacks by @rhoorl and drinks by @maggiemayhemnj (unless I mixed you two up again for who does what)
@musings-of-a-rose can help provide insight into Santi with for-a-longlongtime since they both know him well. Dot has Catfish covered in all the ways.
I can do all the research 🧐 because more data is always better for my folders. 👀
Any suggestions? Random ideas are random when I drank some espresso. ☕️
#Nerdie had an idea#pedro pascal characters#oscar issac characters#fanfiction#dual degree program?#The study of the thick and curly folicles#sections 101-600#modules#blackboard#group projects
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… you should go check out my Pedro blog if you love him… there’s literally nothing there yet but I’m gonna start posting stories and shit there soon!!
@pascalscoffin
#pedro pascal#Joel miller#javier peña#dieter bravo#max phillips#javi gutierrez#more characters to come#gotta do character studies on them (obsessing over the movies)
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Kiss to Kiss
Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader
Word Count: 855
Summary: Joel is grumpier than usual and the only way to make it better is YOU.
Author's Note: This is a completely self-indulgent fic focused on his neck because not unknown to you all I'm obsessed with it and I could spend the rest of forever kissing his neck. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: soft and sweet fluff with LOTS of kisses, especially neck kiss
PS if you're looking for some yummy posts check out @iamasaddie post HERE. She has so many goodies! Thanks for the inspo sweets!
PPS I sprinkled a couple of yummy gifs in there too just bc 🫠
Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist
When the front door of your small house creaks open and then slams shut with a bang you turn off the oven and brush off your hands.
“Joel?”
The only response you get is in the form of an acknowledging grunt.
He’s standing in the hallway, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his jaw. He looks lost in thought.
“What happened?” you ask quietly as you approach.
His brown eyes look up and you can see the lines on his forehead soften at the sight of you. He doesn’t answer and just tracks your movement until you reach him and press yourself closer.
Your fingertips lightly trace his jaw as you study his face.
“Come here,” you tell him before grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the couch.
He follows and promptly sits when you give him a little shove. Immediately, his legs spread wide and he places his elbows on his knees, massaging the bridge of his nose.
You stand between his legs and remove his fingers from his face, waiting until he sits back. Then you rest your hands on his broad shoulders and straddle his waist.
“You want to talk about why you’re so grumpy?”
As you ask the question you gently drag your fingers across his cheek and then the outline of his scruffy jaw. His gaze is trained on your face but when you lean in and press your lips to his neck you can feel him let out a deep exhale.
“Who said I’m grumpy?” he grumbles before his eyes close, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks and his hands slowly slide up your thighs to settle on your waist.
You delicately drag your nose over his skin, stopping just below his ear to press another soft kiss there. Your lips linger on every inch of his neck and he sinks further into the couch, the tension sliding from his shoulders.
Your fingers toy with the already open collar of his shirt, dipping lower until you reach the first closed button. You pop it open and let your fingertips explore his newly exposed skin while keeping your lips on his neck. You find every little beauty mark and kiss it, nuzzling and breathing him in as you go.
He rests his head along the back of the couch and you take the opportunity to kiss along his collarbone and over the hollow of his throat, feeling the deep vibration of his satisfied hum.
When you reach the other side of his neck you start at his pulse point, nipping softly before trailing kisses all the way up to his other ear.
He slips his fingers under your shirt and digs them into your skin, holding you in place. Your lips graze his cheek until you find his mouth and press a feather light kiss there.
“Darlin’,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed. “More.”
You happily oblige and pepper his face with kisses. His forehead, his nose, his eyelids and every patch of gray that lines his cheeks. Without stopping you dip your head to his neck again and drag your mouth along his skin with light kisses.
Each time your lips pass his mouth he chases them.
He flattens his palms and slides his hands along the curve of your back then gently smooths them back down. You shiver from his touch and smile into his neck.
“That feels nice,” you whisper.
He does it again, keeping you close while you continue pressing your lips to the strong column of his neck. When you gently suck on his skin you can feel his hard swallow. His hands still and he moves you back so he can look you in the eyes.
“No more?” you ask.
“I always want more,” he answers.
“Do you want to tell me why you’re upset first?”
He slowly shakes his head no, tilting his face and gliding his hand up to your neck to bring your lips closer. His palm flattens against your cheek and he rubs his calloused thumb across your temple.
“Later,” he whispers against your mouth. “Talk later.”
His kiss is soft but still holds a desperation you’re all too familiar with and when he takes you in his arms and lays you on the couch, you welcome the comfortable and safe weight of him, wrapping you in his warmth and scent.
He cradles your cheek and brushes his lips across yours tenderly.
“I made cookies…” you tell him softly.
“Is that what I smell?”
His lips curve into a small smile and you quickly kiss them.
“Yep. You want some?”
He buries his face in your neck and runs his nose along your skin and when you feel his lips part to speak you answer for him before he has the chance.
“I know…later,” you say.
His gaze finds yours and he smiles again, his eyes closing when your fingers comb through his hair.
Your lips meet with a tug on his curls and he hums contentedly when you melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and forgetting about everything else but him.
@littleseasiren @hiddles-rose @lizette50 @lorilane33 @blackwidownat2814
#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller imagine#his neck
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - Javier Peña
"you've got me in a...CHOKE. HOOOOLD. even if it huuurts meee, even if I can't sleep. show me the waaaaaaaaayyyyy" - Chokehold, Sleep Token. Mood for my Pedro Pascal era
Summary: It seems the only way to get Javier to talk about his feelings is by having the person he cares about having a near death experience. Not the most healthy way to confess your feelings for someone, but hey, it works.
Warnings: unrequited but not actually unrequited love, inaccurate descriptions of how the DEA operates, Javier needs a therapist, bad wingman Steve, character study ish? that's mostly in Javi's POV, gun wounds and violence, hurt/comfort, whump, kinda forced proximity, eventual fluff, sexual refences but no smut this time (shocker, right?)
word count | 7.7k🤙🏻
Javier’s team had found out where one of Escobar’s men was. This was huge. If he and his team could catch him, get him to flip on his boss; he could snag the man that week.
The whole building was hustling and running around, preparing to go after this guy as soon as possible, just as soon as they got word everybody was in position. Javier’s nerves threatened to overflow, just the thought of being one step closer to catching Pablo Escobar and taking down his cartel after evading justice again and again, his body was set ablaze and his fingers twitched with excitement.
There was just one problem.
As Javier was putting on his bulletproof vest, from across the office, you caught his eye. That wasn’t abnormal in the slightest, you had always unknowingly begged for the attention of Javier’s gaze ever since he met you years ago; but this time, seeing you put an unwanted pit in his stomach. To everyone else, you looked normal, getting ready for this upcoming battle like the rest of the people on this mission. But all Javier saw was you preparing to meet your demise.
Javier wasn’t normally so nervous about things like this. In this line of work, people get hurt, some even die, that’s just what happens unfortunately. But the thought of it possibly happening to you didn’t sit right with him at all. If it was his call to make, he’d make you stay here away from all the action. You wouldn’t be in a ten mile radius of a single cartel member. But of course, that wasn’t his call to make, all he had was his convincing charm and his history with you to get you to even consider sitting out. Before thinking about it any longer, Javier started taking the steps it took to make it to your desk, the one that was always just a couple feet away from his but somehow always felt too far.
From the reluctant expression on your face as you looked up at him, Javier could already tell this conversation isn’t going to go the way he wants it to, as most conversations with you; but it was too late to back out now. “Almost ready, Peña?” Peña, always fuckin’ Peña. You made a point never to call him anything other than his last name. Though, he couldn’t blame you, not after everything he’s done to you. But it still made a tiny dagger go through his heart every time you refused to call him Javi.
You clearing your throat awkwardly made Javier suddenly aware of how creepy he was being, just staring at you, lost in his own thoughts. He cleared his own throat to avoid any possible voice cracks or stutters before finally responding to your very simple question. “I am.”
You raised an eyebrow, a look of amusement gracing your features which Javier always found adorable and would’ve still thought that if it wasn’t for how goddamn humiliating it was to have that expression directed at his being an idiot. “That’s it? You walked over here to tell me you’re ready?” A ghost of a smirk played at your lips, your very kissable lips.
Fuck, Javi, be professional. “No.” He stuttered briefly. “No.”
“Just out with it, man, we don’t have all day.”
Javier sighed in annoyance, placing his hands on his hips and looking down at you with a frown. “Look…, we all know how dangerous this guy is-”
You scoffed, already shaking your head. “No, no, no-”
“So, I was thinking you’d be of more use here. Hold down the fort while we try to bring this guy in.” He tried to keep his heartbeat under control as you stood up from your sitting position on the top of your desk, standing at your full height, obviously trying to come off as a bit intimidating; but you weren’t, not in that way, at least. Javier was more afraid of what was about to come out of your mouth.
“Will you be staying here?” You asked, looking him straight in the eyes; he could practically see all the obscenities floating around in your head that desperately wanted to come out, but couldn’t as to be somewhat professional.
Javier sighed quietly. “No, obviously not.”
“Why not?” You shrugged nonchalantly. “If this guy is so dangerous, you should stay here too. With me. Right?”
Ignoring the butterflies swirling around in his stomach as with me kept repeating over and over in his head, he grit his teeth to mask his expression into subtle anger. “It’s different.”
You crossed your arms and leaned against your desk. “Okay, Peña, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go on this mission.”
Peña, his thoughts screamed at him. You used to call him Javi. Because I can’t bear the thought of losing you… “Because you’d be a liability. You’d only get in the way, and we can’t afford that right now.”
“Remind me, who was one of the first women to ever get assigned this case?” You asked, trying not to sound smug as everyone in this office knew the answer to that question.
“You were…” He replied with a scowl, his words sounded pained like they were being ripped out of him.
“Exactly. So, there’s no way in hell you’re gonna keep me from trying to catch this motherfucker. Okay? I can take care of myself.” You shoved your pointer finger directly on his chest, pushing him back a tiny bit.
Javier tried to ignore Steve’s shit eating grin as he walked back over to his desk dejectedly. That fuckin’ asshole. “Shoot. I’m surprised you ain’t dead as a doornail, with the way she’s lookin’ at ya.” Steve started as soon as Javier sat back down in his creaky old chair, massaging his temples from the oncoming headache that was surely going to feel like he was being bludgeoned with a hammer. “What did you do this time, Peña?”
Javier scowled and rolled his eyes, pouring himself a drink. “I just told her, I think she’d be better off staying away from the front lines.”
Steve snorted obnoxiously. “And what? You think she’d stay here? God, Peña, you really ain’t yourself when you’re smitten.”
Javier resisted the urge to throw his glass of whiskey right at Steve’s hillbilly face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dude, you wanna get in her pants do bad it makes you look stupid. And makes you act even stupider, no offense.”
“Offense taken. Asshole.” He growled. “And I’m not smitten. It’s just…this mission is dangerous.”
“She’s a big girl, Javi. She can take care of herself. I’m sure she told ya as much after chewing you out.” More like tearing me apart into itty bitty pieces until I was nothing but ground fuckin’ dust. “You know what you need, Javi?” Oh, this should be good. “A therapist. I’ve recently been seeing one and man, let me tell ya, there’s stuff I’ve learned about myself that I didn’t even know.” Javier laughed. Like, really laughed. “I’m serious, man. Might help you figure out those commitment issues.”
“I already have a therapist.”
Now it was Steve’s turn to laugh. “Oh, yeah? Who?” Steve’s amused grin quickly turned into an annoyed grimace as Javier held up his bottle of whiskey that read: Jack Daniels.
Nah, Javier didn’t need a goddamn therapist. He was just fine…
He was, in fact, not fine.
Javier couldn’t stop the nervous twitch in his hands as everyone filed out of the office as soon as one of their undercover officers finally gave the signal that the cartel member was in place, rushing to the trucks to get to the place in town as soon as possible. He gave one last glance over to you as you got into a different truck that was going to be part of the surrounding force to make sure the member couldn’t escape. Honestly, Javier would’ve felt better if you were on his team instead, but things just didn’t work out that way. You’d be fine…you were going to be fine.
The drive over felt like forever when in reality it was probably around a few minutes. Javier knew he never should’ve talked to you before this mission, conversations with you always put him on edge, for various reasons. But he also knew he’d curse himself later if he didn’t try to talk you out of it once. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the possible outcomes of this attempted arrest. What would happen if they fail? What would happen if this cartel member had a machine gun on him? What would happen if, god forbid, you get shot and killed? Would Javi be able to live with himself?
God, I’m so fucking stupid.
Javier couldn’t escape the onslaught of memories that flashed through his mind, each one causing a heat to rise to his face and guilt chew at him from the inside out.
It was only several months ago that you confessed your attraction to him. The office was celebrating a recent successful mission and people were drinking. You had gotten drunk, Javier being a little buzzed. You both did teasing dances around each other ever since you met, but Javier never thought you’d want to take things further. But with a few shots loosening your tongue, you told Javi that you really liked him. You loved dancing, but your legs were threatening to give out in exhaustion if Javi kept spinning you around in his little tango. You were gorgeous, of course, but Javier didn’t really know what to say and you noticed that. For a drunk person, you were very astute.
It’s not that Javier wasn’t attracted to you, he was, very much so. He enjoyed your company, he loved the back and forth that seemed to come so naturally to the two of you, he could actually imagine dating you and maybe even more. But Javier didn’t date, not anymore. He fucked. He had one night stands. He didn’t have time for dating. He didn’t have commitment issues, he was just…okay, he was afraid. Javier wasn’t afraid of much. He was a DEA agent, he got shot at on a regular basis, putting his life on the line every day to keep drugs off the streets. And yet, somehow, you managed to be the one thing he’s scared of the most and he can’t even tell you why.
Your face when he turned you down would be forever etched into his mind. It wasn’t even noticeable, it was a split second of sadness crossing your features that he almost missed it. But he didn’t. Every smile you ever gave him, your flustered expression whenever he flirted with you a bit too hard, all burned away by that one subtle despondent look. It sobered you up pretty quickly. You said you didn’t take it to heart, that you understood and apologizing if you made things awkward. He was your carpool that night, so the ride home was…tense, to put it lightly. You lived in the same apartment building, hence the carpool, but you lived a floor up. Javier thought about walking you to your apartment, like he usually would do just to spend that extra time with you when he didn’t have to, but he just couldn’t. Little by little, that mask of nonchalant withered away as you got more tired, unable or just unwilling to keep up the façade. Javi couldn’t look at you anymore, not if he wanted his heart to stay intact. His friendship with you would never be the same after that night.
He fucked up. He really fucked up. But he thought it was the best response at the time. He couldn’t get into any type of relationship, much less with a coworker. How unprofessional is that? How stupid would he be, in this line of work, to potentially put a target on your back by being someone he cares about? But of course, the way you slowly distanced yourself from him after his rejection made the wall he built around his heart melt away like acid and he couldn’t stop himself from caring about you even if he tried. And try, he did. He kept telling himself it was for the best. Even when you stopped carpooling with him to work, he tried not to care. Every time he felt jealous when he noticed someone else flirting with you, he told himself coworkers don’t feel the urge to put thirteen bullets into another person’s skull just by smiling at you. Because that’s all you were and would ever be: a coworker.
A coworker.
A coworker.
But coworkers can care about each other’s well being and want what’s best for them though, right?
…fuck.
Javier was losing it. He was fuckin’ losing it, and at a time like this? When he was about to try to catch a highly dangerous criminal? At a time where he was being counted on? No. He couldn’t think about you now. He cleared his mind. All images of your face were being shot out of his brain by a M16 assault rifle, just in time for the trucks to arrive at their destination.
The cartel member tried his best to escape, shooting plenty of rounds at every officer and agent that came into view. But it was proven all for nothing, for him and the police. The motherfucker shot himself before they could arrest him. Of course. They could never catch a fuckin’ break, could they?
Everyone was in low spirits, some now spiritless. To think, being in this field for so long that Javier might get used to seeing the dead bodies. To a point, but he couldn’t help but frown when he saw the lifeless faces of people he knew, people he worked with. Hijo de puta, Javier wishes that cartel member was still alive so he could torture information out of him himself. He’d get over it, same as everyone else. But Javier found himself a secret weapon that always made him feel better after a mission went wrong, he’d just look at you, safe, and all stress would leave him in that moment to know that you made it out alive at least. It was so secret that Javi didn’t even know he did that, not until he tried searching for you after the dust cleared and everything settled down a little bit. Steve was with you, so you’d be easy to find. All he had to do was look for a bright blonde redneck sore thumb.
Javier’s frown deepened when he found Steve, only to not find you standing with him. The look on Steve’s face as he saw Javi coming didn’t bode well either. Where were you? “Javi.” Steve acknowledged in a soft voice…way too soft.
Javier looked around before fixing his gaze on Steve’s downcast expression. He was just upset about the mission failing, right? “Where is she?” He didn’t even have to say your name, anyone who knew Javier would immediately know who he was talking about. Steve sighed heavily, unable to meet his gaze. Javier burst like a dam, scowling and enraged, pulling Steve to him by his collar roughly. “Where is she?” He yelled, forcing the man to make eye contact with him.
“Javi, Javi, calm down.” Steve pleaded, placing his hands on his shoulders to try and soothe him. “She got shot, but she’s gonna be fine. Okay? She’s on her way to the hospital right now.”
Javier’s heart jumped into his throat, making his next words come out shaky and desperate. “Drive me there. Now.”
“But Javi, we gotta-”
“Now!” There was no arguing with Javier whenever he got this way, this angry, this violent. Steve would’ve had better luck fighting a bear.
Javier almost punched Steve when he kept giving him worried glances as he drove. Javi could not keep still. His hands were twitching, his leg was bouncing, he bit the dead skin on his fingertips, and when he started biting the not so dead flesh, he moved on to his lips, which wasn’t much better. It didn’t take but a minute until he tasted copper spreading across his tongue. Anything, he was doing anything to keep himself from screaming, resorting to pulling at his hair. No, there was no way you were leaving him like this. Steve said you’d be fine, but Javi didn’t even know where you got shot, he didn’t know how deep the bullet wounds were or if you were already being treated in the ambulance. He didn’t fucking know. God, please, he just wants to hear you call him Javi again. He doesn’t even care if you say it how you say his last name, full of annoyance and resentment, it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters until he sees you alive in a hospital bed.
Upon arriving at the hospital, Steve all but had to hold Javier back as he tried to check in, the impatient attitude and short fuse threatening to get them kicked out. Besides, it’s not like they could visit you now, you were still in surgery and it would take another hour or so before you’d get out. Javier could tell Steve just wanted to yell at him, say some stupid phrase like “hold your darn tootin’ horses” or some bullshit like that. Javier didn’t want to wait, he wanted to see you. He didn’t want to sit in some uncomfortable plastic chair for an hour not knowing if you were okay or not. So he stood, and he paced. He paced and paced until his legs started to wobble. He would stay here, he would stay all night if he had to. There was no way he was going home without seeing you. But in actuality, he wouldn’t have to wait that long.
It was only an hour and some change until the doctor finally came out into the waiting room, Javier and Steve shooting up from their chairs instantly. “She’s okay. The bullet didn’t go too deep into the abdomen and we managed to remove it without doing any more damage. We’ll keep her here for about a week and then we can send her home if there aren’t any more complications. She’s still under anesthesia but it’s wearing off now, so she should be awake soon. We’ll let you know when she’s ready to see you.”
“We can’t see her now?” Javier almost growled, causing Steve to place his hand on his shoulder before turning to the, quite frankly, startled doctor.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Such bullshit.” Javi grumbled under his breath, sitting down in the same seat, not even standing up long enough before his ass stopped tingling from being numb. His back hurt like a bitch, and his joints felt all stiff. God, he hated hospitals.
“Don’t worry, Javs, you’ll be able to see your girlfriend soon.”
“Shut the fuck up, Murphy. She’s not my fuckin’ girlfriend.”
Steve wasn’t phased by his hostility, only shrugging with a smirk. “But you want her to be.”
Javier groaned, running his hands over his face as his headache came back in full force. “Now, Murphy? You wanna have this conversation now?”
“If not now, when?”
“Never.”
“Exactly.” Javier rolled his eyes, wringing his hands together and avoiding eye contact with the other man. “You like her, man. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. You know, before I met Connie, I never thought I wanted a girlfriend either, much less a wife. I thought I’d be…tied down, I guess. I wanted the freedom to do whatever I wanted. But now…I can’t imagine life without her.”
I already can’t imagine a life without her… “She’s our coworker.”
“Hey, you can’t help who you fall in love with, man.” Javier cringed at the word love. He wasn’t in love with you. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, pendejo, his inner thoughts told him. “As far as I can tell, and I do have better vision than you, I think she feels the same way.” Oh, buddy, you have no idea. “I say go for it. We get this extremely short life once, a chance of it being even shorter in our line of work, you can’t take things for granted and you can’t risk missing out on something that can be beautiful.”
Javier looked over at Steve with a raised brow. “Getting wifed up has made you way more sentimental, man.”
Steve shrugged. “But you know it’s true.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“You know what, this conversation is making me miss my wife. Let me know how this whole thing goes, okay? Seriously. I care about her too.” And with that, Steve took off, leaving Javier alone with his thoughts, along with the occasional cough or sneeze from other waiting room patients. But other than that, deadly silent. One of the things Javi hates most about hospitals. The silence. The people waiting to hear if their loved ones have survived or not, or waiting to see if they live or die themselves. It reeked of death and he thought: you don’t belong here. You’d never belong here. This place isn’t lively enough for your standards. You shined most working with other people, making others feel at ease with your attitude, caring and compassionate, one of the reasons you even got into this job in the first place. You cared about what happened to people, and you wanted the best for everyone. Maybe that’s why Javier was so drawn to you, ever the pessimist, your light was like a breath of fresh air. Being in the DEA hardened him as a person, seeing the worst in people almost on a daily basis, it can make a person jaded. But you never let the stuff you see change who you were; you still loved, you still cared, you still tried to find the fun in any situation and Javi admired you for that, not that he’d ever admit it.
“She’s ready to see you now.” The doctor’s voice knocked Javier out of his thoughts, his reminiscence being replaced by nervous eagerness.
It was only then, a few steps away from entering your hospital room, that Javier realized he was still clad in his bulletproof vest. He hadn’t gone home to wash off the light splatters of blood or his sweat coated body, and his hair was a tousled bird’s nest. He surely looked like a hot mess. But then he started to wonder when he ever got nervous about his appearance. Jesus, you really fucked him up. He couldn’t help but fix his hair a little before entering your room, hopefully managing to pat down some wild curls. But the smile on your face as he finally came into view told him he didn’t look as bad as he thought. That smile also pierced right through his hardened exterior, a breath of relief when he saw that you were okay.
“Hey, stranger.” You spoke lazily, clearly still a little loopy from the anesthesia.
Javier took a seat next to your bed, looking you over and frowning when he saw all the tubes attached to you. You could’ve lost her…
“Where’s Steve? The doctor said he was with you?”
She’s asking about Murphy when I’m right here? “Oh, he uh, went home, to make sure Connie knows he’s okay. He did want to see you though.”
“Yeah, I believe it. You should’ve seen the look on his face when that bullet got me. I’ve never seen him so scared shitless.” You chuckled. Again, always finding humor in a situation even when you literally got shot. It almost infuriated him, but the mental image of Steve freaking out did make him smirk a little.
“How are you feeling?”
You shrugged. “Tired. No, I'm exhausted. Who knew getting shot would make you wanna sleep for a week?”
“Are you hurting at all?”
“Just a little sore. They’ve got me on a shitload of painkillers right now, so I’m unlikely to feel anything at the moment. Embarrassment, however, I do feel.”
Javier furrowed his brows. “Why would you ever feel embarrassed? You got fuckin’ shot.”
“Exactly. I told you I could take care of myself and yet, here I am.” You huffed. “I never thought this would happen to me. I guess…I just got too comfortable.”
Before he could stop himself, Javier reached out to place his hand over yours, almost gasping when he felt how cold your skin was. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed, okay? You’re alive, that’s all that matters. Some of us don’t get so lucky. I’m relieved.”
He didn’t miss the subtle flustered expression on your face. “Oh…so, you’re not gonna say I told you so?” You smiled weakly.
Javier grinned. “Well, I can’t exactly say that when you’re laying in a hospital bed.”
“Eh, you could. You’d just be a massive asshole. But then again, you already are.” He knew it was just a joke, but it was true. He was an asshole, especially to you. Maybe it was the medication you were on, but he had no idea why you were being so friendly to him. If he were rejected by someone he likes, then that person proceeded to talk down to him when they were annoyed, he’d have little kind words to say. In fact, he was surprised you weren’t currently punching him in the face. You frowned, and Javier wanted to curse himself for giving his feelings away. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s-”
“Visiting hours are over.” A nurse interrupted, rather rudely.
You both frowned. Javier nodded to the nurse as he reluctantly let go of your hand, giving you a double take at the door, imprinting the image of you weakly waving goodbye with a small smile on your face to memory so he had something to hold onto before the next visit.
The week went by way too slow. Not even a week. You were recovering really well, so the doctors cleared you to go home sooner than expected. Javier found himself being anxious all the time, even at home after work was over. He drank a bit more than usual, until Steve came over one night and saw the state of his apartment and quickly intervened. He’d never admit this, but Javier was thankful for his partner. He was a good man, he supposed that’s why he made such a good DEA agent.
Javier had implicitly volunteered to be the one to look out for you when you were allowed back home, since you two lived in the same apartment building. Couldn’t really have been anyone else, and he wanted to. He wasn’t there for you when you got shot, but he sure as hell could be there when you recovered. Though, after a long conversation, you both decided it would be best that you stayed in his apartment until you could walk around on your own. The doctor had put you on a strict bedrest regime, to make sure you didn’t tear any stitching and reopen the wound. You lived alone, so staying with Javier just seemed like the most logical choice. Though, it put him in a near stupor.
Javier never cleaned so much in his life. He wanted everything to be perfect, nothing out of place and he’d be damned if there was even one speck of dust on any surface. It only increased his anxiety to the point he almost considered punching a hole into his wall. It’d be okay, he told himself, you were just staying until you could walk. That wouldn’t take that long. Yeah, he could do this. He could be professional while being in close proximity with you for more than the usual work hours. You’re fucked, man.
Steve helped drop you off at your apartments after picking you up from the hospital. Javier quickly put out the cigarette he was smoking as he heard the knock on the door, opening it to see you in a wheelchair with Steve behind you. “Someone order a damaged DEA agent?” He joked, only to get a slap on the arm from you. “Bad joke, sorry.” He coughed nervously, Javier stepping away so he could push the wheelchair inside. “Anyway, take real good care of her now.” He winked, earning a glare from Javier. “Alright, I’ll be going now.”
“Idiot…” Javier mumbled, earning a quiet giggle from you. Thankfully, Javier had a spare bedroom that he never used. He mostly used it as a storage room but cleaned it up a little and bought an extra mattress to use for the time being, while he insisted you stay in his own bedroom. “Sorry, it’s not much.” He spoke as he helped you to his bed.
“Don’t worry, it’s great.” You huffed as you laid yourself down, a small wince on your face. The doctor had been weaning you off the pain meds, so you weren’t the most comfortable. “Thanks again for letting me stay here until I get my bearings. I really appreciate it.”
Javier shook his head. “No problem. Just, uh, let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you…Javi.” You spoke softly as he turned to exit the room.
He almost ran into the door as soon as you said that, his heart fluttering inside his ribcage. He closed his eyes briefly to just savor the sound of your voice when you finally said his first name, finally after so long. He knew it was just out of appreciation, but he could take the little victories. He stiffly nodded before closing the door on his way out, letting out a sharp exhale when he got to his living room. How was he going to survive you staying with him for a couple weeks when he gets flustered within just a couple minutes around you in general? He hated to admit, but Steve was right.
Javi was fuckin’ smitten.
With this newfound acceptance, Javier found himself just standing at the island in his kitchen doing nothing but blankly staring into space. You were here. You were safe. You were just in the other room. And yet, Javier was itching to go back and make sure you were doing alright, even though, logically, he knew you were probably just sleeping. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes and figured it was difficult trying to find any sort of peace inside a hospital. He knew he wouldn’t, but then again, he always had trouble sleeping. Even more so after you got shot.
For the first time in a while, the nightmares he was plagued with actually got to him. It wasn’t like all the other times he was shot or stabbed, betraying his own department, or Pablo always managing to escape when he was just within reach (although, that was more reality bleeding into his dreams). He almost always saw the dead bodies of the people he’s killed, especially the innocent ones. But then he started to see you.
It was always the same. You were calling out for Javier, begging for help. He ran to you, but it was like he was trying to run through mud or quicksand. He tried so hard to get to you before you were shot, but he was always too late. As soon as he reached you, you were already dying in his arms. Over and over again. To think those dreams would’ve stopped once you were home from the hospital, but nope. He went to sleep that night waking up in a similar cold sweat and racing heart. He almost couldn’t bear to look at you, guilt eating away at him even though it wasn’t his fault. He absolutely hated the fact he still had to go into work. This mission was put on hold for no one, not even you.
He was always anxious at work, to the point everyone noticed. He still did his job, but his eyes were vacant and it seemed anything he did was just instinct. He just kept thinking what if you needed him and he wasn’t there to help you? It didn’t bother Javier that everything figured out his affection for you, it was bound to happen sooner or later. He just hoped it didn’t get back to you before he could tell you himself.
But after he came home, he went back to his old behaviors. It’s true what people say: habits die hard. He did attempt to act more warm and accommodating, for both your sakes. But he made sure to never cross that line of professionalism. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or be forced into a situation when you were practically still dependent on him to move around. He didn’t want to cross any unspoken boundary. No, he’d keep his feelings to himself a bit longer. After you can walk on your own, or maybe even after you come back to work…or maybe when the mission is over and Pablo is dead or behind bars.
But after another gruesome nightmare, Javier got into the habit of peeking into your (his) bedroom. Just to make sure you were still there. Even when his nightmares mellowed out, he still did it. He even started to sit by your bed and just watch you sleep peacefully. God, he felt like such a creep. And what was it he said about boundaries?
Javier thought he’d just stay quiet, pretend like he never memorized every part of your face as you slept. Like how he noticed your nose twitched like a bunny sometimes, or how your lips pulled into a tiny and almost unnoticeable smile. But of course, he couldn’t do that forever. You started to be able to move around on your own, albeit extremely carefully. But still, that just meant you could go back to your own apartment soon…
Javier had a really bad dream that night after seeing you take baby steps into the living room, a giant smile on your face as you finally were able to do things yourself. And of course, it was the same exact dream. He went to your bedroom right after, anxious to see your peacefully sleeping form that would instantly calm him, only to find you whimpering and slightly stirring in your sleep. Ah, so he wasn’t the only one plagued by nightmares.
He thought about leaving you alone, letting you wake up on your own, but when he heard you whispering mumbled “nos” and “stops” with tears trailing down your cheeks, he couldn’t just let you suffer.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Javier slowly sat down next to you, brushing a hand over your cheek delicately, the action only slightly stirring you. “Hey, sweetheart.” Fuck, the name just came out naturally. He’s so glad that it didn’t wake you. He called your name, gently shaking your shoulder until you shot up with wide eyes, winding back your fist to punch him before he caught it. “Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.”
You slowly relaxed, bringing your hands down with an exhale. “Javi…” You whispered his name like a prayer, like you almost couldn’t believe he was actually there with you.
“Must’ve been some nightmare.” Javier guessed, and you winced.
“Was…was I loud?”
“You were crying in your sleep…” He didn’t really answer your question, it was true, but Javier never would’ve heard you if he wasn’t creeping around your room in the first place.
“Oh god, I’m sorry. I usually don’t get nightmares like this.”
“What were you dreaming about?” Javier could’ve probably guessed, and from the expression on your face when you looked at him, he was right.
“I haven’t had nightmares about it before. Not even the nights right after. I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I guess…my theory, now that I can walk around without tearing myself apart, I guess that means I can go back to my apartment. And I'm glad I’m better. It’s just, you’ve been so kind and made me feel safe here, and the thought of having to live all alone again, even if I know you’re just downstairs…” You shook your head, curling in on yourself in embarrassment.
“Then…you can stay here a bit longer.” That felt like a confession, to Javier anyway. And he almost regretted saying it until…
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that to you. I know you’ve been counting down the days until I could handle walking myself again.”
Javi furrowed his brows, his heart dropping to his stomach. “What? I haven’t-”
“I’ve made things awkward, Javi. I know that. I know I haven’t been handling that whole rejection thing very well, but I’m trying, okay? I really am trying.” You sighed. “I never should’ve told you then, but I figured, you can get over a person a lot quicker if you just confessed early on. I’m sorry but, it hasn’t been working much. That’s not your fault, of course, it’s my problem. Living with you these past couple weeks have not made it any easier though.” You chuckled bitterly, wiping away a few shed tears as soon as they fell over your cheeks, making Javier’s heart clench painfully. “God, I’m such an idiot.” You whispered to yourself.
Javier exhaled shakily, turning away from you, looking down at the floor. “You remember back at the hospital, you called me an asshole?”
“It was a joke, and I apologized, Peña.”
Javier winced at the sound of his last name. No. No, no, no, he was not going to go through this. Not again. Just swallow your pride for once, man. “I didn’t get to finish what I was gonna say back then, 'cause that bitch nurse told me I had to leave.” He growled.
You chuckled weakly. “And what were you going to say?”
Now or never, right?
“I was gonna say you’re right. I am. An asshole. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”
You made a confused noise. “What’re you talking about?”
Goddamn it. “I’ve been an asshole to you since that night…”
You sighed. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Peña. I get it.”
“Please, just let me talk.” He begged, and Javier never begged. The pleading look in his eyes finally got you to shut your mouth. His heart was racing. He thought about taking a deep breath but he was just afraid it would turn into hyperventilating, so not helpful. “Sorry, I’m no good at this. Talking. Damn it…” He whispered. “Fuck it, I like you, alright?” He spat, sounding more angry than he meant.
“W-What?” You stuttered, suddenly sounding much more awake and sitting up against your pillows.
“You heard me.”
“I did, I just…” You shook your head. “I don’t understand. Are you saying this to…mess with me or something?”
“No. No, I’m not. I mean, I’m-” Javier groaned in frustration. He wasn’t used to this, he never really did this, talk about his emotions. He didn’t know it would be this hard. Man, maybe he did need a therapist. He flinched when you placed your hand on his shoulder, but you didn’t pull away.
“Hey, it’s okay, Javi.” You spoke softly when you noticed how on edge he was. “Calm down. Just take a deep breath.” He did as he was told, for once. Taking deep breaths while focusing on the heat radiating from you, using it to ground himself before he even tried talking again.
“When Steve told me you were shot…” He stuttered shakily, his voice betraying him. “I feared the worst. I thought…I thought there was a chance I’d never see you again.”
You frowned, your bottom lip trembling. “Oh, Javi, come here.” You pulled him to you, allowing his head to rest on your shoulder, gently running your hand through his hair while your other hand guided his hand to rest over the pulse point on your neck. “I’m safe. I’m alive. See? I’m not gonna be so reckless again, I promise.”
Javier closed his eyes, snuggling further onto your neck, breathing in your calming scent, spurring him to keep talking. “I thought that I didn’t want to be with anyone. I convinced myself that I don’t need anyone but me…then I got to know you and I started to realize, I’d rather give up this case than see you get hurt. That night you told me how you felt, I thought I was sparing you. But I was just afraid, a coward. The truth is…I fuckin’ need you.” From where his hand was laying on your neck, Javi could feel your pulse quicken. He called out your name in concern, more of hesitance. He finally lifted his head to look at you, immediately noticing the tears in your eyes but a bashful smile on your face.
Letting go of his restraint and not worrying about the consequences for once, Javier surged forward, capturing your lips with his. The little gasp that came from you was probably one of the cutest sounds he’s ever heard, besides your laugh. Your lips were so soft, moving against his languidly. He smiled into the kiss as he felt you rake your hands through his hair, bringing his body to yours as close as humanly possible. Javier wasn’t the best with words, but this he knew how to do. He tried to pour every single emotion he had for you into this kiss: adoration, care, frenzied lust, and maybe even love. The only reason he finally pulled away is because he heard you wince.
Oh, he’d pressed against you too hard and put some pressure on your stitching. Damn it, of course, your first kiss with her and you have to fuck it up somehow.
“I’m so sorry.” He spoke, panicked, wildly looking over your expression to make sure you weren’t in any more pain.
You shook your head with a grin, a mildly dazed gleam in your eyes. “You’re okay. You’re more than okay.”
“I got…a little carried away.” He blushed, having to forcefully put a little bit of distance between you. “God, I’ve thought about doing that for so long.” He admitted.
You smirked, trying to cover up your nervousness. “Did it live up to your expectations?”
More than you could ever know.
“I probably should’ve asked this before I kissed you, but…do you wanna go out with me sometime?” He didn’t know why he sounded so nervous, like you’d ever say no, but he didn’t know that. His body untensed as you gave him the most bright smile he’d ever seen from you.
“Of course, Javi.” Javi, Javi, Javi. The beautiful sound repeated in his mind.
“Say my name again, please.” You leaned forward to kiss him again, repeating it after you broke apart. He never thought his name could sound more alluring than when you said it. God, he wanted to absolutely ravish you, but he’d never risk hurting you. He was a patient man, he could wait, however long you needed. He was already planning it in his mind. He wasn’t the most romantic, but rose petals did come into mind, making him chuckle to himself. “I guess I’ll…let you get back to sleep now.”
Javier moved to stand from your bed, but you stopped him by grabbing onto his wrist. “Would it be too much if I asked you to stay?” Your best puppy dog eyes were on full display, making his heart swell. He could never say no to that face.
“Mi tesoro…” Javi whispered as you both settled in for the rest of the night, him laying on his back while you leaned your head against his chest, a protective arm wrapped around you. Yeah, he could get used to this, especially with you. The both of you fell fast asleep pretty quickly. And what d’ya know? He didn’t have another nightmare after that.
You decided to stay at his apartment for a little while longer. Well, it was more of an insistence from Javier. He was almost always on you like a leech, but he never heard you complain. From the constant stream of giggles and smiles you threw his way, Javi was pretty sure you enjoyed his company. Now that the tension finally broke, it was back to how it used to be between you, only more intensified. That damned gunshot wound was the only wall between you, but that wall wound was broken soon enough. Of course, when that happened, you also had to get back to work, which you were missing greatly. You wanted to catch Escobar just as much as everyone else, so you were ecstatic to get back on the case.
Javier tried his best not to helicopter you around, he knew if someone was doing that to him he’d want to claw their eyes out. He gave you your space, but that anxiety came back in full force whenever they’d try to make an arrest. From then on, you were always right by Javier’s side whenever the guns had to come out. Maybe he was overprotective, but he didn’t care; he needed you safe.
It wasn’t really a shock to anyone that you and Javier got together. Some even made bets, which infuriated him. Steve was the worst about it, teasing Javi whenever he got the chance. At least no one teased you, not that anyone would be stupid enough to try.
As the team had gotten word about where one of Pablo’s men were hiding out, the station started to shift into that similar tension, much too similar to that day you were shot. Javier felt like he was going to have a panic attack. But at this point, you had been around each other so constantly that you developed a sort of sixth sense to whatever he was feeling. You didn’t hesitate to grab his hand, bringing it up so his palm could cup your cheek. “Hey, we’re gonna be fine.” Javier forced himself to nod. “You’ve got my back?”
He cracked a smile. “Of course I do, cariño.”
Javier leaned down to kiss you passionately, taking you by surprise. PDA in the workplace wasn’t really strictly forbidden, but it was common courtesy not to lock lips with your partner. But Javi didn’t care, he needed you when he needed you.
No one was going to take that away from him. No one was going to take you away from him. Never again.
like i said...chokehold. he has too much power. someone save me.
#narcos#javier peña#javier peña imagine#javier peña x f!reader#javier peña x reader#javier peña x fem!reader#javier peña fanfiction
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The Professor (Pedro Pascal smut inspired by SNL)
Title: The Professor
Fandom: RPF: Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU
Rating: Explicit
Characters & Pairings: Pedro Pascal (professor of Latin American Studies) x Reader (bedraggled PhD candidate)
Word Count: ~2000
Summary: As if that SNL skit wasn't going to launch a thousand smut fics... As always, lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional notes below the cut.
Notes: This is my first "real person fic," may God have mercy on my soul. Additionally, my Spanish is virtually non-existent; I've relied heavily on Google Translate and asking my coworkers questions on the sly, my apologies for any errors! As we all know, this is not a story about actual human Pedro Pascal, but the fictionalized version which lives rent free in our heads. And as proper fan girl culture dictates, we keep this shit locked down. But just in case:
This note is for actual human Pedro Pascal and Pedro Pascal only. I don't know why you would click "Read More" on a post clearly labeled "Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU" but if you have, I beg of you LOOK AWAY, SIR. LOOK AWAY. If you choose to proceed, I will not be responsible for any trauma you may suffer as a result. Thank you.
For everyone else, I give you:
The Professor
Professor Pedro Pascal was the head of the Latin American Studies department at your small college. You had never been in his classes as an undergrad–Latin American Fiction and Poetry, and a special seminar on the Magical Realism of Isabel Allende–but it was well known around campus that his family had fled Pinochet when he was a child, which granted him unsurprising street cred among your communist-leaning circle of friends. He had been appointed the interim director of the campus’s Literary Center–after his predecessor was ousted for exposing himself in a virtual meeting.
As the Center’s Graduate Assistant Director, it meant although he wasn’t technically your boss, you were suddenly spending an annoying amount of time working around the throngs of freshman girls who flocked to his office hours. You couldn’t really blame them. He was, if not an outright heartthrob, a reasonably good-looking college professor. A strong face, with a short, rugged beard, a striking Roman nose, and deep brown eyes with the most charming crow's feet. He had a lean physique, with a hint of softness at the belly, just this side of a “dad bod.”
His modest good looks combined with a cheerful disposition and a penchant for quoting the love poetry of Pablo Neruda were like catnip for liberal arts majors. And although you were a card-carrying bra-burning feminist, you weren’t entirely immune.
“Professor,” his office door was open, but you knocked on the frame.
Pedro looked up from the stack of resumes you had been sent to review before the selection panel for a new director.
“Coffee?”
“Mi angelita,” he sighed, rising from his desk to graciously accept the warm cup from your hands. “What time is the first candidate arriving?”
“Noon,” you said. “You, me, Dr. Monroe, the Provost, and Assistant Dean are sitting on the interview panel.”
Pedro looked at his watch.
“Shit,” he sighed. “I have Intro to Creative Writing at 9:30.”
“I’ll set up the conference room,” you said as he shoved his papers into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder, still carrying the open mug as he raced down the stairs.
“Thank you, Angel. Thank you!”
It was a six month process to find a new director. Six months of staring across the conference table, chewing on the end of your pen, pretending not to be affected by the way he leaned in when you spoke and stroked his thumb across his lower lip in concentration. Or the obscene way he spread his legs in a comfortable chair while speaking with candidates in front of a panel of students.
And having to do it all over again when your first choice–a student favorite–declined the position, to stay in New Jersey of all things. You knew Pedro was relieved to have reached a conclusion; he didn’t care for the administrative duties or politics. He wanted to teach, to be with his students. You admired that about him, he appreciated your organizational skills (and the fact that when you made coffee it counted as a meal.) You worked well together, but now that was coming to an end.
It was past 9pm and you had already closed up the Literary Center for the night, but Pedro was still in his office, reviewing students’ papers.
“I’m done for the night, Professor,” you said. “Is there anything I can do to help you get out of here?”
“That depends,” he said, with a wry smile that had you convinced he was only half-kidding. “How’s your Spanish?”
“Hmm,” you said, stepping into the light of the desk lamp. “¿Dónde está la biblioteca? ¿Como estas? Bien, gracias. ¡Qué lluvia! And that’s all I’ve got.”
Pedro chuckled. “I’ve heard worse.”
“That and un tequila, por favor.”
“Tequila,” Pedro repeated, intrigued. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of Patron. “That I can help you with.”
Your mouth fell open in surprise.
“Professor,” you deadpanned. “I don’t know if you knew this, but alcohol is not permitted in academic buildings.”
"Lucky for me," he said, picking up the bottle. "I have tenure."
You laughed and Pedro laughed; you offered to run downstairs to retrieve a pair of glasses and a salt shaker from the kitchen while he finished grading papers in record speed.
“I worry about these kids,” Pedro said, three shots deep. “I do! The moment they hear something the least bit troubling, they refuse to engage with the material. Our world exists in shades of gray. They want things to be ideologically pure, when what they need is to learn to discern. To question. To decide!”
“I understand what you’re saying, Professor,” you said.
“Pedro, please,” he interrupted you. “Pedro.”
“Pedro,” you repeated. “I agree, but there’s no reason we need to elevate and spotlight the same tired canon of bigots, abusers, and dead white men year after year when there is so much more out there.”
Pedro downed another shot and pointed an accusing finger at you.
“Look who’s talking,” he said. “Your PhD is in Shakespeare Studies!”
“I know,” you laughed, pouring yourself another glass. “I know, I’m a terrible person.”
“You are not,” he said, suddenly serious. “You have an incredible mind and the most beautiful way of looking at the world.”
You felt languid and relaxed and warm. You liked the way Pedro looked at you. There was something undeniably romantic about getting drunk in the richly furnished office, with its leather armchairs and oak bookshelves, debating the merits of Nietzsche and bell hooks.
“Okay,” you broke the silence. “Okay, here’s a fun fact you can pass along to your successor. There are 3 prints signed by Allen Ginsberg in this building, and you can see them all from this desk.”
“There’s the one on the wall,” Pedro said, pointing to the framed portrait hanging above the bookshelf.
“Yes,” you said, rising from your chair and moving to the other side of the desk. “And there in the hallway, on the right, that's an excerpt from "Howl" they set in the printshop downstairs.”
You perched on the arm of his chair to get closer to his eye-level, pointing through the open door. You slipped, nearly falling into his lap and he placed a hand on your back to steady you. He smelled amazing, like old leather and warm spices.
“And there, in the stairwell, you can just make out the top of his head on that linotype,” you explained. “Do you see it?”
“I do.”
When you turned your head, Pedro was looking at you. Perhaps it was the tequila, but you were almost certain he was staring at your lips, his eyes heavily lidded, smiling lazily.
“You look tired,” you warned. You should have gotten up to leave, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want this warm, lovely feeling to ever end.
“Just thinking,” he said.
“About what?”
“Kissing you,” he said.
You were almost surprised; you had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that your semester-long flirtation was a one-sided puppy crush. You had been so busy with your research and recruiting and planning, you had forgotten somewhere along the way that you were a stone cold fox with tits and ass for days and enough sex appeal to blow the top off Mount St. Helens.
“You can,” you said, turning your body toward him. “I don’t mind.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Fine then,” you turned to stand.
Pedro seized you by the waist, pulling you back into his lap and into a long, slow kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft and his mouth tasted like salt and lime as his tongue brushed into yours with careful, confident strokes.
“That was nice,” your eyes fluttered open as Pedro finally pulled away. “You’re a good kisser.”
“You, too,” Pedro said. “Again?”
You tilted your chin, touching the point on your neck, just below your ear. As Pedro leaned in, working the beginnings of a hickey into your neck, you guided his hands from your waist to your breasts. You pressed against him, moving to straddle his thigh.
“More?” Pedro asked.
“Yes,” you panted. You braced yourself on the back of the chair, one hand on either side of his head, grinding against his leg, feeling hot and wet as he kneaded your breasts with reverent appreciation.
“Mi amor,” he breathed.
“Pedro,” you held his face, nipping at his bottom lip.
“Dime, lo qué quieres.”
“Fuck.” His accent went straight to your cunt. You ran one hand up his thigh, groping at the crotch of his chinos.
Pedro let out an obscene moan and hoisted you up onto his desk. He slid his hands up your thighs, fingers slipping into your panties. He ran his fingertips through your folds, tracing circles around the swollen nub of your clit with an absolute shit-eating grin.
“Qué lluvia.”
You howled with laughter. “I know that one! I know that one!”
“A huevo.”
Pedro rose from his chair, bunching your dress up around your waist. You pulled his shirt free from the waistband of his pants, running your hands up the warm skin of his back.
“Want you,” you sighed. “Want you inside me.”
“Whatever you want, Angelita.”
Pedro pulled your underwear down to your ankles, pausing to retrieve a condom from the wallet in his back pocket, like an over-eager undergrad, pulling down his pants to roll it on. He pressed the head of his cock against your clit. You grabbed him by the ass, wrapping your legs around him to guide him into you.
Pedro flicked his hips into you with short, quick strokes, sending jolts of energy through your core.
“More,” you pleaded breathlessly. “Deeper.”
Pedro lifted your ankles onto his shoulders, pressing into you long and slow until you could feel him bumping against your cervix. You gasped, reaching behind you, scrambling for leverage, knocking the computer monitor off the desk.
“Oh no!” You turned, trying to catch it before it crashed to the floor.
“It’s okay!” Pedro said, taking your face in his hands to guide your gaze back to his eyes. “It’s a shitty computer. It’s fine.”
You moaned, letting your head fall back, grabbing for his chest with one hand as he fucked you.
“So soft,” he moaned against your ear. “So fucking good for me, Angel.”
“Give me your hand,” you said, guiding his fingers back to your clit. “Up and down, right there. Oh God.”
You grabbed Pedro’s shoulder to brace yourself.
“I’m close,” he warned.
“Not yet,” you pleaded. “Just a little more.”
You could feel your own climax building inside you. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.
“Oh God!”
Pedro came inside you with a gasp as your inner walls clenched around him. He slowly withdrew, supporting your legs, and easing you onto your back, scattering papers and pens onto the floor. He kissed your neck and your breasts as his hands explored the curves of your body.
You woke the next morning on the couch in Pedro’s office. You were lying on top of him; your head on his chest. He had his arms around you, your head was pounding as you squinted into the daylight.
“We got fucked up last night?” you said.
“Yup.”
“It was nice."
"It was," Pedro agreed, kissing the top of your head as you blinked sleep from your eyes.
"What time is it?”
You grabbed his forearm, turning it so you could look at the face of his watch.
“Oh shit,” you gasped. “I have Freshman Seminar in half an hour.”
“I already missed my morning classes,” Pedro moaned, letting his head fall back against the armrest.
“Do you want to explain to Dr. Monroe why I can’t teach her class?” you said, rising from the couch and searching the office floor for your underpants.
“No,” Pedro said. “She scares me.”
You pulled your underwear back on, finding your bag, you used the satin scarf tied around the handle to cover the love-bites blooming on your throat and chest. You dabbed concealer under your eyes and added a fresh coat of red lipstick.
“Would you like to have lunch together? Not at the Caf. Somewhere nice, like a date.” Pedro asked, sitting up. He looked endearingly child-like with his bedhead and giant brown eyes.
You paused, checking your reflection in your compact mirror.
“Can we do that?” you asked.
“I don’t see why not,” he said. “You were never my student and after this week we won’t even work together any more.”
“Oh,” you nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“I’ll pack things up here and meet you after class.”
You smiled. “I’ll see you then.”
#rpf: pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#hot for teacher AU#mr. ben has us in a chokehold#mr. ben snl#pedro pascal x you
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A full character analysis on DIETER BRAVO from the film THE BUBBLE.
I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to learn more about the character. 🖤
FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED
FULL CHARACTER STUDY:
Basic Details:
Full Name: Dieter Bravo
Nickname(s): Unknown/not confirmed
Appears in: The Bubble, 2022 (first appearance on screen seen at approx. 09:43)
Age (if known): Unknown/not confirmed - possible mid to late 40's
Nationality: American - dialect unconfirmed
Sexuality: Possibly bisexual in the film, as he asks both female & male genders for sex
Family: Unknown/not unconfirmed
Spouse/Partner: Unknown at the beginning of film, however Dieter ends up in a relationship with hotel receptionist Anika, also a possible throuple/threesome situation with Kate, towards the end of the film
Relationship Status: Seemingly in a relationship with Anika at the end of the film
Current Living Status: Alive
Languages Spoken: English
Education: Not confirmed, although as Dieter is an actor, he would have basic school/college education, and possibly acting/drama school
Occupation:
Job Role/Title: Actor, playing the character Gio Ricci in Cliff Beasts 6
Special Skill(s): Acting, painting (Dieter paints in his hotel room, seemingly as a hobby), dancing
Notable Colleague(s): The Cliff Beasts 6 Cast
Distinguishing Features:
Tattoo(s): Bullseye tattoo on left hand between thumb and forefinger (Pedro's own), V tattoo on wrist (Pedro's own), elephant tattoo's on legs/thighs (Pedro's own), black, inverted triangle tattoo on right forearm positioned just below elbow and black triangle outline tattoo on left wrist
Piercings: Left ear pierced with single gold hoop
Scar(s): None notable
Other Markings: Freckles on neck
Eye Colour: Brown
Prominent Feature(s): Greying facial scruff, moustache, curled, fluffy hair
Injuries: Dieter passes out from a drugs overdose and goes into cardiac arrest, and has to be revived with an adrenaline needle in the chest directly to the heart
Hair Colour: Brown, slightly greying
Personality:
Traits: Addictive, sarcastic, dulcet
It's hinted that Dieter has won an Oscar, which is ironic considering his character seems to be cast in such a poor movie as Cliff Beasts 6.
Dieter's tone of voice is slightly gravelly and deep, and he speaks softly most of the time, unless he has a point to make, or gets overly excited. His accent is predominantly American, although it's not revealed where he is from directly.
Dieter is allergic to peanuts. Sean declares his allergy in the scene where they try to revive Dieter.
It's often stated by critics/character descriptions online, that Dieter is "addicted to drugs and sex." Bear in mind though, that we don't actually see Dieter have sex at all in the film, even though he asks, aside from the mirror scene, which is a hallucination whilst he's high on acid tabs.
Dieter is seen taking a variety of drugs, from his own stash, in the film such as cocaine, pills, laughing gas (black balloon) and acid tabs. He's also seen drinking whiskey and champagne.
Dieter states "change me. Change me. Change me" into the mirror, suggesting he is aware of his drug issues and wants to change.
Pedro contributed majorly to Dieter's overall look in this film.
Dieter's look has been likened to The Dude from the 1998 film The Big Lewbowski.
Dieter's black inverted triangle tattoo looks to represent the victims of the Nazi's in concentration camps known as 'asocials'. (You can read more about this at the bottom of this post.)
Dieter wears a Tibetan looking woven bracelet, hinting that he could be Buddhist.
Dieter is a keen painter. In his hotel room, you can see numerous paintings on the walls and also several canvases scattered around his room in various stages of completion. His pants also have paint on them in some scenes. Dieter also paints a large mural of the artist Franciso Goya's, Saturn Devouring His Son, on the wall. (You can find out more about that specific painting at the bottom of this post.)
It could also be assumed that Dieter has neurotic tendencies. For example, he states he doesn't wear wireless earbuds due to believeing the EMF frequencies will mess with his brainwaves.
It's apparent that Dieter seems the type to fall in love easily, as he does with Anika, and refers to her as "an angel."
Fashion/Outfits:
Outfit 1 - (Opening scene) Green gown, purple/mauve round neck t-shirt, brown pyjama/lounge pants, sunglasses
Outfit 2 - (Dinner table scene) Light sand coloured button up shirt, sunglasses (bottom half not seen in scene)
Outfit 3 - (Dog fighting scene) Brown Teddy coat, grey pants, beige/cream round neck t-shirt, crocs
Outfit 4 - (First Tiktok dance scene) Purple/mauve cardigan, beige/cream round neck t-shirt, grey/white striped pants, grey thick socks, crocs
Outfit 5 - (At the desk with Anika scene) Beige/cream round neck t-shirt, brown striped pants with what appears to be blue paint on the right thigh
Outfit 6 - (First Scene as Gio) Red mountain jacket, black cargo pants, black backpack, dark hiking boots
Outfit 7 - (In the lounge scene) Purple/mauve cardigan, beige/cream round neck t-shirt, grey/white striped patterned pants, grey thick socks, crocs
Outfit 8 - (Quarantine montage scenes) Beige/cream round neck t-shirt, brown striped pants
Outfit 9 - (Passing the plate through the doorway scene) Green gown, white round neck t-shirt
Outfit 10 - (Meditation scene) Green gown, beige/cream round neck t-shirt, grey pants, grey thick socks, crocs
Outfit 11 - (Tracking probe Scene) Zebra striped sweater, three quarter length dark grey cargo pants/long shorts that look to be covered in paint, grey thick socks, crocs
Outfit 12 - (Pippa & Gunther sex proposition & Kate mirror scene) Beige/cream round neck t-shirt, brown striped pants, grey thick socks
Outfit 13 - (Vomit scene) Beige/cream round neck t-shirt, grey pants, black underpants
Outfit 14 - (Carol's plan scene) Beige/brown sweater, grey/white striped pants, crocs, grey thick socks
Outfit 15 - (Toilet plunge scene) Green gown, beige/cream round neck t-shirt, brown striped pants, sunglasses
Outfit 16 - (As Gio) Blue/green long sleeved sweater, black thermal vest, black cargo pants, dark hiking boots
Outfit 17 - (Beck dance scene) Brown Teddy coat, purple/mauve round neck t-shirt, brown striped pants, crocs
Outfit 18 - (ET interview scene) Velvet brown patterned shirt, black jeans, black boots, sunglasses
Outfit 19 - (Drugs scene & Tiktok dance scene) Brown Teddy coat, grey shorts/boxers, sunglasses, grey grey thick socks, crocs
Outfit 20 - (Red carpet scene) Black silk floral/embossed suit, black mesh see through shirt, black shoes
Outfit 21 - (Featurette) Dieter wears a blue button up shirt with white check lines, sunglasses
Accessories: Sunglasses, Tibetan style woven bracelet on left wrist in primary orange/red/blue colours, silver wolf head ring worn on left pinky finger, silver ring with black gemstone worn on left pointer finger, gold hoop earring in left ear, black iPhone.
Weapons Used:
Weapon(s): As Gio only, fire pulse gun
Modes of Transport:
Vehicle(s):
Dieter is a passenger in a helicopter. Model used is an Airbus Helicopter AS355 F1, G-BOSN. (The helicopter was also involved in an incident on set when a fire broke out during filming. No-one was confirmed hurt or injured.)
Dialogue:
🗨 See Dieter's full dialogue from the film, including deleted scenes.
Further Character Links (if any):
The Bubble Behind The Scenes, Small details you missed in The Bubble, Dieter Bravo Behind The Scenes, Director Spotlight On Set Featurette, Dieter as Gio Scenes
The Black Inverted Triangle & its meaning
Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son painting
Samples of Dieter's Wardrobe - Green robe, velvet shirt, brown striped pants, Gio's red jacket, Gio's thermal vest, zebra sweater & sunglasses info obtained via Styleofpascal IG
FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED
#pedro pascal#dieter bravo#pedro pascal characters#dieter bravo the bubble#the bubble film#PPCU#pedro pascal cinematic universe#pedro pascal character analysis#pedro pascal character study#pedro pascal character database
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thermos (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)
a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (:
summary: sometimes, love boils on the stove. (set 2021.)
————————————————————————
It had been a long fucking day. Delayed table read, late picks, emergency rewrites— the perfect storm at SNL.
The steady pressure in your temples had gradually increased throughout the day, despite the Excedrine you'd taken early on. This had morphed into an ache at the back of your throat, because of course it had— bad things always came in waves.
Halfway through the last-minute pitch meeting post-rehearsal, you'd missed a call from Pedro. The same time he called every day, usually timed well with your walk home from midtown. Sending him to voicemail was out of character.
Sorry, you'd texted. Rehearsal tonight. Lightly sautéed, gonna crash after work, talk tomorrow? Love you very much x
He'd shot back a " :( " and then had been typing for several minutes, the little bubbles appearing over and over. OK, he finally said. Love you too.
It tweaked your heart, a bit. The two thousand miles between your phones was hard to stomach, sometimes. Alberta felt, for reasons unknown, so infinitely farther than LA, though the mileage was comparable. You picture him, alone in his trailer, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolls his phone, waiting for wrap to leave and tuck his old bones into bed.
Ultimately, you are a little too tired, and achy, and frustrated with work, and maybe a little cranky, to dwell on the finality of his "OK." There's nothing he can do for you, from Alberta; it's not worth worrying him.
You drag yourself home, resigned to making a weak cup of tea and curling up with the dogs. (Home is your studio apartment, while he's gone, though he maintains a steady campaign for you to just move into his. You haven't yet been able to articulate how fucking lonely his Brooklyn townhouse is without him.) Politely squeeze past the elderly couple who have pushed their sidewalk table all the way in front of the door to your building. Check the mail, of which there is none. Climb the stairs, a slow shuffle, fumbling with your stupid keys, music still playing at street volume in your headphones, eyes burning, lock turning—
Fuck, fuck.
Pedro turns the stove off, offers you a shy smile. Your bag drops to the floor. Something inside you snaps, pulls loose. You burst into tears.
"Oh," he says, and you forcefully close the distance, wrapping your arms around him as you try and stifle quiet sobs. Wonder, for a moment, what the fuck is happening. "Surprise?"
You laugh, weakly. Run a hand down your face. "Sorry, sorry."
He pushes you back, apprising you with a gentle and skeptical look. Holds your face in his hands and thumbs away the fresh tears. Frowns. Presses his palm to your forehead. "You didn't tell me you were sick."
Leaning into his hand, you shake your head. "Not sick. Just tired." You pull back. "I can't believe you're here. Jesus. How long are you here for?"
His attention is drawn back to the stove, beside which he has set your green travel mug. He smiles sheepishly. "Was trackin' ya on Find My." The kettle spits a small whistle as he pours the water. Your heart clenches; this stupidly thoughtful man.
"I can rally," you offer, even as he ushers you into the bedroom. There is a suddenly conspicuous absence of dogs.
"They're in Brooklyn. Figured you'd wanna get some shit here, and then we Uber that way?"
"You really thought this through, huh?" There are clothes and toiletries at his place ("our place," he calls it, though the studio is decidedly "your place."), but you pack a few things, just in case.
It's not a secret that he doesn't love your apartment— it's a little cramped, for two men and two dogs. Plus, his apartment is more of a full condo. And the bathroom's nicer.
He watches you pack, perched on the edge of the bed. It's hard to focus on anything other than studying the soft lines of his travel-weary face. The rise and fall of his chest. Bits and pieces of him that the front-facing iPhone camera cannot pick up over FaceTime.
—
In the back of the Uber, mindful of the rearview mirror, you have his left hand trapped between both of yours. The skin of his palm has toughened, calloused slightly from whatever they have him doing in the woods of Canada. It still feels the same as you press your lips to the center.
"I'm still a little confused," you whisper, "but I'm so happy you're here."
His steals his hand back, to card it through your hair. "Me too. Was going crazy, trying to keep it a secret. We've got the long weekend off for Veteran's day, so I thought..."
"Mm. Do you have an agenda this weekend?"
The Uber makes its final turn. "Yeah. I would like to sleep for one million years, in a bed, with you. And probably see Oscar and Elvira, at some point. Also maybe order Empanada Mama. I ate a Canadian empanada last week that legitimately made me sad."
You hold onto his hand as you exit the car, cross the street, key in. The tea put you at ease, but with the shock of the surprise wearing off, the weight of the day resettles as an ache across your shoulders.
The dogs bound down the hallway as you key in. Pedro's suitcase has not made it much farther than the front door, though it has been cracked open and partially rummaged. "I was in a rush," he said sheepishly.
"Mm. You showerin’?”
“Probably should. We heading up?”
You nod, kneeling to re-zip his bag; the duties of young knees. (The age gap is disregarded, unless he plays the old card to his advantage.) Edgar pounces on you while you’re accessibly low. Ten different questions die in the back of your throat. Every step between you and the king sized bed on the third floor feels impossible.
—
He smells clean, as he wraps his arms around you, skin still damp and warm from the obscenely hot showers he prefers. You have a long day of rehearsal ahead of you tomorrow, then an even longer show day— but none of that matters now.
"Thank you for coming." You mumble, sleepily, into the worn fabric on his shoulder. Fingers card through your hair, brush gently over your temple. You've got a hand beneath his t-shirt, splayed across the base of his ribs.
Pedro makes an indignant noise, low, from his chest. "Not a place on Earth I'd rather be."
#pedro pascal rpf#pedro pascal x male reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal one shot#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal/reader#the last of us#this man has a grip on me#the last of us imagine#the mandalorian
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Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Nineteen
Brushing Teeth - Joel Miller/F!Reader
Summary: Grief is cruel and just because you and Joel live in the safe haven that is the Jackson community it does not mean you're immune to it.
Possibly the saddest (but also kinda best) thing I have written so far.
Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader
WC: 2400
Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, jackson era, No use of y/n, Crying, past trauma, Survivor Guilt, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Tooth Brushing, This is like seriously sad pls beware, Author has already scheduled a therapist appointment
AO3 LINK
notes: a huge thank you to my beta babes maria and aura for reading this a month in advance. i love you both so much.
this is a really, really sad fic. it's likely not gonna go the way you think. please continue with caution <3
_________________________________________
Circles
He died just after sunrise.
It had been supposed to be a simple shift, guarding the perimeter from one of the high posts along the fence that stretched around Jackson. The wood had been icy, slippery. There had been a railing. But when his heart had failed and he had collapsed to the ground, slipping over it like an ice rink, it hadn't been able to stop his body from falling.
There was nothing that could have been done. He had been old, older than most. Even with modern medicine, his condition would have caught up to him sooner or later.
Fate had decided on sooner.
Word hadn't reached Joel before he had left for patrol and so he had spent the day clearing Infected and checking the lookouts, unaware of the tragedy that had, for once, struck within the very borders of home. It wasn't until he came back in the early evening, that he noticed something was off.
There were no children bustling around on the playground, no adults studying the notice boards to see which movie was on tonight or who offered guitar lessons. Curtains were drawn shut. It was quiet.
The somber look on Tommy's face, who was waiting for Joel at the stables, was enough to send him into a panic.
Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?
Tommy must have seen it coming because he had already raised his hands, as if surrendering to his brother, ”They're both fine.” Joel nodded solemnly as Tommy explained, repeating the events of the day in a few words.
He could live with that. As long as it wasn 't Ellie. Or you. Never you.
Ellie had spent the day with you, trying to look after you, doing the best she could. She was waiting in the large armchair in the living room, as close to the front door as she physically could.
Joel practically barges in, his gaze quickly checking the adjacent rooms. When he sees Ellie, he immediately relaxes a bit, knowing that at least someone has been here. Someone who kept watch.
“How is she?” He asks, disregarding any need for a greeting towards the teenager. She doesn't seem to mind, instead hopping up from the seat and walking with him, the pair quickly moving through the hallway.
“I gave her some food. I don't think she ate any of it. She wouldn't talk to me either. I'm sorry, Joel, I-'' He quickly shakes his head. He'll take care of Ellie, reassure her that she did a good job, which he undoubtedly knows she did. But Ellie is not the person in this house who needs him the most right now. Ellie is not the person who lost someone today.
“Later, okay?” Joel demands softly. His voice carries an underlying, stern tone that he rarely uses anymore. In other circumstances, Ellie would get mad at him, but she understands. He is in survival mode. He is making sure the people he loves are still there. He is scared.
Joel remembers your form that he had left behind this morning. Still in bed, sleepy, only reluctantly pressing a small kiss to his lips, the sweet promise of a few more minutes of sleep too tempting to ignore. He remembers the night before, the bubbly, talkative personality you usually have, that is a just little too much for him sometimes.
Your world had changed in just a few hours, a few minutes. And he hadn't been here.
Why had he not been here?
“Are you okay?” Ellie asks hesitantly and only then Joel realizes that he's stopped in the middle of the hallway. He continues his steps.
“Why wouldn't I be?” Ellie gives a shrug next to him but Joel barely notices, still too caught up in his thoughts.
He needs to see you. See that you are fine, just like Tommy had promised. Not truly fine, maybe, but alive. Breathing.
As they reach the old, wooden staircase, Ellie stops, taking in Joels gaze, that to her, still seems miles away, ”She wouldn't leave the bed. I barely recognized her.”
Joel just nods, his worry growing with every word. His grip on the banister tightens slightly, knuckles turning white.
“Go see her,” Ellie whispers and gently nudges him.
“Right.” That finally gets Joel to move again, his voice a little higher than usual and trembling slightly. Ellie knows he is close to crying. She presses her fist into his back a little harder and he nods again before he hurries up the stairs two steps at a time.
It's not until he reaches the end of the landing, until he is two steps away from the bedroom door that he slows down. Once again, uncertainty takes over his body. What does he say? Do? He's not equipped to handle this, he's not good with emotions, much less sad ones.
He's not sure what happens. An instinct takes over, steering his body steadily towards the door and pulling his fingers towards the brass handle. Maybe it's some old, parental instinct from before the outbreak, that he still carries buried in the back of his mind. Either way, he sends a silent, thankful prayer that it's there, that it allows him to continue putting one foot in front of the other despite having no idea how to.
The wooden door creaks slightly as he pushes it open. It's a familiar sound, more comforting than unnerving.
Joel is greeted by cold and darkness. He shivers as he steps into the room:'' Jesus Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He doesn't have to wait until his eyes adjust to the light. He can find his way in the darkness.
He quickly turns the radiator higher, another familiar noise flaring up. Familiar is good. Familiar is safe.
He doesn't want to turn on the big light but he finds the switch for the small lamp in the corner and finally, he can take in the scene before him. His gaze is immediately caught by the bed in the middle of the room.
Whenever he goes out on patrol and you get the bed to yourself, you make use of his absence by occupying the entire bed, sprawling yourself out in the middle of the worn-out mattress. More than once, he had to physically fight you if he wanted his side of the bed back.
Now, however, you aren't in your usual position. You are curled up, tucked into the far corner of the bed, blankets and pillows wrapped around what Joel can only assume to be your body, some of them resting against the headboard.
It almost looks like you are trying to protect yourself, shield yourself from the grief that is knocking on the door downstairs, that is coming the same way he just has, slipping into the dark, cold room. A nest, to fend off the grief. Joel knows it wont work. He has tried.
A few of your limbs poke out from holes in the fortress of pillows and blankets and Joel softens slightly as his gaze wanders over them. He suddenly wants to run again, but he is afraid it'll startle you so instead, he approaches slowly, softly, like one may approach a wounded animal.
The bed dips slightly beside you as he sits down, his strong arms immediately wandering under the covers, searching for you. He finds the fabric of a shirt first, and then there's skin. Soft, gentle skin and he wants to cry with the familiarity of it. Looking down, he isn't surprised to see the shirt he had discarded last night, his favorite green flannel, now wrapped around your trembling body.
The thoughts come back. A small body, wrapped in a flannel shirt. He has seen it often enough to fill several lifetimes. He doesn't mind it anymore.
He knows it's a lie. He does mind it.
They had wrapped Sarah in flannel.
He can still see her. Still see the shirt, stained with blood. There had been so much blood.
Joel thinks about his daughter, his everything, his whole world, taken from him, wrapped in a shirt and buried in a backyard under a tree somewhere in Texas.
Joel knows he can't have these thoughts right now. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs until they feel like they're bursting. He pushes the thoughts away. Later.
His right arm finds your hair and you finally make a noise, whimpering softly at finally, finally having him here with you.
The blanket is gently pulled to the side, allowing Joel to see your face. Your hair is messy, your cheeks tear-streaked, eyes red and puffy from crying. You look like you have just been through hell.
Joel reminds himself you probably have.
His insides clench as he pushes down his own tears. And then you open your mouth.
“It was supposed to be my shift.”
That's all it takes. He hates himself because he's supposed to be there for you, he's supposed to be strong. But the fear is stronger, the knowledge that he could've lost you today gripping him again and not letting him breathe.
He leans forward in an attempt to hide his tears, his face, his own sorrow and you break too, shamelessly sobbing into his chest. You stay entangled like this, bodies pressed tightly together, you crying loudly and him crying silently. It feels like a long time. Your voice becomes hoarse but the sobs wont stop. You're not sure they ever will.
Joel moves, eventually, kneeling down on the floor so that his face is level with yours and he can study your face. His hands remain on your skin, not once breaking contact. He rubs small circles into your skin, caressing every part of you he can reach.
Nothing can touch you as long as he does.
“Gonna help you a bit. That alright, darlin'?” He mumbles softly. Your answer comes automatically, the same one you've given Ellie throughout the day, ''I'm not hungry.”
“I know you ain't,” Joel mumbles. He lets it slide:” But we should clean you up. Just a bit.” He promises as he leans forward and kisses your cheek. You don't struggle as he picks you up more carefully than ever, hoisting you onto his hips and wrapping his arms around your legs to keep you upright against his chest. It's almost like being carried by a father.
Joel takes you into the bathroom, sitting you down on the counter. There is a bald patch on the wall where a mirror used to be until he gave it to Ellie. He always gives.
Patiently, he waits until the water is lukewarm and then begins wiping your face with a washcloth. You probably smell but you can't bring yourself to care and neither does Joel.
He moves on to your hair, untying the knot that once resembled some sort of hairstyle and brushing through it with his fingers for a moment before tying it back again. His movements are so gentle, so smooth. You watch as he grabs your toothbrush, gently wetting it and putting some toothpaste on, his left hand all the while remaining on your thigh.
Joel gently nudges the toothbrush against your mouth and you dutifully open up, allowing him to start brushing your teeth, still as gentle as he can.
He can feel the sadness again, threatening to overwhelm him. He brushes in small circles.
The last time he had done this was with Sarah. She was eight. She had been sick then, caught a stomach bug at soccer camp and thrown up for days. Joel had dragged his mattress to her room, sleeping beside her.
He moves on to the other side of your mouth. More circles.
Sarah had vomited on him, in the middle of the night, staining both the carpet and his pants. He hadn't batted an eye, just stripped the beds and taken her to the bathroom to clean her up. All he had needed was for her to feel better. And if him enduring it would lessen her suffering, he would have chosen it time and time again.
He doesn't say this. He thinks he may, some day. But not anytime soon.
Circles. Joel brushes in circles.
When he's done, he holds a cup to your lips and you lean sideward, spitting into the sink. He is still caressing your thigh, a constant, reassuring touch. He brings his other hand up to your face, using his thumb to wipe the last bit of toothpaste off the corner of your mouth.
“Let's get back to bed, hm?” You don't trust your voice again yet so you just nod and sniffle a bit. As he picks you up again, you feel another wave, a nauseous wave of grief coming down on you. You think he feels it too because he grips you a little tighter. You start crying again.
You return to the mess of pillows and blankets that still cover half the bed. But now he is there with you. His too large frame under the covers next to you, watching with sad, brown eyes as you curl up against him. He pats your hair, leans down and gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It has been ages.
The small streak of light that falls through a hole in the blankets reflects in his broken watch for a split moment. He looks down at it, the motion so familiar still. And he knows. He knows how you feel.
“Get some rest, babygirl,” he whispers. He'll do right by you. He won't let you go through the things he did. You close your eyes, taking in his smell, his warmth. It feels different now.
It could've been her. It could've been her. Thank god it wasn't her.
You're still in his arms, you're still here, still breathing, chest falling and rising in a semi-steady rhythm. He makes the choice in that moment. Or, he realizes it. He feels like he has made it a long time ago.
He will endure it. He will endure everything if it just takes away a little of your grief, of your pain.
He doesn't need to say it. It's an unspoken truth.
Joel Miller will be there.
#joel miller#joel miller / you#joel miller / reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel / reader#tlou#the last of us#tlou part 2#grief#hurt/comfort#ellie williams#tommy miller#fanfic#softpascalito#kinktober#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel / you#survivors guilt#brushing teeth#extreme hurt/comfort#emotional hurt/comfort
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https://www.tumblr.com/hologramcowboy/745395618485272576/am-i-being-extra-sensitive-or-was-this-a-rape?source=share
I hope I can vent here for a second. I genuinely do not understand why anyone gave him a pass on that one. Had that been someone like Joe Jonas, Ben Affleck, Henry Cavill, Mike Tyson, Pedro Pascal even, they would not have been given a pass and it would have been all over main news media sites. He wouldn't be making that joke if he knew any of the children that were sexually abused by priests for decades or what happened with the Boy Scouts. There are just some things you don't make a joke about. His Brendan Fraser The Whale joke he made was bad enough, as were some other jokes he made over the years, but in this day and age, there is no more excuse. I don't personally know anyone affected by the abuse people of those two institutions enacted, that I'm aware of I should say, and I would never ever make that joke. As gross as Misha can be, even he didn't make that joke. Even if he wanted to play along, he shouldn't, not after he was so vocal about the mass graves found in Canada and the atrocities committed by the churches up there against Native children for decades.
Any AA that defends that joke Jensen made is a heartless asshole that needs to get their heads checked as soon as possible.
Now, that all being said, I think he's saying worse and worse things lately for two reasons. The first is I think this is really him and he just doesn't give a fuck anymore. Like he'll still try to tell people what he thinks they want to hear but more and more lately, he gives a very no fucks given vibe. Whether that's due to what happened with The Winchesters or Rust or whatever, that's the vibe he gives off. The second is I think he says assholish shit like this at certain points because he's trying to give off a Soldier Boy vibe, sort of selling that character since a lot of people speculate he'll be returning for The Boys' last season. Sort of like he used to dress as Dean with the flannel and jeans, and then like Beau when Big Sky was airing. I could be wrong but that's the vibe I got when he went "oh, that's too far?"
I'm curious as to what your thoughts are. Not about the joke, we all know it was disgusting and highly inappropriate, but about why he presents himself like this sometimes. And why he always seems to get a free pass the more he ups the ante on being an asshole.
Jensen's self image is warped by his sychopant fans and his deluded wife. He has no personality of his own and instead tries to inject in himself the attributes of the characters he gets cast as because he mistakes characters for branding. Branding is who You are not who your character is. Branding is that unique essence you bring to your character.
Sorry to say but this is what happens when a man who lacks culture and studies gets hyper praised to the point where he loses his sensitivity towards others. Jensen has a one sided view in life, anyone who disagrees with him is automatically a bully. He is just like his sychopantic fans. He can't perceive the world in all of its layers and that's endlessly sad for someone who claims to be an artist.
He claims he wants to bring light to the world or whatever will earn him approval but then acts like a jock who is bullying his friends.
At the end of the day, Jensen is a subpar actor who lacks culture in an industry where people are now multihyhyphenated and multicultured. It would do him good to be more grounded and realize that his influence can help people when it is used with the intention to help, rather than when it is squandered on incredibly inappropriate jokes and behaviors (getting superdrunk at cons is a superbad example).
Being praised in a one sided way has clearly gone to his head. That terrible joke is not the first time he demonstrated a lack of empathy and self awareness. I really wish he had good role models around him but he's married to the queen of bullying so why are we even surprised when he acts like a mindless, self centered jock?
Jensen needs to grow up. A lot. Thank you for allowing me to vent, I have tears in my eyes as I am writing this, I am just so sad he's turning out to be such a disappointment on so many levels. You see, you are definitely not alone in your need to vent and thank you so much for expressing things in an honest, open way. AAs forget what honesty and having values means because they forego their own values and replace them with the perceived ones from Jensen. It pains me to say this because I saw so much in him but...Jensen is no rolemodel.
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Weekend Update 02/11/2024
Nerdie! It's the middle of the month, how are you?
Good. Nothing to complain about. Mainly relaxed and then worked Thursday and Friday. My orientee made me laugh.
Oh? How so?
She said that now that she's had some different preceptors she enjoys my balances of being a bit hands off since I know she's experienced, but still checking in during the shift to see how things are going. (Puffs out chest and also wonders if that's a good or bad thing.)
I mean, if she said it's fine, it should be fine right? Now did you do anything writing this week?
I did a bit. Not as much as I normally do. I'm gearing up for projects I have either agreed to or planned for myself.
My two fics are quite different. One was silly and sweet and the other was filth. Nerdie in a nutshell really:
Is it for the wallet of the shoebox? (Tim Rockford x plus size female reader) Tim being silly in a bookstore leads to a serious conversation and a partial photoshoot at home. Comedy and domestic fluff with slight spice.
One Pass for the both of Us (Lucian Flores x female reader x Benny Miller) You and your boyfriend Lucian have the same hall pass. All smut with sweatpants and gold chains.
Working on two things I promised people. One requested fluff and the other action and smut.
I decided to start a new series (because clearly I don't have enough - Dieter, Frankie and Tim give Nerdie a death glare) 👀 because this Pedro character was in my WIPs way before the three of you! Might even help me brainstorm…
Two Hearts by the Ocean will feature Javier Gutierrez x Abigail (plus size OFC). The vibe is sweet summer romance. Mainly fluff every Wednesday, not sure how many parts, at least five. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for it. I have a few people in mind but if you'd like to be added, let me know. 😆
Roc & Doc and Weddings 101 with Dieter are still ongoing, no worries. Tim and Dieter have calmed. Frankie is a bit pissed still but you have the longest masterlist Fish! You don’t care…well. Okay. 🫡
I might be trying to figure out how to write Ezra. I love reading fics with the man, but his speech patterns have so many nuances to it. I've been studying @morallyinept aka Jett's Pedro Pascal Character Database that she's been compiling and her entry on Ezra from Prospect has been invaluable. It's an excellent reference for Pedro character fic writers or if you just wanna know more. She also has one specifically on Ezra’s speech patterns that I swear I’ve read at least four times.
It's me, I'm the problem. 😭 I’m either overthinking or not focusing on the right parts. Ugh…
Fics I read this week: ( I took time off work and had plenty of time to read - still didn't get to everything. 🥸)
Movie Night by @munsonownsmyass (Zach Ellison x reader)
No game at all (but I can do this) by @for-a-longlongtime (Marcus Pike x Tim Rockford - Frankie Morales floating in thots)
Wouldn't It Be Nice - Chapter one by @lady-pug (Agent Whiskey x female reader)
02 x birds - Frankie Morales x reader by @trulybetty
Mon Amour by @saturn-rings-writes (Jake Lockley x black female reader)
The Stars by @youvebeenlivingfictional (Poe Dameron x reader)
Mutual by @morallyinept (Ezra x female reader)
Dinner Party by @lavendertales (Steven Grant x fem reader)
The Mercenary and the Whore by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers
Comedy of Errors (MK Spring Bingo #3) by @soft-girl-musings (Steven Grant x GN reader)
03 x snowfall - Marcus Pike x reader by @trulybetty
Ambrosial by @spacecowboyhotch (Din Djarin x fem. black reader)
Half of you - part 1 and part 2 by @foxilayde (Santiago Garcia x female reader)
God Speed by @magpiepills (Tim Rockford x female reader)
Not for nothing @magpiepills (Ezra x female reader)
Perfect Fit by @lowlights (Frankie Morales x plus size reader)
To the Flame - chapter 5 by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x female reader)
Come back to me by @reallyrallyauthor (Poe Dameron x female reader)
If you’re not looking at @immarocketman ‘s art, then I feel sad for you. It’s beautiful 🤗 They put out a sketch of Din/Cobb this week that’s apparently going to have a fanfic written about it by @theywhowriteandknowthings
There was also an excellent head cannon about Sarah’s younger years by @clickergossip that resonated with me on Black girlhood. ☺️
That's about it until next week! 🥰
Stay hydrated and safe!
Love Nerdie 💜
#weekend update#Nerdie update#Nerdie's fic recs#pedro pascal characters#fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#din djarin#frankie morales#ezra prospect#Tim Rockford#Marcus Pike#Santiago garcia#Steven Grant#jake lockley#javier peña#javier gutierrez#poe dameron#zach wellison#Agent Whiskey
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