#Javier pe��a

[pedroshotwifey]

To the Flame chapter fourteen

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Chapter w/c: 2.7k

Chapter warnings: physical abuse, manipulation, mental abuse, Javi being a dick, toxic relationship, alcohol consumption, mild description of injury, mentions of noncon, emotional distress, anxiety attacks, this is fucked, please just go in with caution

Chapter Summary: Is this the beginning of the end?

A/N: hey, y’all! Another chapter that hits pretty close to home for me, as I’m sure a lot of the upcoming ones will. A lot of emotions in this one! Please always remember that I am here for anyone who would like to talk ❤️

*****

You don’t get out of bed for the majority of the next day. 

When you first wake, you feel like you’re being crushed by an overwhelming weight of emotion. It pushes you down and strips you until you’re bare and gasping for air, making you writhe and whimper in pain. And then it just stops. And you don’t feel sad, or scared, or anything else. Just void and numb. Like your body isn’t yours and your mind is in a far away place that you don’t dare attempt to reach.

The curtains are down, leaving the bedroom a dark and quiet place. Perfect to lay in bed, unfeeling and alone. It gives you nothing to focus on, so you instead hone in on the stickiness of your wet cheeks and the throbbing of your sore eyes. The sensation of your crumbling heart, though, you push it far, far away and leave it to rest. 

It’s Monday, so you know Javi’s gone to work, but you have no idea what time it is. You don’t want to get up to look, and you don’t want to think about your husband. Fuck, your husband. Tears sting your eyes and start to overflow, but you’re not consciously doing it. It’s like your very soul is confused and is causing your body to react in every way you wish it wouldn’t. At the thought of him, the uncomfortable ache between your legs makes itself known. It fucking hurts and it makes you feel pathetic, though you don’t understand why. You just know that there's an underlying feeling of shame crawling uncomfortably beneath your skin.

You want to wash it away—all the shame and hurt and confusion you won’t allow to surface. You want to get in the shower and scrub your skin until it burns. You want to drown his scent, his touch, the memory of his hands, his body on top of yours. But you don’t, you can’t. You can’t move from the place you’re already drowning in. 

You lay in the dark and silently sob, not doing anything to wipe the tears as they run down into your hairline because you know that there will just be more. You cry until your eyes hurt and your breathing starts to smooth out again, until you’re lulled back asleep by the wracks of your body. It feels like a cruel trick from the darkness, but you let it take you willingly. Anything to escape this nightmarish reality. 

It’s probably only a couple of hours later when you wake up again to the silence. But this time, the first thing out of your mouth is a frustrated and strangled sob. Anger warms your entire body as you throw the blanket off without thinking. You’re not really sure where the aggression comes from or what it’s directed to, so you just blame it on yourself for being weak. For waking up and crying and giving up. You want to kick yourself and tell yourself to just suck it the fuck up. 

But you can’t, so you instead slam the bedroom door open and stomp into the kitchen. Another heave leaves your lips as you enter the threshold, this one closer to a scream as tears escape you and your stomach twists painfully at the reminder of last night. Your knees give out, leaving you to sink down onto the freshly tiled floor. You soak in your anger and your hatred, and it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. It fully consumes you, making you tremble with the force of it and your teeth grind as you try and fail to bite it down.

Your hands come up and thread through your hair, pulling tightly and close to the base, but more to ground you than to pull any strands out. You can’t fall into a panic attack here, you may not come out. Javi’s the only one who can save you from that, and he’s not here. You give yourself two minutes to collect yourself, though you’re still not all the way there as you force yourself up and push toward the medicine drawer. 

With rough movements, you pull it open, snatch up the melatonin, and shakily pour four tablets into your palm. You shove them into your mouth and swallow them dry, wanting them to kick in as soon as possible. You start to screw the lid back on, but it doesn’t thread right, and you make a sound of frustration again as you say ‘fuck it’ and just shove it back onto the counter, pills spilling all over the place. You go straight back to bed, pulling the blanket up and letting yourself cry back to sleep. 

The third time, you wake in a panic, your body shaking in an aggressive and unnatural way. Your eyes snap open and find that the light is turned on, and it’s only once you feel a harsh grip on both of your arms that you comprehend someone shaking you awake. Your first instinct is to push back on the bed, struggling to get away, but the hold gets tighter as the person yells something that you can’t understand yet in your current state.

“How many did you fucking take?” Javi demands, his face coming close to yours. Tears are already leaking from your eyes as you meet his gaze, your voice stuck in your throat. You wish they would go away. It seems like it’s impossible to be awake without them accompanying you. 

“W-What?” you manage to squeeze out. He’s stopped shaking you, but he looks angry. No, not just angry, you realize as your heart contracts painfully in your chest. He looks scared.

“The pills, how many did you fucking take?” 

Your head just shakes as you try to catch up. 

“How fucking many?” He does jolt you this time, bringing you even closer. He starts to drag you off of the bed, and his fingers dig in so hard that they hurt. You yelp and jump up, trying to ease the strain. It only hits you once your feet hit the ground, what he could possibly be talking about. 

“F-Four!” you spit. “I took four!” 

He stops talking but his jaw stays set as he looks you up and down like he’s both assessing your well-being and deciding something detrimental. Your lip trembles as he looks into your eyes, and you know that the only reason you’re standing right now is because of the support of his rough hands. But you still try to back away as he brings you closer and embraces you. But it doesn’t feel right. Whereas your body used to fit together with his, it’s now like something chipped away, leaving a jagged gap. It feels so fucking wrong. 

You let him hold you for a moment before you speak. And when you do, you’re not quite sure where it comes from. You think that the words were bouncing around in your head, but you didn’t want to actually say them, you didn’t try. But they come out—quiet and trembling—but they do. 

“Let me go.” It’s spoken almost incoherently into his chest, but he goes still all the same. He doesn’t attempt to loosen his grip. 

“Javi,” you say, more confident than you figured it would be. You think it might be the anger coming forward and holding you up, lifting your voice higher. “Let me go.” 

He loosens up slowly, but keeps you in his grasp as he steps back just enough to look into your wet eyes. “What did you just say to me?” 

Anger bubbles up even more, causing you to boil over. 

“I said let me the fuck go,” you seethe, matching his firey gaze. You pull one arm away from him and he snatches you back quicker than you can blink. You’re flipped onto your stomach and your front half is pinned to the bed in a flash. 

“Let me fucking go!” you yell and thrash, fear creeping up alongside your fury. Javi’s heavy body covers yours, his grunt spilling into your ear as he uses all his weight to keep you between him and the mattress, defenseless and unable to move. The more you squirm, the tighter he holds you, his grip crushing to the point where you cry out in pain. 

He doesn’t relent until you stop struggling, and instead lay there and pant like a feral dog being forced down for a shot. His chest heaves against your back from his efforts as his hot breath fans across the side of your face. You smell a faint tinge of alcohol, but you don’t think it’s much. He must have not been home for too long. Maybe just enough for one or two beers before he saw the pills or grew curious about your absence.

“There’s something you need to understand, sweetheart,” he says quietly and so calmly that it sends a shiver down your sweaty spine. He waits to make sure you don’t have anything to say before he continues. “I’m in charge here, and you need to get that inside your dumb little head.” 

Your stomach drops with dread, your eyelids fluttering as you resist the urge to close them. Whatever part of your heart that hadn’t cracked and bruised within the last few weeks, just fell apart. You’re overcome by a sudden surge of grief, the only thing racing through your mind just keeps repeating to you that your husband is gone, lost for good. You’re alone and you’ll never see him again. Your body trembles, and Javi must recognize it as submission. 

“Everything I do is for you, whether you like it or not,” he growls. “You need to start showing some fucking respect about it.” 

You both lay there for a while, and it’s like you’re seeing it from the outside. A scared woman being pulled apart from the inside by the shell of the man who once gave her everything. She doesn’t know where he went, nor what happened for him to leave, but she knows that she’ll, too, never be the same. 

When Javi gets back up, you stay exactly where he left you. You’re not crying anymore, but you think it’s because you’re finally out of tears. Come to think of it, you don’t remember the last time you drank something. Your body is probably incredibly dehydrated. 

“I’m going to make dinner,” Javi tells you from the doorway. “Get yourself together and be at the table in half an hour.” 

You nod shallowly into the mattress, not looking at him, not looking at anything as he walks away. You don’t wait long before you numbly drag yourself into the shower, locking the bathroom door for the first time since you’ve been living with Javi. You strip, avoiding the mirror, and then crawl into the shower and just sit in the hot stream for a moment. It’s almost a little too hot, but you don’t pay too much attention to it. 

All of your energy goes into clearing your mind. You don’t want to fucking think, you just want it to stop. You let the water wash it all away; the grief, the fear, the ache, the sadness, the pain, the lingering hope and happiness that doesn’t seem to get the hint that it’s no longer welcome here. 

The next thing you now, you’re back out of the shower, your hair and body scrubbed clean. You’re towelling your wet breasts off, trying not to think about anybody else's hands on them. You never want to be touched again, now that your body has been tainted and defiled. You feel broken and disgusting. 

You jump when the doorknob rattles, your heart racing as you clutch the towel close to you. There’s a quiet sigh and then a gentle knock from the other side. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” 

Your legs wobble as your vision blurs. He sounds so normal that it fucking kills you. He sounds like your husband, caring and concerned. You forget to answer, stuck all alone inside your head. 

“Sweetheart?” No response comes from your lips. “I’m coming in,” he tells you. And you don’t protest, because that hope that you’d tried so hard to scrub away has somehow lingered and clung to your battered heart. 

The door starts to unlock and slowly open, and you take a step back to make room. When it’s open all the way, you catch the eyes of your husband standing in the doorway. He watches you with sympathy and something you clock as regret. He opens his arms and gives you a barely-there smile. It doesn’t reach his sad eyes, but it conveys what he’s trying to say. I’m sorry, please forgive me.

You bolt forward, immediately sobbing into his chest as he wraps his arms around you. You want to hate yourself for how quickly you give in, but you can’t. A different person, you tell yourself. You soak up the attention he’s giving you, relief flooding your very bones as you accept his embrace. His chin comes down to rest on your head as he holds you tightly and shushes you. 

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “I know.” 

He pets your hair and brings you into the bedroom, helping you sit down on the bed as you sniffle and attempt to dry your tears. He goes to the dresser and then comes back with one of his T-shirts and a pair of your underwear and pajama shorts. You calm down as you stand and let him dress you, savoring the calmness that’s filled the air. 

When you’re dressed, he leads you into the kitchen, where he has what smells like chicken noodle soup warming on the stovetop. You sit down at the table as he makes you a bowl and brings it over to you along with a glass of water, of which you quickly gulp down half of. Your mouth waters at the smell, your empty stomach grumbling. He hands you your spoon, places a kiss to the top of your head, and takes the seat across from you. 

You eat in silence, allowing yourself to sink back into your body. The soup warms you and you find it easier to relax. The meal is spent in a comfortable silence, and Javi waits for you to finish your bowl before he talks again. 

“I invited Steve and Connie for dinner one weekend sometime next month.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’d thought he didn’t like them. 

“Do you think you could make dinner for that? I can pick something up, but I think they’d both be lucky to try your cooking,” he winks at you, a smile playing at his lips. "Still gotta pick out a date and hammer out some details, but I'll let you know."

Your cheeks heat slightly and you avoid his gaze as you smile as well, pride swelling in your chest. “Yeah, I can do that,” you tell him. “What would you like?” 

“Whatever you feel like, sweetheart.” 

You nod and get up to get another small bowl of soup. When you turn back to the table, he motions for you to come toward him. 

“C’mere, baby,” he pleads, pushing his chair out so you have room to sit on his lap. Your heart jumps to your throat out of reflex, but you walk toward him anyway, trying to quell your anxiety as you lower yourself on to him. He waits for you to get comfortable, your legs dangling off of one side of his lap. He nuzzles his face into your cheek as his hand grips your waist, and your breath hitches. 

“I hope you forgive me for earlier, baby,” he whispers. “I know I was rough. I was just so scared.” 

You lean back slightly to look at him, at the vulnerability in his eyes. You don’t even think about what happened in the bedroom as you tell him, “It’s okay, Javi. I forgive you.” You give him a weak smile and cup one side of his jaw, stroking the light stubble there. 

“I meant it, though,” he says gently. “I’ll always do what’s best for you, and I’m sorry if you don’t like that sometimes.” 

You swallow, ignoring the lump in your throat as you nod. “It’s okay,” you assure him, though your voice is barely even a whisper. You hold as still as you can as Javi leans forward and presses a barely-there kiss to your lips. He doesn’t linger, and a part of you is extremely thankful for that. 

“Alright, baby,” he says, his lips tickling your jaw. “Go ahead and finish your soup.” 

You nod and pick up your spoon. 

******

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[din-jarring]

javier peña in every episode of narcos

2x01 free at last

YALL NEED TO GO SEE THIS DRAWING BY @rizzraa AND SCREAM YOUR LOVE TO HER

(p.s. imma post gifs of this scene tmr i pinky promise

[fuckyeahpedropascal]

Walking away: who does it best?

Joel Miller v Javier Peña

You can definitely tell the TLOU crew took inspiration from the multitude of walking away shots from Narcos...

• Masterlist •

Related posts:

The himbo face: Joel v Javier*

Interrogation: Joel v Javier*

Sass Round 1: Javier v Joel*

[graphicpolicy]

IDW celebrates 40 years of TMNT with five new comics!

IDW celebrates 40 years of TMNT with five new comics! #comics #comics #tmnt

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓖𝓸𝓭’𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓬𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷

Dark!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: What you assumed would be a routine sale to a regular customer turns into a drug deal gone wrong when you realise it's not her, but her uncle, that has showed up to bury the hatchet

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT DDDNE, NONCON/R*PE, mentions of DEA, age gap [reader is in her early 20s Javi is in his 40s], reader sells drugs, reader wears a skirt, rough sex, semi public sex, knife and threats with blades, reader is actively experiencing Stockholm syndrome, degradation, dumbification, humiliation, victim blaming and punishment [he is teaching her a lesson], size difference [Javi is bigger than reader and can lift her], using panties as a gag, crying, very mean!Javi, domineering!Javi, slight praise, petnames, choking, creampie, unprotected P in V [don't do it!!] this is much darker than my other work. I may not have included something that could potentially trigger you, so please proceed with caution. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: Surprise dark Javi Peña for you lovelies. Please heed the warnings, this may not be for you, it gets pretty dark. If it isn't, scroll past. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Big thanks to @toxicanonymity for brainstorming with me about this like a year ago (when it was meant to be about Joel) lmao! I finally finished it!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!! Mwah!!

Masterlist

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Go tell that long tongue liar

Go and tell that midnight rider

Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down

What you did was a little side job, a way to make a quick buck after long school hours had tired you out beyond measure. Frankly, that was all you had to say about it. 

Business in the wealthy part of town was far from rough- kids in picket fence houses were your prime demographic, after all. They had the time, and they sure as hell had the money. If you weren’t going to supply it, someone else would. Of course, if their parents got a whiff of how their children scrambled to you like a pack of dogs you wouldn’t hear the last of it. 

It's not like anyone would have suspected anything to begin with– not from the neighbourhood’s golden child. But you had to thank your parents for that reputation. No one would expect something like that from a sweet thing like Sarah either- which is why you were surprised when she rang you up on your second phone shortly after her 18th birthday. 

It had been a couple of months since she’d been coming to you– before parties and such. You didn't ask many questions. She was only a senior, but who were you to play moral policeman? You were barely two years ahead. 

Besides, she wasn’t really a resident of your neighbourhood– just came to hang at her uncle’s every weekend. 

It probably felt a lot more dirty considering you knew him quite well. Well, knew was a strong word. Your parents were acquaintances and he’d helped fix the fence of your house a few years prior. You’d see him every now and then and even tried the batch of cookies Sarah had roped him into baking and sent over. 

He’d often see you around and ask about college and the like. He had quite a good impression of you and you just couldn’t stomach telling him you sold his niece drugs on the weekend. Especially because, when he wasn’t getting roped into baking cookies, in his day to day life, Javi P was your neighbourhood’s most beloved narc. 

You wondered how Sarah didn't let the fact that her uncle was the head of the DEA and its most notorious, cartel busting agent, deter her from calling upon your services. You couldn't deny, you felt quite bad. You usually wouldn't. His job be damned, something felt a little dirty about lying to a sweet, kind man like Javier. 

But that was not your problem. 

Everytime Sara showed up no qualms- with the money, and her backpack, in the exact location you instructed her to. 

Spring came and went. So did summer. And before you knew it she had become a regular. 

Which is why you weren’t irked at all when on a drizzly autumn Friday Sara had asked to meet you around 5pm in your usual spot– near the fence behind the Willson’s orchids– in between those brutalist brick sheds you’d sneak off to with boys you liked. 

She was punctual, in fact she was always there a good ten minutes before you showed up just to be sure– which is why you continued forward when you caught a shadow and a rustle of the leaves emerge from the shed’s side. 

You brushed a stay raindrop from the side of your cheek as you looked up at the grey, drab sky. Thank god for the leaves– they painted the brown of the path and all that stood in your way fiery reds, yellows and oranges. 

As you approached you heard the wet ground crinkle under your feet– the leaves and the mud swallowing your shoes with every step forward. You felt them stick to the soles, and you made a mental note to leave Sarah as quickly as possible as to not be late to family dinner. There was no way you could walk fast- or even briskly, considering the state of the ground. 

When you neared the shed and rounded the corner however, you noticed Sarah's shadow seemed to have caught the light a different way– looking a lot taller, a lot more elongated under the last of the autumn sun before the clouds completely eclipsed it. 

She looked a lot taller, a lot more imposing, with broader shoulders and a cut jaw, with short, curly, dishevelled hair. A crack of thunder sounded in the distance. At a moment you knew that shadow, and you scrambled back on your feet to get up and out the Wilson’s orchid. 

But the mud in the ground was damp from the rain, and your shoes were stuck to it like toffee, and before you could realise it was pouring rain. You stumbled on the garden rake that had been leant against the shed. 

A voice called your name from behind it.  

You might as well have thrown up seeing simple, warm eyed, cookie baking Javier Peña leaning up against the wall instead of his niece – looking neither simple nor warm eyed, and sporting the scent of a hard day’s work out on the field rather than the scent of baked goods. 

You desperately tried to suppress the lump in your throat as he came into full view. His white button up shirt was damp from the water the trees had been steadily dripping onto it, his hair dishevelled, curls haphazardly sticking to his forehead. Another crack of thunder sounded, closer this time, and you felt your sweater become all the more wet every passing second. 

For a moment you contemplated playing coy, but you knew that he knew exactly what you were doing there. If he had a problem with his niece ’s purchasing habits he ought to take it up with her, you were merely supplying a demand. And that was exactly what you told him– albeit a lot less courageously than you would have liked. You could barely recognise your own voice- monotonous and flat, but importantly shaky and scared. 

And he noticed. 

He scoffed, shaking his head and giving you a slow once over– in your tattered socks and sneakers. “Disturbing the peace of this neighbourhood, corrupting the kids with your behaviour. You’re ruining it.” 

“I-” a leaf drifted through the wind and landed on your wet hand, cutting you off as you squeaked, dusting it off yourself. 

He stepped to the side, then took another menacing step in front of you. By the time he’d met you chest to chest you were backed up against the wall without realising it– unable to escape, trapped. He smiled at you- tight, and sickly sweet. He reached for the damp hem of your skirt. You felt your skin crawl under his touch. 

“Goddamn. To think I thought ya were a good one” he shook his head, a humourless laugh ringing in your ears. “Should’ve known…” You shivered when he lifted his hand to your cheek, stroking your face with his thumb and a false sense of gentleness. 

“Those whorey little skirts- tight lil tops” the lump in your throat grew as he continued, mind blank and racing simultaneously. It was nothing short of appalling. His words were harsh and cruel. His hands dropped to the waistband of your skirt, fingers slipping in to curl it. He didn't care that you recoiled at the touch, and attempted to shake off his prying gestures. He laughed again. “‘S the only way remembered ya played tennis” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching horrified as he grabbed your shoulders and shoved you backwards. Your back hit the shed once again, more violently than the time before thanks to his push, his voice had picked up that aggressive tone that had simmered down since he first started talking once again, and you felt your heart jump at the change. 

“Y’a poor dad thought I was so invested in your lil family…”  his fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, toying with your sweater to expose your soft flesh to the harsh cold of the autumn rain. Each swipe of them leaving a trail of fire behind. 

You didn't dare meet his eyes, nauseous at the very thought. You caught a bolt of lightning strike behind his back, the grey sky complimenting the tone of the entire situation. The fingers that had been drawing shapes on your hip had slid up your chest to find home around the column of your throat, and as they squeezed– gently but threateningly, you felt your legs finally begin to give way under you.  “Shame ya ain’t a good girl huh..” 

“Real fuckin shame.” he shook you lightly, and your hands flew to grip his wrist. Unsurprisingly, your efforts were to no avail. His hand maintained the unrelenting grip on your throat, his eyes trained on yours like a predator. You screwed your own shut, unwilling to meet the fury in his. 

The sound of the swish of a blade barely registered in your head. Before you could look down to catch a glimpse of the utility knife Javi had clicked into place, it was being pressed gently against your jugular. “To think ya had the nerve baby…” 

The blade grazed your skin, a hair away from piercing your skin and slicing it open. “Couldn’t even keep yourself away from the girl with a DEA agent for an uncle?” The tear that streaked its way down your cheek almost burned a hole in your skin. Followed by what seemed like a thousand more, your watery eyes set you a harsh reminder of the mess you’d fallen into. And yet you couldn’t seem to muster up the courage to actually respond to him. 

Javier seemed to like those tears though. “Oh baby, babygirl…” the hand that wasn't holding the blade against your skin came to gently cup your cheek. “Shhh, shhh, my babydoll.” With his thumb Javi wiped the tracks off your face, leaning down and kissing the dampness lightly on each side. The touch of his lips made you wince.  “Don't wanna cause a ruckus..” That sweetness of his voice made you shiver, made your chin wobble. 

“Please, Mr-” 

You yelped, feeling that blade press just a little harder against your neck, then drag itself to lift up the hem of your sweater and move under to shift between your breasts. “I said shut that whore mouth.” There it was, that harsh, cruel tone once again. You felt the blade drag up and down your skin, then hook at the collar of your warm sweater to slice through that cable knit pattern you so loved. 

The sound of the wool fraying and splitting apart rang in your ears, distracting you momentarily as Javi bunched up the fabric of your skirt, grabbing you by the thighs and hoisting you up against the rough wall of the shed. You had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist to keep yourself stable, and away from the knife that was so close to your throat. 

The rain thundered and came down against you, its sounds drawing out your weeping and whimpering. A sheet of mist and water engulfed the both of you in a horrid blanket of union. You felt Javier’s hard length press against your clothed core and you shivered. Despite it all you felt your panties dampen at the contact. 

He chuckled against your skin, knowingly, mockingly, and slid his fingers between you to rub your now wet cunt through your panties. “Cant even help yourself can you?��� you felt the arousal pool in your panties, but shook your head nonetheless. Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his fingertips drawing slow circles on your clit. “Look at that, sluts gettin’ all wet and achy, huh?” 

The thunder and lightning only picked up pace as his calloused fingers pulled your panties aside roughly, fingertips grazing your swollen, sensitive flesh. “Fuck, such a pretty pussy” The elastic of your waistband tugged against your soft skin, rubbing against you– leaving you sore, tender. You were dripping, and the feeling made you turn your head away from Javier in disgust. 

He notched his tip at your drooling entrance and you whined, wiggling your hips to shake off the desire that stirred in your tummy. “Don’t ya worry baby, gonna take care of this tight little snatch.” You shook your head no, and he only responded with a laugh. 

In a sharp, single thrust you felt his throbbing, hard length stretch you open. There was no mercy, no grace period, just a snap of his hips towards yours and his cock parting your insides in that cruel, uncaring manner. “Y’a gonna shut your ass up take what I give to ya because it looks like you’ve got no choice.” 

“Excited for family dinner? Gonna be a lot more fun when you’ve got my cum leaking out of ya.” The length of him stretched you open, no time to adjust with his sharp, quick thrusts. The pain came in sharp just the same way, made you wince and squirm at the burn. 

You had never felt so full, every sensitive spot inside you being nudged just the right way by his cock. He continued to thrust inside your wet heat, fast and deep. A tightness began to build in your tummy. 

His thumb brushed your lip and the urge to part your lips to take it into your mouth for a sense of comfort overtook you. Had you not been as frozen as you were, you would have acted on it. But that thumb pressed itself against your lips, a silent order to hush yourself as Javi’s thrusts became all the more gruelling, faster, harder, harsher. 

“Ya’ might be an adult- but y’a sure as hell act like a dumb little girl” The drag of his cock against your throbbing walls had an unwelcome moan tumbling from your lips–the pleasure more horrifying than the pain. His words had your stomach flip flopping. 

His fingers wrapped firmly around your throat, palm placing enough pressure against your skin to stutter your breathing. “Listen baby, I know words are really fuckin hard… they’re so big, and confusing. Too much for your pretty little head.” He heard you heave a loud, stuttery breath, but left his hand where it was for a few more agonising seconds. “So I had’ta’ tell you a way ya understand” 

You felt the blade that had momentarily lost contact with your flesh drag slowly against your waist and under your skirt. Yet again the sound of fabric ripping rang in your ears, the elastic of your panties snapping against your hips only marginally less painful than the feel of Javier's thick cock splitting you open. When you turned your head to catch Javier’s gaze, his own eyes were inspecting the tattered white cotton that had once had a place on your hips between his fingers. 

“Goddamn. Pretty even underneath it all? Expected something more…” He laughed maliciously, then turned his head like he was searching for the right words. “Slutty…..? whorish?” His relentless thrusts didn’t cease. “But goddamn, like keepin’ it holy dont ya?” His hips snapped towards yours again, and he groaned in pleasure. “You ain't foolin’ me.” 

“No-” you were promptly cut off, face unable to dodge his hand. Javier rolled his eyes, annoyed by how animated you were being– too much for his liking. He forced the fabric into your mouth, and you had no choice to let him.

“Goddamn, that college degree don't count for much huh? That oughta shut you up, bitch.” Soon enough, and to your horror the wetness between your legs began to spread, each movement of his prompting more sounds of pleasure than pain to embarrassingly get muffled against the fabric of your own panties. 

The way his brow furrowed, the vein on the side of his neck bulged from the strain, from how good you felt around him, from the way your pussy was milking his cock, it was all a lot more appealing of a sight than you were willing to acknowledge at the moment. “Fuck, should try whoring out this pussy for some extra cash too.” 

“Next time ya wanna make a buck, walk that pretty little ass down the block” Splinters from the wooden shed wall grazed your skin, poking through the cable knit ever so slightly, an uncomfortable little pinch that palled in comparison to the delicious stretch of his cock splitting you open. 

“Would be nice. Won’t have to drive on down to the whore house.” His cock thrust achingly out of your wet heat, building a tension inside you so strong it set your skin on fire. “Would fuck this pretty little cunt in my bed.” Your hips felt heavy, the spot between your thighs tense, aching with a desperate need to feel a release that had unwillingly been building inside you. 

“Fuck ya till you’re a mess.” He growled in your ear, lips ghosting your skin. “That’d be nice, huh? Might let ya scream that time..” The image of Javier shoving you on his bed and taking care of you flashed in your mind– perhaps a soft, gentle, deep lovemaking that you were horrified to find appealing at the moment. 

At some point the expanse of his chest became a security, his broad, looming shoulders a sickening comfort. “Look at you- fuckin liking it. Tight little snatch squeezin’ my cock.” If perhaps that gentleness had come to you some other way you would’ve died for it, but now you were crooning for it, silently begging for it, for some respite, for a sick sort of comfort that gave you butterflies. 

What you had thought to be the unbelievable, the merciful, law abiding, law enforcing protector of the innocent and the weak, was ripping you apart piece by piece, watching you crumble around his cock, your eyes roll back with that pleasure you couldn’t ignore, your hands reach for him because you pined for the gentleness he had given you a taste off.

Your sweater caught the wood of the shed, you were sure it was full of holes at that point, the knit pattern ruined forever, something to remind you of the way your pussy quivered around his cock. “Look at that… fuck… bein’ a good girl now arent ya? Learning how to behave.” The obscene sound of your wetness, the squelch of his cock pumping in and out your swollen, abused cunt had you cringing, had your heart pounding desperately against your chest. “Never too late to change your ways.. Feels so good you can't help yourself huh? Just wanna cum..” He closed the blade that he had previously had a close grip on and shoved it into his pocket. 

Your mouth loosened around the damp fabric of your panties, pleasure shooting up your spine and making your toes curl. “That's it, learnin’ well now, aren't we?” You felt hot and cold simultaneously– a chill of terror so strong you began to sweat. He pulled your hips against his, chuckling at your desperate squirming in an attempt to put off your release. 

Javier caught your face between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing your cheeks and relishing in the sight of you drooling around your panties. Showing some mercy, he pulled the fabric from between your lips, tossing it onto the dirty ground. “Wonder why a slut like you would even bother with these?” He chuckled in your ear, then pressed a sloppy kiss against your neck. 

His tip brushed that sweet spot inside you, made you tighten your thighs around his waist. “Feel so fucking good.” You felt your chest burn, your pussy bare down on his cock. The tension inside you finally snapped, a ragged moan escaping from your throat and slipping past your lips. You felt yourself gush and quiver around his cock, whole body on fire with the intensity of your release.  

“That's a good girl– fuck” His voice was strained and low, a gravely sound dripping like honey from his lips as he neared his release. The praise made your heart flutter. With a few final, sloppy thrusts Javier’s hips stilled, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you– painting your still fluttering walls with his spend. 

You felt your pussy clench around nothing when he pulled out. 

He pressed his head on the shed wall beside your cheek, catching his breath. The smell of cigarettes off his hair finally registering in your mind– something you were perhaps too preoccupied to notice prior. Another stray tear slid down your cheek, along with an ice cold raindrop that fell from the sky. 

Javier’s hand reached for your face and you flinched. He stroked your face and took it in with his eyes once again. You dared to meet his cold, unwavering gaze– so detached you wondered if he even registered life in anyone else's. Their browns drew you in despite this, and called you to make a home in them. 

He sighed, dropping your thighs from his hold and pressing you against the shed with his body.You felt his spend leak out of you and drip onto your thighs obscenely. Your hands flew to grip his shirt to maintain your balance, but Javier was quick to step back. 

Your knees shook violently as he finally retreated from the side of the shed. The damp soil and crackly leaves clung to your wet thighs as gravity forced you to the dirty ground. Instinctively you pressed your back against the shed, bracing yourself for another one of Agent Peña’s cruel jabs. You caught a glimpse of your white panties– dirty, torn and unusable, discarded on the ground. 

Worse however, you watched him fix his shirt and jeans as you trembled and caught your breath, paying you no mind whatsoever. With his body no longer shielding you from the rain you felt the gentle thud of the raindrops against your cold skin, drenching you even more than before. 

When you sank your fingers into the mud to find your bearings you felt a tickle on the inside of your ring finger. You looked down momentarily to catch a stay earthworm wriggle out from beside your hand and attempt to scurry away. 

You yelped, bringing your hand to your chest, and tucking your knees further into your front– too exhausted to pick yourself up off the ground. 

Javier's soft snicker rang in your ears like a merciless, menacing bell. When you finally looked back at him it felt even more dirty than the first time. His face scrunched in displeasure at the sight of you huddled on the ground, your clothes and overall appearance dishevelled. “Got fuckin lucky today, dirty bitch.” His words made you shiver. 

He stalked over to your hunched form once again, towering over you. His shadow covered your entire body in its shade as the evening sun peaked out from under the clouds, the final drops of the shower cascading down the sloped roof of the shed and onto your damp shoulders. 

“I better not see ya around Sarah again.” 

Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand

Workin' in the dark against your fellow man

But as sure as God made black and white

What's down in the dark will be brought to the light

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

Sooner or later God'll cut you down

This one was much on the darker side, but I hope you enjoyed! Thank you to everyone who reblogs and engages with my work- you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

[jolapeno]

arepas

javier peña x f!reader

summary: when you’re single, it’s complicated. messy. he can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him.

an: dedicated to the wonderful, the amazing @halfmoth-halfman - i told you that i'd write you something, and here it is. I hope it makes you smile as much as you make me smile. word count: 9.3k (sorry, not sorry) warnings: developing feelings, slow burn -> colleagues to friends to lovers. usual jo angst, but with lots of banter. fingering, p in v, angst, sweet ending, spoilers for narcos season two.

friend noun /frɛnd/ a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. "she's a friend of mine."

It starts in Bogotá. 

His eyes rake over you—the new pretty secretary who won't meet his eyes as though you’d heard all about him. 

It's why he waits. Biding his time before gracing your desk. A file in hand, leaning down—forcing your eyes to meet his. Javi's smirk almost eclipses his face, only doing so when you lift your chin and he finds your lips have slid so far up one side as you stare at his hand.

Agent Pe— I know who you are, Peña. Your reputation precedes you. Good things, I hope?  Depends on who you ask. 

You call him Peña all the time. Even as days slip into weeks, even if he insists you call him Javier or Javi. The tension building, thickening—just like a dish left on a hob. 

He’s used to the whispers, but he’s not used to the ignorance. The way you don’t look at him like the others, instead always trying to find out what he needs from you, rather than what he wants. 

It allows him the chance to study, to watch. Noticing the way you work, the way you converse easily with others and how you walk around the office like you barely notice him. 

It wasn’t through a lack of trying why he hadn’t worsened his reputation. It wasn’t fear of fucking you, of muddying his place of work further—his focus, mission, objective wasn’t to keep the piece inside crumbling Colombian walls. It was more that the fact his usual tactics weren’t working even when his intention was there, clear as the sky on a sunny morning. 

You seemed stressed. Aren’t we all, Peña? I know how to get around that… I’ve heard. 

It’s not that your tongue is quick or icy—it’s that you do it all without looking at him. You bite back without lifting your eyes or turning to him when he stands beside you. An indifference he had usually woven under in the time you’ve been here, but finding troublesome with you. 

So, he tries smiling when smoke swirls around the ceiling fan, and you drop a file off; he drops his voice when he bumps into you by the water machine, holding your sight—commanding it. Which is why he notices the irritation simmering in yours. Growing, and grating more so by his mere breath, never mind his words. 

You don’t like me much.  I don’t know you.  You could. Know me.  What would be the point, Peña? You don’t listen, you interrupt everyone, you fuck everything with a pulse— Tell me how you really feel, hermosa.  I’m trying, but once again, you’re only half listening. 

Determined—that’s how he was often described. 

It was, for this reason, that he has poured so many of his years into catching Escobar. Why he’d looked for whores to get information, not banking on caring and emotions. It’s why he hadn’t looked for anything outside of a quick fuck, a friend, or a sense of belonging—he didn’t have another ounce left in him. It was all spent on the reason he was here: narcos. 

There had been others, naturally. Not all bent to his charm, even if the majority did. He should add you to the list, to the small pile that had amassed through the building and beyond. 

Javi doesn’t. 

And it doesn’t get better, easier. You decline his invites for drinks, even if you do begin to aid him. You refuse grabbing food for lunch with him, even if you have started taking paperwork off him to type up. You’ve even begun making comments, funny ones about his typing abilities, even shooting him a smile as you travel back to your desk. Yet, you don’t even let him drive you home when your car isn’t working. 

Purposefully, you’re a bag of mixed messages. Not because you decline him but because he cannot find a rational reason as to why. You’ve begun moving his paperwork up, but you flirt back. Flimsy, thin excuses find your tongue quicker when he invites you to drinks, not even just with him.  

You’re confusing. A brand of difficult he hadn’t had the opportunity to circle before, something which bothers the shit out of him. 

Which is why he’s coating his throat in whiskey—getting through his pack of Marlboro’s quicker than he usually would be in a bar like this. 

Because, while he doesn’t get you, he hates work functions more. Despising with each growing minute that he’s at one. 

He prefers to choose his company—paid or unpaid. And the sole reason he’d even gone in the first place was to get you to stop calling him Peña—and to keep the CIA away from you. 

He ends up being successful at one of those things. It’s not that he wasn’t sure how to befriend women, just that he usually chooses not to. He ruins any possibility of it by turning on the charm, having their blouse in his fingers and his hand stuffed in their lace. Even for all his charm, it is hard to get them back on his side when he doesn’t call them, or mistakenly calls out the wrong name or avoids them. 

It’s why he knows his name is dirt amongst several secretaries. He’s aware of how gossip spreads like wildfire amongst the secretaries, receptionists, file room assistants, watching it happen as their eyes glisten when he walks past, their whispers dropping an octave when he is within ears reach. 

You don’t partake in it. Digging your pretty eyes into him rather than fluttering your eyelashes. You can put those puppy-dog eyes away, Peña. I’m immune to putas. You can wait like everyone else. Chin lifting at the last second, smothering him in stifled stress and a please-don't-push-me-look. It’s how he learnt you were going for drinks with the CIA, how he discovered the bar and time. 

Why he went in the first place. 

It crossed his mind this could be the night. He could keep you company, find a way in when your wall was down because of the liquor on your tongue. The moment fizzled when he chose to be a gentleman—helping you into his car, guiding you into your place. Even holding your hair back as you vomited the contents of your stomach out. Maybe he should have warned you about doing shots with Jacoby in the first place, but then, he wouldn’t be alone with you. 

See the way you put your weapons down and looked at him pitifully when you couldn’t get the key in your door.

I’ve got you, Bonita.  Bet you say—hiccup—that to all the whores.  You’re not a whore.  No. No, I’m not.

He’d expected you to push him, fight him once inside your place, but you were silent. Occasionally frowning with glossed-over eyes as he continued to help you. You even allow him to help you to bed—without so much as removing his clothes. He’d been almost out of your bedroom door when he heard it:

Still gonna call you Peña, Peña. I know, bonita. There’s a glass of water on your table. 

It played on his mind. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be chivalrous, just that it was rare. Stuffed down into his tight jeans and under layers of Colombian grief. While he cares about the people in his life, even the ones at arms reach—the ones he pays and the ones he takes home from a hard day—he doesn’t show it. Keeping it tightly wrapped and away, not willing to let simple and futile emotions blur the lines of why he was here. 

So it surprises him when you leave him a thank you. 

A small note on his desk attached to a bottle containing amber and a large packet of Marlboros.

Still think you’re an asshole, Peña. 

It was the worst thank you note he’s ever had, yet it made him smile. Unthreads annoyances of his day, sewing in a piece of niceness in a tapestry of shit. 

What he did know is that the window of sleeping with you was growing smaller, only fully shutting on him when he uncapped the bottle and poured you a glass when you knocked on his door for his signature. The small office he resided in—all dark, simmering with disappointment and failure after another dead end. Not that you commented on it—even if your eyes narrowed and your lips spread thin. 

You were polite like that. Didn’t call into question or hold a mirror up to him. Just let him be. Tapping your glass against his, his eyes watching as you take a sip—not hissing, not flinching as the taste slides down your throat. Not even when it collects somewhere in your stomach. If anything, you smile. 

Running his hand along his chin, letting his eyes roam as you take in the walls—the files. Your glass teetering on your bottom lip, painted in a shade he wanted staining on various parts of his body—

“Surprised you’re having a drink with me, Peña,” you say, all airy and light—glancing over your shoulder, shining him in mischievous twinkles. “Especially when you could be… paying for better company.” 

He snorts at that, lets a laugh escape—puncture the air. “You know, you bring it up so often, bonita. I’m beginning to think you’re jealous.”  

“Not in the slightest—I don’t do one-night stands.” 

“Two night stands?” He muses. 

And you smirk. Gloriously. Wide and large, the closest he’s gotten you to smile. “If it’s good enough to go back again, why stop at twice?” 

He struggles for a retort, the acidic nature of it being swallowed by whiskey as he raises his glass to his lips. 

Then it shifts the conversation. Returns to normal, safer topics, finding he snorts a few more times as the drinks flow. Even finding you pull a rich laugh from him—one that erases some of the tension, unknots his shoulders from his ears. 

It isn’t until he hears the sweetness of your laugh that he finds that a quarter of the bottle has gone. The paper you’d come in to have signed, still at the top of a forgotten pile. 

You weren't looking, having already turned your back to him, eyes fixed on the wall—the little pins and photos. Allowing him to run his eyes along your back, to your clothe-covered hips and the curves that had been front and centre of his thoughts when he fucked his fist. Your name has been simmering on his tongue for weeks, since you’d been introduced.  

Something stopping him from acting on his thoughts, from standing up and coming up behind you. That very thing being the foundation of what he’d been after from the start. 

“Am I still an asshole, bonita?” He asks when he finally signs the sheet. 

You take the paper, offering a softer smile with a head tilt. “We should drink in your office again. You’re less of one in here, Javi.” 

“It’s cheaper.” “Cheaper?” You groan, and he slides his hand over his face to hide his smile.  “Fine, Peña—“ “Javi. Come on, bonita. We made progress.”  Glaring, you straighten your spine. “Javi, I wanna eat greasy food in a baggy t-shirt and watch shit TV that I can only partially keep up with. Do you want to do that with me?”  How could he say no? “Do I have to eat greasy food?” “Yes. It’s the law.”  Snorting, he picks up the file, tapping the end of your desk. “I’ll be there around nine.” 

You’re everywhere. 

He begins finding you at his favourite food stand, conversing with the owner, grin so large it hits your eyes. Another time, you’re at the shop on the corner near his place, brown bag in hand, a knowing nod sent his way when you pass. 

It throws him off, continuing to do so until it changes, and he comes to expect you. Doesn’t brace or freeze, but welcomes you. Leaning into it that you’re there, everywhere he doesn’t expect you to be. Slowly, bleeding across his life, planting yourself in the soil he hadn’t known surrounded him. 

Your name falls from his lips with simplicity, you call him Javi as though it’s all you’ve ever called him. 

Things shifting, changing just like the temperature in Bogotá. He chooses to sit beside you when he spots you at the bar, and not close to the table who were giggling and whispering at his arrival. He opts to ask you for help, over the secretary who has been giving him heart-shaped eyes since she heard something or another. 

Javi is smart, and isn't an idiot. He knows it has shifted. Changed. 

For the better, he isn’t entirely sure. 

He finds comfort in you in a way he doesn’t usually pay for. The desire to fuck you because you were attractive lessening, and rather because, on some level, he suspected he actually liked you. Especially when you invited him for drinks at yours, instead of a bar. 

It was easier not to question it. To not change. To not ask and ruin it. He went round to yours, or you to his. A gap forming, welcomed and strong. Javi fucked who he wanted to fuck, and sought companionship (fully clothed, a glass of liquor variation in hand) from you. The contents of it shifted depending entirely on the situation. Sometimes, it was accompanied by home-cooked food, and sometimes he brought warm trays in a bag that you groaned in appreciation upon arrival. 

Javi told himself you reminded him of Laredo. Of high-school friends and easy laughter. You reminded him of girls who never became more than friends, the ones he’d grown apart from when they settled and married, and he ran as far away as possible. 

That and he just liked your company. You made it easy. You were his… Friend. 

You were something different than what he had with Carillo. Something other than the partnership he was now bedding in with Murphy. 

You had embedded yourself as much in work as you were out of it. As time ticked on, his brain slowly filled with useless information about likes and dislikes in a drawer in his mind, he marked just for you. They weren’t things he usually didn’t care to know about anyone. Not since he’d been in Colombia. Not since he’d been in Laredo, where he’d never been short of a friend to two. 

Being your friend became a thing he suddenly wanted to cling to. Not wanting to lose it—lose you, not wanting to fuck it up. 

So, he didn’t. 

Even if you looked at him with pretty eyes, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip. Even if sometimes the silenced humming with something different, something less friendly. 

He cared. 

Really cared. He found himself annoyed if you seemed a little off, and found himself wanting to make you smile. The two of you spread past the line into an area out of his usual wheelhouse. Friendship. A relationship that had him around your place so many nights a week, tucking into spirits and beer you’d begun keeping just for him. It was normal. Nice. 

Or it was, until you curled into one side of the sofa, him on the other. Your foot isn’t close to his thigh, no leg draped over his—your behaviour not like normal. 

He’d put it down to another shit date. One he’d been tortured with hearing about—the only downside to the arrangement, the friendship. 

But, as you wrap your fingers around your calf, he realises it isn’t the date, the bad food or the day. 

“Being your friend is kinda hard.”

Frowning, he sits up a little more. “Why?”

You shrug. He doesn’t like it when you do. You have answers, usually quick ones. A shrug meaning you don’t or you’re afraid of speaking them—letting them ball and fester in your throat. 

“‘Cause you do thoughtful shit, and it makes me think things.”

He bites his smirk, and savours it. Knowing and understanding more than he can acknowledge as he folds his arms. “Not a smart move, thinking about me, hermosa.” 

“Don’t I know it.” 

"Bonita...."

"Why'd you call me that?"

You don't ask it rudely, more questionably. Brows knitting together in confusion as you watch him.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not in the slightest."

He smirks, letting out a sharp laugh. "Go get another drink, bonita."

“So, the two of you haven’t… you know?” Leaning in the chair, he stares at him. “No. We haven’t.” “I don’t believe you?” Smirking, he shifts his hips. “Go ask her. She’ll say the same.” He snorts. “You’re telling me you go round her place, have fun, laugh, and leave—I don’t believe it.”  “Believe it, Murphy.” 

It’s hard not to call back to the words spoken that night. 

Let them loop around and around, wrap themselves around other phrases—micro-expressions and bothersome avoidance. 

Your eyes were dark, chin resting on your knee, looking at him as though you wanted to burn everything to the ground. He’d swallowed, and hesitated—two things he never did. 

But with you, he wasn’t exactly himself. 

You had found a way to unlock a part of him he kept away from everyone else. He was still an asshole, still selfish and cocky. But he also bit back more around you and found ways to annoy you playfully, rather than to piss you off. 

“Here.”

“You bought me a book?” 

He smirks, gripping his arms as he watches you turn it over, “You like reading.”

Smirking, you scan the blurb, your brain trying to translate it quickly. “What gave you that impression?” 

Shrugging, he trails a finger across his bottom lip. The signature smirk started growing, spreading, eclipsing whatever was there previously. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, hermosa. I see you reading on your lunch.” He looks you up and down. “Thought you could do with some fresh material.” 

“So you bought me a romance book.”

Dropping his arms, he rolls his lips. “Everyone needs a little romance in their life, don’t they?” 

“Well, you’re the expert. I hear you’ve been getting some “romance” nightly,” you smirk, placing the book down.

He had. 

Almost determined to do so. Needing to bury himself to the hilt in others to distract him from you. Secretly thinking of you, trying to imagine the way your skin would feel under his calloused palms. 

“Jealous, bonita?”

Smiling, you tilt your head. “Why? I’ve got a romance book.”

He tries to tell himself he’s not affected by you. 

That it’s protectiveness why he sits at the bar in the restaurant you’re in. Why he chooses a seat where he can see the reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, able to see you without watching you. 

He tells himself it’s to ensure you’re okay. Nothing else. The convincing goes well until your finger taps him on the shoulder, practically dragging him outside by his elbow. 

The cooler temperature bites his skin, but your eyes full of fire keep him warm. Digging into him, inflicting flames that lick at muscle and bone.

“Why are you here, Peña?”

He masks a shudder. “Don’t… don’t call me, Peña—“

“—you fucked all the whores?” 

“I was drinking.” 

Raising your brow, you fold your arms. “You’re ruining my date.” 

He lets his eyes drop. Knowing he is. He knew he would when he scrunched the piece of paper in his hand as he overheard you talking about some black dress and little heels for it. 

The same ones you’re standing in front of him in, looking nothing short of radiant—the slightest shiver misting over you.

“You deserve better.”

Folding your arms, you sigh. “What, like you?” 

He runs a hand over his chin, leaning against the wall. “No, bonita. Better than me.”

You bite the inside of your lip, the shiver more obvious. So much so, he removes his jacket, considering draping it over you, but instead hands it to you. 

“Look, I know I ruined your date, but he’s an asshole.”

Swallowing, you let out a heavy breath. “I’m mad at you, but… he really is awful.”

He smothers his relief. Ensures his tone is normal as he murmurs, “Yeah?” 

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Can you… could y—“

“Go get your bag, hermosa.”

It’s quiet, the car ride. 

Your knee nervously bounces, the fabric of your dress rising up your thigh as you do. 

He’s being tested. He’s sure of it. Adamantly so when he pulls up outside yours, and you invite him in. It’s confirmed when you tell him to help himself while you change, stepping into your room. 

A version of him wanting to follow. To place his hand on the back of your neck, the other tilting your chin up, kissing the name of your date tonight. Pulling your body close, making it forget it ever shivered from anything less than pleasure. 

He thinks about it as he fills his glass, and keeps yours empty. Javi thinks it as his jeans become tight and his pulse quickens, wondering if you sprayed your perfume anywhere other than your neck and wrist—whether you’d taste as sweetly as you say his name. Whether you’d dig your nails in when he stuffed you full of him—

“Not pouring me one?” 

Blinking, you’re in his T-shirt and some leggings. 

The former is something you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on your blouse. A band tee, one from a concert when he was younger and happier, and less confused what the fuck all of this meant. 

He hadn’t realised how much he had been holding himself back until you sank onto your sofa, looking serious—brows and forehead creasing. 

It made him want to nurse it out of you, find a solution to stop you from worrying or overthinking. 

“You’ve never tried to sleep with me.” 

He scoffs, loud and undignified. The sentence catches and cuts through the air. All the letters of it punctuated by a thin silence, lightly chopped—not allowing interjection or regret. 

You're waiting. 

Nervously. Plucking your bottom lip between your white teeth like you’re picking guitar strings. 

He considers telling you the truth. That fucking you had been the sole and only intention for a long time. Seeing if you could bend in two, what noises you would make—see if he could get you to chant his name. 

That had been his goal… until it wasn’t. 

Javi drains his glass, knowing you’re astute. That you work with agents of all kinds—you hold your fucking own around all sorts of them. So you know (of course you know) when someone is lying—so he offers something else entirely. 

A slither of truth, an offering of it—if that. 

“Didn’t wanna fuck this up, bonita.”

You take a sip of your own, not smiling, not smirking. Silence thumps between the two of you as you likely process the information, both in word form and in heavy silence. Then you land your eyes on him, something blossoming in them, spreading and taking over as they seemingly darken like the sky before a storm. 

“That because you don’t think you could make me come, Peña?” 

He spreads his palm against his jeans, resting the glass against his other as he drags his eyes to the floor. Biting the inside of his cheek. Wondering to himself why he’d stopped trying so quickly, knowing he was usually much more persistent. His perseverance was why he was still here, hunting Escobar. Yet, he’d folded like a piece of fucking paper when it came to you. 

“Fine,” you commented, placing your glass down. “If we… don’t want to fuck this up. I think we need a codeword. An unsexy one. One that sorta tells the other to stop doing whatever they’re fucking doing….”

“Because…?” 

You give him a look, a sharp one with soft edges. “Because we’re friends, right?”

He nods. 

“So, as friends, I need a word to shout at you when you’re… Peñaring.” Frowning, he watches you smirk. “Javi, you’re handsome. And I spend… I spend more time with you than anyone else. The whole time I was on that date, I was thinking of you—and then there you fucking were. Being my friend.” 

No. He thinks. 

Knowing inside of him he wasn’t there to be your friend, but something he can’t quite acknowledge. A thing which vibrates inside of him, that gallops when you’re around and worsens when you’re not. 

A thing he cannot give into. Not with what he does. 

Not with what happened to Helena… 

The remembrance, the horrid wake-up call that continues to paralyse him. The larger need to keep you safe. 

“You like whores and quick-fucks. I like fucking one person who will only fuck me while they’re fucking me. And, I need the word—a word—because we spend a lot of time together, and you look like you do.” 

His lip twitches, his moustache moving as he drags his eyes back to you. Unsure how you haven’t thrown it out there that you looking the way you do is also a problem.

As though you’re ignoring how fucking sinful you always look—especially in his fucking clothes. 

He doesn’t because, if anything, he doesn’t hate the idea. Not immediately. Somewhat struggling to hide the way you make his cock twitch when you flirt, when you lean on his desk, the top two buttons undone on your blouse. That he sometimes fucks and wishes it was you and not the woman he’s chosen. 

The two of you toeing the line of being friends to the point it sometimes makes his head hurt and his cock throb. 

“What you got in mind?” 

“Apuñalarme?”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’d thought of a word. Always methodical, always thinking ahead. 

“Thinkin’ that one could be taken the wrong way.”

Frowning, you reach forward for some of the leftovers. “How?” 

He stares, and then he swallows. “Well, I could stab you with my co—“

“OKAY. Fine. Who knew it would be so hard to pick a word to keep our friendship intact? What about… arepa?” 

Taking a sip of his drink, his brow slowly arched.

“Well, it’s food—“

“Food can be sexy, bonita.”

“Yes, but if I said arepas, I don’t think: fuck me, Peña—I think fuck I could really eat some stuffed arepas with my friend Peña. Plus, we can then use it around people, ‘cause they’ll just think I’m after food.”

He plays with the glass, staring at your coffee table as he takes it in. Considering it. Finding it plausible—a good enough excuse. A thing to say other than ‘I don’t wanna hear about you going on a date, bonita’—probably around the same as you don’t wanna hear about his conquests. 

You’re nervous, teeth picking at your skin. 

Something blooming in his chest, smothering warmth across his heart and skin. You want to be his friend—you want him in your life. 

“Alright, bonita, let’s give it a go.”

You pout, sighing. “You driving me home?” “Arepas.”  “Funny, Peña. So funny.” “You made the rule, bonita.”  Rolling your lips, he watches as you fold your arms under your dress. The fabric flows, blowing around your legs. “I can make this hard for you.”  “That so?” He should have guessed it from the smirk alone.  “I’m not wearing any underwear,” you say, pulling on his door handle and stepping in before slamming it.  Leaving him processing, eyes staring at where you’d just been standing.

It became complicated in Medellín. 

The routine, the lines—the friendship. 

Everyone is forced all under one roof. The closer proximity means he has to listen to how the others talk to you, how you smile, and how you laugh with every single person. He can’t avoid your laugh—especially the ones you force from bad jokes. Javi has to listen to how others talk about you and how they describe the way they look at you. 

He also has to deal with how your perfume simmers in the air here, how it lingers and clings, even if he does his best to drown it out with smoke. 

In truth, he knows he is just annoyed that you’re even there, to begin with. And, not in Bogotá—where you would have been safer. 

And, as annoying as he finds it, Javi supposes you must suffer through your fair share. His eyes catch yours when someone has called for him, his voice low, a smirk halfway up his face until he sees you ducking your head. 

At the end of the first few days, he realises he misses his evenings with you back in Bogotá. Now, he has to share you in the open office space or hope you’re both free to go to one of the shitty bare rooms you’d both been given. 

Yours at least was more private, Messina having fought for you to have your own as soon as you were relocated to her. 

“Jealous, Peña?” “Yes, hermosa. You don’t have to share with Murphy.”

It worsens when he learns you’re single again. 

You populate his thoughts all over again, having previously stifled them when he knew you were taken. Now that the few month-long situation-ship with someone from the president's building had ended, he found you half a bottle of wine down in your room with several sad Spanish songs. 

When you’re single, it’s complicated. Messy. 

He can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him. Before, he could convince himself that flirting is just how the two of you talk. He could comment slyly how he could give you a reason to be silent or him unable to tear his eyes off you when you bend down to get him something from the bottom shelf. 

Even if you’re taken, he thinks arepas repeatedly as you look up at him with wide eyes and gloss-covered lips. But, it’s harmless when you’re unavailable—a foundation of who the two of you were. Now it was confusing again. 

Especially when you begin wearing tight jeans. And you wait until Murphy leaves to pull his chair across and place a bottle on his desk. 

“I need to get drunk.”

Blowing into a spare mug, Javi slams it down next to the bottle. “We can’t leave the base.”

“No, we cannot.”

“Any reason as to why you wanna get drunk?”

You uncap the bottle, glaring at him as you clamp your lips together. The sound of alcohol sloshing into the mug before you begin pouring him one. 

“Hermosa…” 

You take a mouthful from the mug, flicking your eyes to him as he leans back, whispering your name.

“I’m frustrated.”

“Messina busting your—“

“Not like that, Javi.”

It takes him a second. 

A second too long for him, and then he almost chokes on his drink. “Arepas.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in Murphy’s chair. “You asked.” 

His thoughts run ahead of him. The idea of pressing you against the desk, hooking a finger in a belt loop as he tugs your tight jeans to your thighs. The way you’d moan his name—not Javier, Javi. Your hands splayed across his desk, taking everything he—

“—so I need to get drunk because otherwise, I’m going to jump someone, because this job is stressful, and I miss my place, my… privacy, and I also miss food truck nights.” 

Swallowing, he places his mug down. 

“I need to have sex—“

“—Arepas—“

“But by someone who won’t lord it over me.” 

You stare at your mug, swirling it—biting the bottom of your lip as you do. 

And he’s all set to tell you that you drive him crazy, that he’d make you feel good—you just have to ask. His hand slides across the desk, all set to tug your hand closer as he mumbles it. 

Then fucking Murphy arrives. 

Him slamming a mug down next to the bottle, muttering about crashing the party as he massages his temple and slides back into his chair. 

It consumes him. The thoughts which he has let run free in the brief moment with you. How he’d fill you and make you hiss his name and make you come undone until you had no thoughts left. 

If he thinks he’s alone, you show your cards when he’s helping you move your bed. 

Your eyes are on him as he leans against the metal frame, staring off as he processes how he will have to move it. He doesn’t notice that the edge of his tan shirt has risen until he feels your eyes on him. 

“Arepas!” 

He flinches, ripped from his thoughts as he blinks, turning to look at you, watching you shift on the spot, a slow realisation coming to him as to why you shouted it. A smirk so large spreading, not even trying to hide it. 

“I haven’t… I haven’t even fuckin’ done anything.”

You fold your arms, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks, the pulse in your ears. “Yes, well… I’ll move the bed myself.”

“Bonita?”

“—I gotta go—“

“This is your room.” 

But you’re already heading to the door, flustered. He calls your name, but you’re gone—leaving him with only your scent and the last trailing sound of your voice. 

For a second, staring at the empty doorway, not hating it for one minute, all of it evidenced by the growing smirk on his face. 

The one not easily rid, even by the end of the day.  

“Your room is…. nice?” He sniggers, grabbing his jacket as you stand awkwardly. “Y’alright, bonita?”  Swallowing, you narrow your eyes when they land on him. Not cutting, but assessing. “Why have I heard from two separate people that they’ve been warned from me?”  Shrugging his shoulders, he slides his arms into his jacket, frowning—painting it on thickly, maybe even by too much.  “Javi.” “What?”  You look at him, challenging him. Looking every bit like the secretary he met in Bogotá and less like the friend he’s come to know you as.  “Did you warn people from asking me out?”  Adjusting his jacket, he sighs. “Yeah. I did.” 

Javi knows many things about you. 

Some he has learnt against his will, others he’s learnt from watching you. One thing he knows, more than anything else, is that you’re never late. Not even if the world was on fire. 

It’s why it coils inside him when he’s standing at the stairwell waiting for you. It chills him, prickles something inside. And then, it knots as his watch ticks on ripples out as more seconds become minutes. 

He must shift, stress rolling off of him as he finds Steve’s brow raised, flicking his eyes up at him before shaking his head. 

“Go on. I’ll let Messina know you’re both on your way.”

He doesn’t thank him, even if he makes a note to do so later. His feet taking the steps two at a time. Palm brushes over people as he moves them so he can get to your door quicker. 

It’s his sole thing, a crystallising focus that glimmers like a goal, a light around your door as he makes a beeline for it. For you. Not slowing or stopping until he’s outside of it, his knuckles hammering into it.

He tries not to smirk at the expletives he hears, the mix of English and Spanish coming from the other side. The beautiful blend he’s heard so often when you’ve dropped food, wine or burnt yourself. 

“One minute—“

“It’s me, bonita.”

He expects to hear a noise. Javi doesn’t expect a pause. A lengthy one.

“Oh.”

Oh? He thinks. 

“Um, Javi, just gimme….”

It bubbles. 

It fucking roars. It produces steam and fire—all of it feeling a lot like jealousy. Because: do you have someone in there with you? His jaw tightens at the idea, almost snapping into pieces, hammering against his feet. He hears a loud crash to the floor, shattering. His mind conjures images of two pairs of feet (at best), two awkward souls trying to move around one another littered by a sea of expletives and hisses.

“Bonita… open the f—door.” 

He doesn’t mean to use a tone. Unable to cage it, the fury which doubles and triples inside of him. Only just about managed to stifle the word fucking from being in the sentence.

Javi regrets it when you rip open your door, standing with more skin on show than he’s ever seen. Your privacy is covered by the thinnest pieces of black lace possible—lace that would be easy to snap, to rip from you as he drags his eyes up and down.

Unable to think; unable to process—

“I overslept.”

“…Bonita…”

“I am running late.”

“I can see that.” 

You jab him, light, making your body twist as you do. Something he can’t tear his eyes from, least of all when you turn, his feet following. It’s autopilot as he shuts your door behind him, not hearing another person—the anger and jealousy simmering at knowing you’re alone. 

You’re just… in your underwear. 

Around him. 

“Arepas.”

“What?” you call out, bending down, grabbing clothes as he averts his eyes. 

His brain forces his feet to come to a stop, his hand adjusting himself as he tries to swallow. Because whatever he’d imagined you’d look like, has just been beaten—you’re… fucking gorgeous. 

“Nothing,” he manages, staring around your place. Finding a bottle of half-drunk wine on the desk—sat beside one glass. “You had a fun night without me?” 

You laugh, turning to face you, finding you with trousers on. “I… I’m struggling to sleep… here.” 

He can relate. 

“How was Gabby?” 

He pulls a face, wiping a hand over his face. “Yeah—she’s fine.” 

You fasten your blouse, moving towards him, closer and closer, until you’re in front of him, and his mind is fucking blank. 

“You’re standing over my shoes, Javi.” 

It shouldn’t stick to him—your words. But they do. How they’re sickly sweet, how they clag and cling to the edges of his mind as he tries to concentrate. He’s typing, and then he’ll replay it, fingers pausing on the heavy keys of the typewriter. 

Fuck. 

Not able to tear his fucking eyes off of you. Not that you have noticed. You barely look his way with the mountain of shit Messina’s given you to do in one day. Hammering down on you, reminding them all they can’t make mistakes—more so since the toilet debacle. The heaviness of how close they’d been weighed on them. All of them.  

So close. 

He watches you stand up, calling after someone as you do a little run in your heels until there’s none of you left to watch. Staring at where you’d been, somehow still flickering between seeing you the way he saw you this morning and the well-put-together version just in here. 

“What’s up with you?

“Nothing.”

Steve snorts, leaning against the wall. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.”

“‘cause you look like—“

“She answered the door in her fuckin’ underwear.”

Steve widens his eyes, pulling out his cigarettes. “And that’s something you’ve not seen before?”

He glares. Chewing a retort as he furiously stubs out his cigarette. 

“Alright, so, now what?”

“I have no fucking idea.” 

“Your word come in use?” 

He shoots another glare, watching his partner hold his hands up. 

“Not fucking helping, Murphy.” 

“The fuck you mean she was sent to take some papers?” Him storming out of the building, hearing Murphy close behind. Not thinking. Thumb brushes over his fingers as something surges through him. Thumping. Building. Pushing past people, moving out of the way from the ones he comes into contact with, stepping out into the warm air as he sees hell. Men bleeding, carried by other men. His heart in his throat, furiously pounding, unsure where to start, where to go— Then he sees you.  Time slows, people coming to a halt as he watches you and his feet begin to move. His hands guide him past people, walking and walking until he pulls you close—not caring for the blood on his shirt from your head, or the way you whimper when you crash into him.  He meets your eyes, staring into them, finding his throat dry as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Arepas.” “Arepas…” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. 

When it rains, it pours. 

It’s what he thinks as he sinks another glass, elbowing digging into the desk, all set to shout at Messina to leave him alone, suspecting she had returned. 

But then, he’d seen you. 

Face lit up by the yellowing light, a softness to your features and a shyness to your frame. 

Javi isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Whether the guilt would shift at the sight of you, whether the sadness would stop laying on thickly. 

For a second, nothing happens. 

He doesn’t move. You don’t move. 

And then he’s standing, and you’re crossing the room, pulling him close, hands around him as you keep him close. It’s friendly, he thinks—suspects. A simple hug. Something the two of you have done only a handful of times, but twice so recently. 

In the fog of regret and alcohol, he can barely convince himself, his grip on it lost when you’re in his lap. His face in your neck, bathed in you—the distinct scent which clings to some of his clothes, the warmth he feels when he knows he shouldn’t. 

It’s easy, simple—and also everything. 

Shards of himself held in place by your grip on him, his own hand placing the glass down so he can clutch you that much tighter. 

It isn’t him. A thing he’s acutely aware of, yet he buries his face into your neck. Breath dancing along your neck, feeling you still, wondering if you’re thinking the word as he is when you pull back, eyes meeting his. 

“Oh, Javi…”

He chews his tongue, lessening his hold on you. Allowing you to move—giving you free rein to leave. 

“Messina send you?” 

You stand, tilting the bottle beside the glass, staring at the label. Your silence fills the gaps, finding the cracks of regret and guilt, layering itself thickly in it. 

Answer me, he thinks. Almost wanting to command it. 

“Boni—“

“No,” you say, curt, sharp. 

Your eyes dig in, taking a step back, running the back of your hand over your forehead. 

“Didn’t… I haven’t even seen her.” 

He could speak, but it would be useless. No words can conjure that would make any of it okay—heaviness adding in bulk to his shoulders as he stands. Making his legs feel like jelly and his spine wanting to bend. 

And then, he’s walking towards you, your back meeting a wall as he presses you against the wall, keeping you close. Just like you were minutes ago. 

He traces the tip of his nose against your cheek, catching the scent of your perfume. Your eyes are on him, watching his movements as he places his hand on your hip. 

“Arepas…”

He snorts, pressing his forehead softly against yours. “You want me to stop, bonita?” 

Your lips twitch, eyes flicking. 

A thousand thoughts dashing and darting in the shades he has memorised. Then you’re moving closer, mouth delicately pressing against his—testing, teasing. Saying no wordlessly.

It’s easy to return it, to give in—to kiss you like he has thought about since your name fell from your lips. A  thousand missed moments and building will-they-won’t-they slamming into the both of you. 

It’s why it shifts, his mouth not being gentle, his grip more desperate. His tongue sliding past your teeth, your hips flush against his as you curl your fingers into his hair. 

He’s on fire. Scorched. Changed. 

Flashes of you standing in the doorway in your underwear blending with the feel of you right now, how your lips move against his like the two are you well-versed in kissing one another. 

“Dreamt about you, bonita.” 

You murmur at his words, whimpering at his teeth, latching on the space under your lobe and neck. 

“Thought of the sounds I’d make you make….”

“Fuck, Javi...” 

Your nails dig into his neck, pulling and twisting him so you can marry your lips back to his. You kiss him like you want to conquer him, and own him. Something you’ve done since the moment you met—something he responds with how he licks into your mouth. Just pausing at your moan, tasting it—capturing it.

Your lips part as you clutch his cheek, breath ghosting as he lets dark brown wash over you. “I’m here. I’m here, Javi.” 

He knows what you mean, what you’re implying: I’m here, you need someone, I’m yours. 

The sound of him swallowing sounds louder, sharper—even against his ears as he flicks his sight over you. You’re better than it, better than him. You’re too good, too perfect—something he doesn’t want to break, snap or ruin. 

Sometimes, you’re the only thing that feels untouched, unblemished. You were the one who saw him after he’d gotten back from the brothel. When Carillo…

He blinks, finding your fingers still on his cheek, eyes still on him—but he’s unsure if he’s misheard you. Misunderstood. 

You don’t do quick fucks.

But you’re clever. You’re always fucking clever. Kissing him, hooking a finger in a belt loop, pulling him flush. As you show him that you mean it. 

“Need you, Javi. Just you.” 

He growls, moving you to push you down on the awkward, creaking bed. He watches dumbfounded as your fingers begin to aid the removal of your clothes. Exposing skin, inch by inch, to him—looking every bit inviting as you have done since the first day he fucking met you. 

Throwing your trousers to some distant corner, he parts your knees with his waist, pushing the damp green lace to the side, as he coats his finger in your want. 

“Javi…” 

“You suit green, bonita.” 

He eases a finger in, watching your mouth part as he does. 

“But, I can’t stop picturing that black set.”

“Like it, did you?” 

It’s breathy, desperate. Your lips ghost over his as he stiffens, pausing his ministrations, needing to look you in the eyes.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since, bonita.” 

Leaning over, he captures your moan, sliding in another finger as his name vibrates against his lips. Your eyes are so full of adoration, lust and want—it almost shatters him—but it’s the desperation that coils around him. The neediness which is falling from your lips makes him want more. 

He’s thorough, listening to your whines, finding each place inside you that makes you twitch and moan. He’s learning you, studying every inch, so he can please you from the get-go—if he ever gets the chance again. 

It’s his knuckle that undoes you the first time, rolling quick circles around the bundle of nerves which has fingers in his hair and your breath against his cheek. 

Javi, fuck—you, Javi, you. 

His breathing is shallow when you come down, feeling your hands—shaky but determined—tugging him to join you in being naked, his hand grabbing the one thing he needs outside of you. 

“Wanna taste you, but need to fuck you, bonita. Can I? Can I fuck your pretty pussy?” 

You groan, kissing his jaw and his neck. A chorus of yes and pleases bless his skin as his teeth rip the wrapper, fingers expertly sliding it over his length to not waste time. 

And then, your fingers leave bruises as you tug on his chin, pulling his eyes to you. A thought rolls, building; Tell me I’ve not ruined this. That I’ve not fucked up another thing. 

“Yours, Javi. I’m yours.”

His hand clutches your cheek, fingers pressing against your ear and hairline as you nod. His mouth smothers yours, stealing a moan, air and whatever thoughts were trying to populate. He does so as he lines himself up with you, when you wrap him in warm bliss. 

Your fingers on his shoulders, digging in, please move, Javi. And then, his hips move with yours, something swelling inside of him, a thing which makes it hard to stop kissing you, to ever want to stop being between your thighs—

He doesn’t usually fuck like this. 

It starts that way, but never ends that way—and yet here he is. Never with them on their backs, eye to eye, lip to lip. But then, you’ve never been them. You’re nothing like them. 

And he won’t move, can’t. He slides his tongue past your teeth and grips your hip that bit tighter as he feels your walls grip him desperately. 

“Feel so good, Javi—y’fuck me so good.” 

He knows. 

Knows because you’re fucking heavenly—perfection sent just for him. Something he whispers into your lips, lets you taste it as he feels you getting closer and closer. 

Then he just hears you. And the sound is prettier than his mind could ever conjure.

Just feels you. And it's better than he ever thought it could feel.

Then, there's nothing else, until he feels pleasure—until it’s white light and your name spluttering from his lips. Your hands in his hair, hips slowing with his as his lips sloppily find yours.

“We should talk.” You frown, looking over your desk as he leans both palms down. “Bonita… we had sex.”  “A few times, if I recall.”  “You… you seem rather calm about this?”  You smirk, lifting your mug to your lips. “Should I not be?”  He’s silent, uncharacteristically so. Never short of words, not with you. “Javi, I almost fucking died… then Carrillo… I-I needed… I just needed you.”  “Bonita…” “I don’t need pity. Do not worry. I’m not expecting anything, I know you, I’m not complicating this, and I’m not asking to change you. I like you as you are, and I know for you, last night for you was just a one-night thing—”  He whispers your name, wrapped in confusion and surprise— Your hand pats his chest, “—and I’m off to the funeral. Please try not to drown yourself in whiskey while I’m gone.”  “You know I’m not going...” Smiling, you let your fingers linger on his shirt button, twisting it. “You don’t do funerals—it was one of the first things you told me.”  Letting your hand drop before you walk away, leaving him with his thoughts. 

It unravels. 

Looking every bit like the day he’d been running around the ranch, knocking into the table beside his momma’s armchair, watching in horror as spools of cotton spread out. They ran uncontrollably away, undoing in a fit of rainbow shades and mess. It had taken him an age to fix, fingers raw from cotton against his fingers. 

That’s what it was like now—except he wasn’t sure he could fix it.  

If anything, he knows he can't.

He realises it when he tells you. A wave of disappointment ascended and crashed in your eyes until you looked at him with an expression painted in worry. It makes him want to kiss it from you, but your hand brushes his cheek—keeping him where he was, close but not too close. 

Don’t… What? Worry about you? Yeah, I don’t… I don’t deserve it.  Tough, Javi. I’ve worried about you since the moment you bought me food truck food and told me I had sauce on my chin.  Why's that? You just seemed like someone who I needed to worry about.

He wanted to kiss you differently then. Softly—gently. Almost greedily. Show you the words he wishes he could say easily. Let you feel how much he adores you, how much he cares, that he even wants to…  

Javi doesn’t. 

His brain too quick to remind him that you deserve solid truths, not hopeful lies. Tells himself that he’s anything with him will end in ruin, evidenced by the way things keep crumbling, the grip on helping having become closer to hurting. 

He tries to build walls to keep you out, ones you chip out with more force than he bargained for. Your nails pulling at bricks, eyes burning through gaps: Do not keep me out, Peña. 

So he stops. The energy wasted, even if he wants nothing but to protect you. Doing poorly at it—so much so he doesn’t realise you’re even swept up in it. Not in the moments where he comes find you for a moment of reprieve in the swirling hurricane he created.

You look like shit. Tell me how you really feel, bonita. Javi... I'm fine. You're not. No, I'm not.

He could kick himself when he realises it.

Only seeing it when he returns to the base, stopping short of your desk and finds it bare. No mug. No papers. No little notes you write yourself so you never forget a thing.

Bare. Empty.

There's no scent of your perfume and the air is absent of your laugh.

You had always found him, whether in his room, in a cupboard, at his desk. But, he hadn't thought to look for you today. Just put it aside, suspecting he'd find you later.

"Shit."

Sweat pools at the base of his back as he heads to Messina's. Hating himself, wondering if you'd been questioned. He'd never even tried to make sure you were okay with the knowledge of what he had done, what he continued to do in an effort to fix it. 

I’m here, Javi. I'm yours, Javi. 

He knows you are a part of the fallout when he sees Stechner behind Messina's desk.

It confirming it. Almost wanting to cut him off from saying your name—not wanting to hear it from his lips. Stechner says it anyway, as though knowing. Purposefully adding more poison to it and accompanying it with a cold smirk. One which almost makes him grip the man by the arm and land his fist in his teeth. 

You should have stayed in your lane…

Everything tightened inside of him. While everything around him crumbled, slowly crashing down: the walls, the ceiling—the pretence.

It makes his blood run cold, his heart crack right in the centre.  

Ambassador wants to see you. Get your passport. 

Tightening his jaw, he hammers his feet up the stairs, taking them two by two. Needing his room, needing a moment.

His hand rubbing over his face, mind populated with memories—ones both good and bad. Your voice swirling around them. Your smile, your laugh, all appearing before they burst, showering him in a mess of confetti he’ll never be able to clean. One he doesn’t want to, if they all he has left of you. 

He tries to think of his passport. Where it could be. The location of it in the mess of his room—trying not to wonder, worry or think about where you are. What his mess has done to you. 

Opening the door, he comes to a halt when he finds both standing in the centre of the room. 

Time comes to a stop. His heart pausing mid-slam into his ribs, the pain rippling out, as he takes you in. Watching your fingers and hand slowly rise, holding not one, but two passports, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Hi.” 

He lets the door shut behind him, suddenly able to breathe. The weight, the one crushing him for ages, finally stepping up from him, allowing air to fill his lungs, allowing his chest to rise and fall as you softly smile. 

“Bonita… what… how?” 

“I handed my notice in… Messina, she knew about—she advised me, said it would buy me more time. It did—has. Stechner—” 

It takes three strides—three—and even those felt long before his lips crashed into yours, silencing you, not wanting your pretty lips to ever mouth his name. Feeling your hand, the one clutching the passports, against his shoulder and the other on his hip. Pulling him in, wanting him—even still. 

He feels like he’s dreaming, until you bite his lip. Smirking against his lips as the two of you part. The feel of it bringing him back to earth, trying not to overthink it and let the moment ruin.

Javi just holds you—like he should have done earlier this morning when he'd seen you, and from the very beginning.

Pulling you close as he humanly can, for as long as he’s able to. Doing so selfishly until both of you are just staring at one another, the gap so thin between you, you’re not all in focus.

“Ask me.”

His knuckles slide along your cheek, knowing what you’re implying. Something coiling at what you’re suggesting—something he’d thought about days ago. Regretted not asking minutes ago… 

“Javi.” Your fingers wrapping around his chin. “Ask me or let me go….” 

Clearing his throat and licking his lips—sighing. 

Wanting to. Nothing compelled him more. But the wounded part, the one which is sore and raw, tells him not to. To put distance, space, time—and fucking everything else—between you both. 

To protect you. To love you from afar. 

“Be with me.”

Smiling, you whisper, “Please?” 

“Please,” he adds, a light smirk threatening to spill. 

You let your fingers slide over it, the little crease at the end of the hair on his upper lip. “I’m yours, Javi. All yours.” 

“You have to know what that means, bo—”

“I already know,” you cut him off, fingers dancing along his cheek. "I don't care."

an: thank you for reading, feel i should apologise for the length ha!

[pascallatte]

Slip-ups

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!reader

Date: Jan 2019

Warnings: none I think but maybe a hint of something.

A/N: this is from y/n's POV and can be a 2nd part of the series but this is a long way from that. yeahhh. Hope you guys like this!!

Y/N L/N Answers the Web’s Most Searched Questions

“Good Afternoon, this is Y/n L/n and this is the wired autocomplete interview,” you started with the most monotonous voice you could ever make

-Autocomplete suggests the most common searcher on the internet-

“I am very excited, I’ve been wanting to do this since like forever but you guys never invited me, which was sad,” the camera then proceeds to zoom in your faces as you looked at the lens with a very menacing look. 

-So WIRED asked Y/N L/N some of the internet’s burning questions- 

Giggling to yourself, you sat back and took the first board that was given to you.

With a bright smile you said “Alrighty WIRED let’s do thisss!!!”

“Is y/n l/n….related to Sarah Paulson” with a scoff you shook your head and released a very breathy “NNOooooooo” 

“ But I’ve been asked this questions a couple times now and as much as I want to be related to Sarah, we are not.”

You looked back at the board, read it a few more times then nodded.

“ But we are sisters though, just not by blood.”

-Cut-

“ Is y/n l/n Elizabeth Swann”

“Oh!! Yup I am the Elizabeth Swann from Pirates of the Caribbean” you explained as soon as the question was revealed

“ did you know that not many people knew I was in that movie? And the reason?” You excitedly asked as you looked at the staff behind the camera.

“Was my fucking dark blonde hair!! Now hold on before you guys on the internet hate on me, let me explain.”

Hands up in a surrendering position you began “Look I loved that role, the series, the people, Orlando Bloom,..” You winked” but blonde just doesn’t suit me, AT ALL, and keeping that hair as blonde as it can is a freaking nightmare so after I’ve finished wrapping up the last of that film series I told myself never EVER!! Take a role that needed my hair to be dyed.”

-Cut-

“ Is y/n l/n a sagittarius”

Smiling to yourself as you recall a memory, you look down and answered “ Yes, yes I am because as you all know I was born on December 1987- GOSH I’m old” you cut yourself as you’ve registered the words that were said.

“But that is all I can tell you, 'cause I’m not that much into horoscopes or zodiacs or whatever but Pe-“ you cut yourself once again.” But uhmmm, someone once told me that I am the "embodiment" of the Sagittarius sign and that we sagi babes are most compatible with an Aries?? I think”

A small smile was seen on your face as the video cuts to the next question.

-Cut-

“ Are y/n l/n and Pedro Pascal friends”

"Hhmmm are we? I mean we hang out, send tiktoks to each other, and he steals my fuzzy socks a lot….” you nod off while listing all the things Pedro has done to you in the past week, in mind.

“ I guess we are friends? nO, I’m just kidding we are, the best might I add”

You beamed at the lens as you rattled on, “of course we’re friends, we’ve been friends for quite a while now and I thank sister Sarah for that. But yeah, I mean who wouldn’t want to be friends with that guy?”

You once again looked at the staff who was nodding at you to continue.

“ He’s friendly, goofy, a great storyteller, and actor” you winked again that was accompanied by a snort,  “and a great person in general…ah he also shares his empanadas so that makes him an even Better Greater person HAHA!!”

You then throw the board to the ground as you jump out of your seat

-Cut-

“Who does y/n l/n play in Narcos”

“ I play a DEA agent from Barcelona, Spain named Catalina “Lina” Mendoza, she is the love interest of Javier Pena and who is played by the one and only Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal, who is the partner of Boyd Holbrook aka Steve Murphy” proudly you crossed your arms and leaned back in the chair.

-Cut-

“What is y/n l/n first movie”

“Ahh this is a great question, uhmmm my first movie was released way back in ’99 and it’s called the sixth sense. Which was a great experience and opened up my little 11-year-old mind up more into the acting industry.” You answered while thinking back on that more to add.

“ I mean it is a minor role but I got to meet Bruce Willis and act with a very close friend of mine, Trevor Morgan.” You added before looking back at the board.

-Cut-

“What is y/n l/n doing now”

“Since this will be released, I don’t know, a few days or weeks from now I’d try to answer what I would be doing at that time” you scratch your chin as you think of what you would do without saying too much.

“I would either be at home, chilling, drinking wine, while watching a movie OR” you exaggerate, “ I’d be out partying or hanging out with a few friends of mine, yeah I think that’s about it.”

-cut-

“ How can I meet y/n l/n”

Laughing you said, “Well, I’ll probably be in my favourite cafe during my spare time so maybe you guys can drop by and have the courage to say hi,” you tease but was followed by an “I'd rather have you do that instead of taking a, what you think is a discreet, picture of me and the one person I’m with” you ended with a forced smile.

-Cut-

“How old was y/n l/n when Pedro Pascal”

“Guys is this asking what I think it's asking HAHAHAHA” you burst out with a laugh while kind of nervous that you would say something out of line.

“ Well uhm, if you’re asking how old I was when we met, we met through Sarah way back in early 2012 she invited me for a new year's party, so that makes me 24??” You answered with an eyebrow raised.

“ Buuutt,” you dragged.”If you guys are asking about that scene in the second season of Narcos, that you guys are thirsting on about. I would be at around 27 years while shooting that I think. Sooo yeah. Kids don’t ask about those narcos scenes please, better yet don’t watch it until you’re like 25 or 50”

-Cut-

“ How tall is -“

“ No No! I won’t be answering that question yo-“ 

-Cut-

With a huff you looked at the camera, “ I am 5 foot 3....and a half…. On good days I'd be 5'4 and 5'5 with heels. But hey I’m not even that small, the people around me are just giant abnormal-looking non-human beings” you point at the lens

“YES YES IM TALKING TO YOU MISTER PASCAL, so stop teasing me”

-Cut-

“Ooh would you look at that the last question!” 

Ripping the paper as fast as you can it says “Can y/n l/n dance?” 

You noticeably perked up at this but before you can answer a voice came from behind the camera and said “No!”

“ Hey! I mean I’m not a good dancer but I can dance properly you know. I flow with the vibe of the music you know what i’m saying!!! Yeah?”

-Cut-

 You were seen grinning before you were called on camera.

Throwing the board behind you once again you say “ Well WIRED, that was certainly interesting and this might be one of the most... chill... interviews I’ve been on! Can’t wait to do more! Bye!!”

COMMENTS

Fan 1: that was…..entertaining

Fan 2: the slip ups OH MY FUCKING GOD

Fan 3: the way she called out the paps HA serves you right!!

Fan 4: i love how most of the internet asks about y/n and Pedro indirectly. Like girl, we’ve been waiting for years.

Fan 5: Oh so this is the girl, Pedro was seen with the other day. She looks too young, I don’t get why people ship these two, he wouldn’t go for immature younger women. ↳ Fan 4 replied to Fan 5: Girl be fucking for real they've been dating for years now, try to look it up.

Fan 6: I love her friendship with Sarah and Pedro!!! And it looks like she was adopted by Sarah Paulson the same way she did with Pedro HAHAHAH oh and we got crumbs on her hanging out with Pedro with that sharing of food thing

Fan 7: I NEED MORE Y/N CONTENT, SHE IS THE QUEEN, MY LOVE, MY WIFE AND BABY!!!!

Fan 8: so is no one else curious about who said “No” as soon as that dancing question was revealed, cause all I know is that it sure ain’t one of the staff. ↳ Fan 7 replied to Fan 8: HOW THE HELL?? HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT YOU GUYS DON'T KNOW THEY'RE TOGETHER?! I'm speechless

Fan 9: she’s so smiley and goofy in this interview, must’ve had a lot of fun shooting this. ↳ WIRED replied to Fan 9: 👀 about that…. ↳ fan 9 replied to WIRED: why? what’s happening

Fan 10: The sarcasm when asked if Pedro's her friend is killing me😵 ↳ Fan 8 replied to Fan 10: aren't they friends though? ↳ Fan 10 replied to Fan 8: girl go search it up. i just, can't. this is because of his rising fame, everyone doesn't know that much yet. what more if this continues for the years to come.

Fan 11: The comments of old Pedro fans and new Pedro fans are funny.

A/N: so we got a little back story for y/n and her friendship with Pedro and Sarah ahhhh. ay, this doesn't directly follow my last fic, but I wanted to put this out earlier. Just to let you guys know this series follows a timeline I've done so that would explain why there are dates and stuff at the beginning of each fic. That's all, Thank you!! Bye for now.

[theunderestimator-2]

Hector Penalosa as captured by Melanie Nissen back in 1977 while performing at Larchmont Hall, Los Angeles, with The Zeros, a band of high school teenagers from Chula Vista, CA, who helped create the first wave of punk rock in Southern California (photo included in the photographer's 2002 "Hard and Fast " book with photos previously published in Slash Magazine as well as some never seen before).

cheunderground.site/ : "The Zeros, often referred to affectionately as the “Mexican Ramones,” cannot only justifiably lay claim to being San Diego’s first “punk” rock group but also can brag about being one of the first punk groups in the US. In a brief but brilliant career highlighted by some classic recordings as well as shows with the Clash and Devo, the Zeros played the first big punk shows in both Los Angeles and in San Diego as early as 1977, when they were still high-school students (…) at a time when greater San Diego was both indifferent to and unimpressed by counterculture movements of any kind. Zeros guitarist and lead vocalist Javier Escovedo hails from a musical family… His brother Alejandro founded San Francisco punk band the Nuns, whose pinnacle was opening for the Sex Pistols in their legendary final concert in 1978 at the Winterland, and, was the family member with the most influence upon his musical tastes. Zeros guitarist Robert Lopez and his cousin, Zeros drummer Baba Chenelle grew up together listening to music and learning to play the guitar and drums, respectively. Baba and Hector met in PE class at Chula Vista Junior High School on April 4, 1975, the Monday after KISS made its first appearance on Burt Sugarman’s “Midnight Special.” “I told this kid I had seen this band on TV with a bunch of makeup and platforms,” Hector remembers. “Baba said, ‘Yeah, man, they’re cool. I have three of their records, so I’ll bring ‘em tomorrow, and you can check ‘em out.’ Baba turned me on to a lot of cool music like Aerosmith, the Modern Lovers and the Velvets, and we became friends,” says Hector. Hector decided to switch to bass so that he could eliminate his competition. He began teaching himself to play bass using three albums as guides: “The New York Dolls”; the Dolls’ “Too Much, Too Soon”; and John Lennon’s “Rock and Roll.” During this time, Javier and Robert, who were students at Chula Vista High School, were playing in a band called the Main Street Brats, covering Standells, Seeds, and Velvet Underground songs, alongside Javier’s originals like “Main Street Brat,” “Siamese Tease,” “Wimp” and “Don’t Push Me Around.” They recruited Baba to be the group’s drummer, and later that year, when they needed a bass player, Hector was invited to audition at Javier’s house in Chula Vista. “I didn’t hear from them for a long time afterwards,” Hector remembers. “I finally asked Baba about it, and he told me that they weren’t sure because they thought if I joined there would be too many Mexicans in the band! They were looking for a blonde guy.” The band had now become the Zeros, a nod to a line by Lester Bangs Javier had read in Creem magazine: “I don’t wanna be a hero, I just wanna be a zero.” Founding members of the band Robert Lopez & Hector Penalosa reunited to form The Zeros ’77 and will be performing on a mini So-Sal tour on 17 Sept. in LA, 21 Sept. in San Diego & 22 Sept. in Long Beach. (from 'Getting Nowhere Fas't, a book on the '76-'86 San Diego scene by Ray Brandes of The Tale-Tell Hearts)

(via)

[pimosworld]

Pairing- Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary- Javier gets a dog

CW- Angst,Fluff,lots of fluff, adopting a pet, shameless flirting, Chucho being adorable, Javi talking to a dog a lot.

WK-3k

A/N- This is my first time writing for Javi so be gentle. This wasn’t an ask but someone really wanted a Javi beagle fic and it spoke to me since I work at a pet hospital. Please enjoy this adorable one shot. This is for you @keylimebeag

Not beta read

My shelter

Life in Laredo was fine. 

  Javier had his father, his health, plenty of things to do around the ranch to keep him occupied. It was also a plus that he wasn’t being shot at everyday. 

  It was fine. 

  He tries not to seem ungrateful for his life, especially in front of his dad. He always worked so hard to provide for him and his mother. He was so proud, telling everyone in town his son was going to take down Pablo Escobar. 

  He didn't miss the way people treated him when he moved back home. He was not a celebrity, nothing special…just doing his job. At least that’s how he felt. Now everyday was the same, get up at the crack of dawn, feed the animals,have breakfast with his pops,do whatever project was assigned so that he could feel useful, have dinner and go to sleep. 

Sleep wasn’t usually easy to come by these days. 

  Rinse and repeat, day in and day out. 

  Tonight is going to be one of those sleepless nights. He’s been nervous  all day, smoking more than he’d care to admit. None of his daily tasks seemed to quell the oncoming anxiety. His dad is making dinner and even that is setting him on edge. The clinking of the plates, the scraping of the pan. 

  Chuchos has been treating him like a scared animal in a cage all day and he wants to tell him to lay off but he can’t. 

  “I think you need a companion.” 

  “What!”Javi looks up from his plate at his dad. 

  “Ms. Valencia said that could help with ptsd.” Chucho scrapes the remaining carnitas onto Javier’s plate even though he had said he was done. 

  “Listen pops, I don’t really need Ms. Valencia’s advice on ptsd or help finding a companion right now.” 

  Chucho sighs and looks down at his plate, moving the food around with his fork. “I mean…like a dog or something. I’m not trying to play matchmaker.” 

  Javier points toward the window. “I have plenty of animals to keep my company.” 

  His dad laughs, easing some of the tension of the conversation. “Well son they can’t come inside or go on walks. It was just an idea.” 

  “Thanks but I’ll be fine with the cows. You’ve been… spending a lot of time with Ms. Valencia.” 

  “Don’t change the subject Javier.” He stands to grab his plate but Javi ushers him to sit and heads to the sink to start the dishes. “Thanks for doing those son…I’m gonna head out, don’t wait up for me.” 

  Javi smirks as his dad throws on his coat and fixes his hair in the reflection of the toaster. 

  “You kids be safe.” Chucho waves him off before closing the back door. 

  ****

  After another long sleepless night, Javi decided to head into town. He was just going to the market to pick up a few things for dinner and stop by the hardware store for longer screws to fix the fence so the cows would stop getting out. 

  He’s driven by it dozens of times, somehow he’s never had a reason to go inside. He really shouldn’t go inside. He’ll never hear the end of it from Chucho. Laredo Animal Protective Society free adoptions. Maybe he’ll just go in and look. 

  There’s a few dogs playing in the small yard next to the building, all happily wagging their tails as they follow him along the fence. He can’t imagine how there's any dogs here at all with how cute they all look. He’s not even inside and he’s already a goner. 

  ****

  The bell chimes at the front door and you have to cease petting the senior cat October or Tobi for short. Despite it being free adoption day, you didn’t have very many customers so you’re excited to maybe help make a connection. It comes as a surprise when you enter the front lobby and see the last person you would expect to be at your job. 

  Javier Peña 

  Even with his back turned you can still make out that stance. He’s standing with his head cocked to the side as he reads the information board. 

  He hears you shuffle in and turns to greet you. His shy smile puts you at ease, knowing his reputation it was a relief to see him a little nervous. 

  “Welcome to LAPS, are you here for our free adoptions?” 

  Javi can see your mouth moving as you approach him, but he’s not entirely sure he heard a word you said. Your disarming smile and bubbly charm has him feeling something he hasn’t felt in quite some time. 

  Maybe his dad was right. 

  You’re patiently waiting for him to respond as he stands there dumbfounded. You don’t seem intimidated or annoyed by his presence as he nervously rubs the back of his neck. 

  “I’m ugh…not entirely sure what I’m looking for.” 

  “Well let’s start with something easy then. Are you a dog or cat person?” You turn towards the kennel doors hoping he gets the hint to follow you. 

  “A little of both I guess, but I’m here for a dog.” Now that the words have left his mouth it starts to feel a little more real. 

  You clap your hands together and lead him into the doors on the right. “The dogs are this way, we try to keep them separate so the cats can relax.” You turn to him and smile again, he’s not sure how every single person that walks in here doesn’t leave with a pet if this is how you treat the customers. 

  You pass a few cages that are marked in various colors, he silently follows you as you explain what the colors mean. Some are already adopted and others are just boarding. A few of them are getting acclimated to the shelter or waiting for people to come get them because they’re just lost. He hasn’t really looked at any of them, too focused on the way your blue scrubs hug your curves. 

  At the end of the cages are some long runs, a beautiful German shepherd is in the first one. Jesse James is his name, he’s 4 years old and very excited as he puts his large paws on the front of the door. 

  “He’s a sweetheart, his owners couldn’t afford his knee surgery so they surrendered him to us. Unfortunately he needs another surgery so keep that in mind.” 

  Javi thinks he’s nice, but that’s a lot to take on. Plus he already has large animals to take care of.

  The second run has an elderly looking golden retriever Audrey is the name on the tag, you stop to open the door as she gingerly makes her way towards you wagging her tail. Your soft voice as you crouch down and greet her has his heart practically melting. Her face is golden and graying in some spots. 

  “She’s twelve…so I don’t know if  she’s a good fit for you.” You answer the silent question on cue as if you can read his mind. 

  “What’ll happen to her, if no one takes her.” The timber in his voice cracks slightly at the prospect. 

  You look up at him while Audrey enjoys your soft pets and see the heartbroken look in his eyes. 

  “Oh…this is a no kill shelter. If no one takes her she’ll just live out her life here with us.” You stand and close the door and she slinks back to her plush bed. “We have to do free adoptions occasionally when space gets limited.”

  The final run has no tag on the door. A small beagle comes to the front as you open the door. He looks young but not a puppy. You step aside and let Javi crouch down to greet him. Javi scratches him behind the ear and is rewarded with small licks to his face. 

  “Hi buddy, you want to come home with me.” He barks once and wags his tail and Javi has all but made his decision. 

  It’s adorable the way Javi coos at the small dog, you can’t help but look at the way his jeans stretch when he crouched down to say hi. His black shirt is taught over his muscular frame and a sliver of skin just barely shows as he leans forward. 

  “What’s his story?” He catches you checking him out briefly when he turns around. He’ll have to send some flowers with his pops to Ms. Valencia as a thank you. 

  “She was roaming the streets a few weeks ago. She’s past her waiting period for someone to claim her.” 

  “Oh so you’re a lady.” You chuckle at the way his voice changes as he properly addresses her. “Hola cariño, cómo te llamas?” 

  “She doesn’t have a name just yet.” She barks twice in his face and he lets out a hearty laugh. “She likes to bark, I hope you don’t mind.” 

  “No one out at the ranch will complain.” He says it mostly to himself as he’s all but confirmed that he won’t be going home empty handed. 

  ****

  “Well let’s get your paperwork sorted out.” He’s muttering half phrases to her in English and Spanish as she rolls over for him to rub her belly. “I promise she’ll be here when we’re done Javier.”

  It’s not just the way you say his name but the fact that he doesn’t remember even introducing himself. He looks up at you then and notices your name tag. The name is vaguely familiar but he knows he’d remember your face. 

  “Have we met before?” He asks as he stands and closes the run door. 

  You laugh as you make your way towards the front, knowing he’ll follow close behind. 

  “Yes Javier Peña we’ve met before.” 

  A slight panic falls over him as he tries to rack his brain for any memory of you. You’re grazing your fingers along the cages as you speak softly to the other animals. 

  “I’m sure I’d remember if we met.” That flirting tone that you knew to be the real Javier makes an appearance as you round the corner to the front desk. 

  “I won’t hold it against you. I was a few years under you and I guess you would call me a late bloomer, but I hate that term.” You nervously bite your lip as you slide him the paperwork for the adoption.

  He feels a little bad that he didn’t remember you. He had blinders on back then, only had eyes for one woman before he left for Colombia. He wants to ask you out for coffee, maybe even go to lunch. He’s still hesitant now having to approach women in a proper manner. When women practically throw themselves at you it’s hard to remember how to court someone. 

  You gasp and skip to the back before he has a chance. You return with an arm full of stuff and set it on the counter. 

  “We just had some donations so you’re in luck Javier Peña.” He doesn’t normally like when people use his full name. It makes him feel old and official, but he loves the way it rolls off your tongue as you lick your bottom lip, a nervous habit he’s noticed during your interaction. “ Food to last a few weeks, toys, and a leash. Perfect way to get you started.” 

  It does feel perfect.

  “I’ll go get your girl. You’ll have to tell me when you come up with a name.” You wink at him and disappear behind the doors again. 

  ****

  His new companion is sleeping comfortably in the passenger seat of his truck. She stirs occasionally when the road gets a little bumpy but relaxes almost immediately. 

  The setting sun shines through the passenger window and she lifts her paw to cover face. He chuckles to himself at the human-like gesture as he reaches over and scratches behind her ear. 

  “Never thought I’d have a partner in crime again.” She lifts her head and barks at him. “You’re just as talkative as my old partner, Steve.” She speaks again, her hearty boisterous bark echoing in the cab of the truck. 

  She sits up as he drives down the path leading to the ranch. Her soft pants and excited tail wags as she takes in the sight of all the farm animals has him feeling a sense of contentment. 

  “Steve is no name for a lady, cariño.” She paws at his arm and lets out a small whine. “How about Murphy?” She barks twice in his face as he parks his truck in front of the house. 

  Steve is gonna love this. 

  ****

  Chucho drops a piece of meat on the floor as Murphy hurriedly scarfs it down. 

  “Dad, don’t feed her your food, she has her own food.” Javi looks at Murphy as she licks her chops. 

  “I didn’t give her anything son.”  Chucho slowly dips his hand below the table to feed her another piece. He holds his hand up to shush her as he saunters off to the hallway to enjoy her treat. 

  Javi rolls his eyes as she returns from the hallway and lays down in her bed near the back door. She looks outside and lets out a puff of air as she buries her head under the blanket. 

  “I’m glad you took my advice, Jav.” He looks up at his dad smiling to himself while he finishes his meal. 

  “Technically I took Ms. Valencia’s advice.” His dad scowls as he shrugs his shoulders, standing to gather his plate in the sink. 

  ****

  “You named your dog after me!” He can hear the girls giggle in the background as Steve shoos them away. 

  “Not exactly, she’s tolerable and I like her company.” He stares down at the dog, perched at his feet while he stands in the kitchen at the receiver. 

  “If you missed me that much you could’ve come visit.” 

  “Ha,ha very funny.” It’s true he did miss his partner, Murphy is turning out to be a wonderful replacement. 

  “I’d like to meet this girl that convinced you to get a dog.” His teasing tone is clearly evident over the phone. He briefly mentioned you so he’s not sure how Steve could even pick up on his obvious crush. 

  “Goodnight Murphy.” 

  “Are you talking to me or the dog?” Connie can’t disguise her laugh on the other end, clearly eavesdropping on the conversation. 

  “The girls and Connie will get to meet your namesake the next time you come to see me.” 

  They say their goodbyes as Javi hangs up the phone. Murphy lets out a long drawn out yawn and Javi agrees it’s definitely time for bed after a long eventful day. Her first night not sleeping in the shelter, it pains him and warms his heart all at once knowing she won’t ever have to go back there. 

  “Let’s go to bed Murph.” The pitter patter of her feet follows him down the hall to his room. He places her bed in the corner and strips off his clothes. She hops up onto the edge of the bed before he has a chance to tell her no. 

  “Your bed is down there cariño.” She rolls over exposing her belly as she nuzzles further into the blankets and he knows it will be nearly impossible to tell her to get down. 

  “Fine, but just tonight.” He doesn’t even want to address the fact that he spent most of his day talking to her, he wonders if she can even understand him. 

  It won’t be until much later that he realizes how peacefully he slept that night. 

  ****

  Javi stretches his tired muscles as he takes in the soft morning light peeking through the window. He doesn’t immediately register how comfortable he is or well rested. He’s usually up before the crack of dawn so he knows it’s much later than he’s used to waking up.

  The edge of the bed is empty save for the small indent where Murphy laid all night. Her bed is empty as well and the door is slightly ajar. Panic sets in as he throws back the blanket and pulls on his sweats forgoing a shirt to look for his companion. 

  You said she was roaming the streets when she was found and he hopes she didn’t decide to run off in the middle of the night. Despite requiring opposable thumbs to open the door, he can’t think straight until he knows she’s safe. 

  He’s calling her name throughout the house as he takes note of the kitchen being gently used. There’s a small plate next to the food bowl of untouched kibble with some leftover scrambled eggs. 

   Chucho 

  It’s the first morning since he’s been home where he really takes in the sight. His dad is at the fence with the calves and Murphy is sitting beside him. She’s looking up at him as he explains something to her as if she can understand him. 

  He points out to the pasture and she looks out and barks at the small calves running to their mother. Javi is very glad he took that step and brought her home because more than one person seemed to need her presence in their lives. 

  He should call and thank you. 

  He heads over to his truck to pull out the paperwork from the adoption. It’s really the only way he has to contact you so he hopes it’s you who picks up the phone. 

  He slams the truck door and sees Murphy running toward him full speed. 

  “She’s excited to see her papa.” Chucho exclaims as he sends a wave to his son. “I’m going to feed the rest of the animals. I'll catch up with you later.” He winks at Javi as he lumbers off to the barn. 

  ****

  His hands are a little shaky as he dials the number to the shelter. Murphy is laying on his feet beside the table as she drifts off to sleep again, probably having been awake for hours with Chucho. 

  “Laredo Animal Protective Society.” Your sweet voice comes through the receiver and he’s nervous and relieved all at once. 

  “Hi, it’s Javier…Peña.” You chuckle a little on the other end. 

  “I hope you’re not sick of her already.” 

  “Oh no, not at all…Murphy loves it here.” He looks down at her as she rolls over exposing her belly again. 

  “Murphy? I’m guessing there’s a story there.” 

  “Ya there is…I’d love to tell you over lunch or dinner.” Murphy barks and he nearly drops the phone. 

  “I think that bark means dinner, and I’d love to hear it Javier Peña.” 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder]

rdr2 as teachers

Dutch van der Linde: teaches social studies and sometimes history, goes on weird rants about his ideologies, he grades on a whim, students have a love hate relationship with him, is the principal but he really shouldn't be

Hosea Matthews: chill geography teacher that used to also teach physics, is generally good but his homeworks are usually hard to understand, you will get a good grade if you show effort and talk to him, leads an afternoon drama club and was a principal for several years

Arthur Morgan: teaches english literature but also pe and also sometimes physics? He also taught math for a year when times were rough. Everyone knows him and he knows everyone, thinks he's not a good teacher but students act good and get good grades with him (they're intimidated), sometimes hangs around in afternoon art clubs

John Marston: math teacher on an art school (yes this specific), none of his students will ever study math so why should he try, let's everyone pass as long as they're not acting up, usually late to class but no one cares

Javier Esquella: music teacher and an extra for spanish classes, his students only sing in his class, no work unless you make him mad, is known for talking shit about other teachers in spanish

Bill Williamson: PE teacher who yells at his students too damn much BUT is actually ok to meet outside of school, will get drunk with his (of age) students on field trips

Micah Bell: the teacher that got kicked out for students complaining, still shows up on some school actions because Dutch always asks him to help with making sure they act right

Charles Smith: really smart chemistry and biology teacher, actually explains it well, strict but students love him type,leadss the longest routes on field trips with Arthur, they usually make them even longer

Sean Macquire: Teacher assistant, no one knows what exactly he studied, just hangs around, will trashtalk teachers without asking, tells students the curent drama happening between staff

Lenny Summers: Teacher assistant finishing up his studies to become history teacher, popular with the students, has lots of energy, sometimes takes over classes when teachers are sick or tired

Sadie Adler: PE teacher who goes hard but also will force you to not participate after you get hurt ("I DO NOT CARE YOU JUST GOT HIT AND YOU BARELY STOPPED THAT NOSEBLEED SIT DOWN."), no one knew that she had a husband until he one day randomly picked her up from school, once got drunk on a prom and finally told her students about her life

Karen Jones: Chemistry teacher who breaks all lab rules, mainly shows them the fun stuff, the rumor is that she knows how to make alcohol very easily, also leads the afternoon drama club with Hosea

Tilly Jackson: Works in the office, helps students with paperwork or with anything they need to, is one of the reasons the school is still running because she fixes Dutchs paperwork mistakes

Mary-Beth Gaskill: english-literature and english language teacher, is the one to help rewrite the plays for the drama clubs, overall helps them a lot, has an after school reading club, they read mainly female and lesserknown authors

Uncle: janitor, doesn't do shit, just hangs around the school, will yell at you for walking inside in outside shoes, no one takes him seriously, some students have a habit to say "I didn't do my homework, I have lumbago!" because of him, mainly in Johns class

Abigail Roberts: Also works in the office, taught math for a year (that's how she got to know John), refuses to fix Dutchs mistakes, small Jack hangs around in the school sometimes, students like him and play with him

Susan Grimshaw: The main lady in the office and also the vice-principal, students thought she and Dutch were maried LMAOO, she shot down those rumors real fast, students either love her or hate her

Pearson: school cook who also has an afternoon cooking class, sometimes forces his students to answer yes chef, smells weird and tells weird stories

Leopold Strauss: German teacher who also takes care of the school money and makes lectures once a year about finance world, the students don't like him but some respect him in a sense that he knows how money works and teaches them real stuff

Josiah Trelawny: randomly shows up and gives lectures about whatever, no one knows if he actually works here or not, does he even have a title? does he have any idea how to teach? The students find him hilarious, also ALWAYS shows up for students proms and somehow knows who your parents and siblings are

Orville Swanson: Teaches social studies with focus on religion, nearly got kicked out several times for going to school drunk, did cry once in class

Kieran Duffy: Biology teacher, half of the students ignore him, the other half pity him, hangs around the book club because of Mary-Beth, the students ship it, once ranted for an entire class about horses

Molly O'Shea: Dutch hired her just because she's pretty, she teaches music and art mainly, eventhough she studied literature, but Susan refuses to give her other classes (she was mad at Dutch for bringing her to school), she is the teacher students have a crush on

[hooked0n-wrestling]

Writing coming soon!

Hi angels! Quinn here, i've been around tumblr for a while now but this is a fresh account! I wanna get back into writing so i'll leave a list for who i write for, feel free to leave me some requests!

AEW:

Adam Copeland

Adam Page

Anna Jay

Brody King

Buddy Matthews

Daniel Garcia

Britt Baker

Hook

Jamie Hayter

Jay White

Jon Moxley

Juice Robinson

Julia Hart

Kenny Omega

Kris Statlander

Kip Sabian

Kyle Fletcher

Malakai Black

Matthew Jackson

MJF

Nicholas Jackson

Orange Cassidy

Ruby Soho

Swerve Strickland

WWE:

The judgment day (Poly! and individually, i do not write for JD however.)

Liv Morgan

LA Knight

Bayley

Seth Rollins

Cody Rhodes

Jey Uso

Gigi Dolin

Trick Williams

Carmelo Hayes

Cora Jade

Roxanne Perez

CM Punk

Drew Mcintyre

Karrion Kross

Scarlett

Descendants:

Ben

Jay

Harry Hook

Uma

Gil

Red

Chloe Charming

Chad Charming

James Hook

Evie

Bridget/Queen of hearts

Mal

Jane

Red dead redemption

Arthur Morgan

Dutch Van Der Linde

Javier Escuella

John Marston

DC

Rachel Roth/Raven

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Garfield Logan / beast boy

Donna Troy

Tim Drake

MASTERLIST

I write for MLM, WLW, Gender Neutral reader, trans reader and so on. I'll write headcanons, fics and maybe mini series in the future. i WILL NOT write smut for now, it may be hinted but my smut writing skills are... not tumblr acceptable. I won't write about anything triggering (e.g R@pe, age gap with anyone under the age of 18, incest, @buse etc.). Fluff and angst are my specialties, so request away!

[sock-loves-you]

Van Der Linde gang high school teachers headcanons

Dutch: principal leader of the gang, leader of the school

Hosea: theatre it's mentioned in-game that he was in plays, so it would make sense for him to kind of go back to his roots and be a theatre teacher

Abigail: English I think she would be so excited that Jack taught her to read that she would want to teach it

Strauss: economics given his job in-game, I think it would make sense for him to study economics and teach it

Sadie: shop class she mentioned in-game that she and her husband shared all the work, so it makes sense that she would have a more kind of hands-on job I guess ????

John: agriculture he genuinely seems pretty passionate about ranching, I think he would be a good ag teacher :>

Pearson:culinary cook of the gang, cook of the school

Lenny: french he just seems like the kind of guy that would know french

Javier: Spanish he speaks Spanish... so... he would probably make a joke about how his last name is pretty close to the word for school...

Grimshaw: health I think she was the closest thing to a doctor that they had, I can definitely see her as being a nurse or something too

Charles: PE he's just a big guy... he can probably teach students how to work out certain muscles and stuff

Arthur: art he has nice little drawings :>

Mary-Beth: home ec I think it would be a nice, calm class for her to teach

Micah: JROTC assholeism be damned, my boy can work a gun. and be like- really stern and disciplined. and would actually probably be a really good JROTC instructor...

Williamson: history honestly ? i think with his military experience, I think he would pick up an interest in history

Swanson: like a religious history class you know what kind of class I mean, I just don't know what kind religious classes exist

Trelawny: science I think science and magic are pretty similar

Tilly: math idk, she just gives off math vibes

uncle: lunch staff/janitor I just cant see him as anything else tbh

Karen: lunch staff she kind of gives off the vibe of lunch staff

Sean: bus driver/lunch staff it would probably be a cute way for sean and Karen to meet, and he doesn't really give off the vibe of being a teacher

Kieran: psychology idk where to really put him, but maybe psychology would be good because I can definitely see him trying to kind of use phycology tricks to stay safe, idk

I think when jack is older he would teach creative writing because he likes writing, and in my headcanon, its cannon that he wrote the red dead book

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend update 05/05/2024

Hello! It’s been awhile since Nerdie has done one of these. 👀

Yes it has! Why have you only been lurking and popping up with random things?

Well, my smut fairy is playing hide and seek. Has been more hidden as of late. Inspiration has led to different fics than I planned on. And I’ve queued so many posts that my current queue is posting things up until June 5th. 😂

How does one even queue that many things? And what do you mean the smut fairy has been playing hide and seek? We read that Frankie series! And that Dieter update! Nerdie, stop trying to be coy, it doesn’t suit you dear.

I’m not sure how to respond to that. And yeah both of those had smut but it was….I did say the fairy was playing hide and seek. I did not say they were hidden the entire time. 🫣

Details, details. You also changed the title graphic color, why?

Stories are made by their details. Wise advice said by…some smart person somewhere. It reminds Nerdie of a bahama mama. It’s a drink that she enjoys like a pirate. Yohoho! 🏴‍☠️(I’m very sorry. 😣)

Anyway, thank you to the following lovely people who sent me beautiful person asks and who reached out when I was not doing so hot. I know better than to argue with any of you:

@rhoorl @yourcoolauntie @grogusmum @avastrasposts @megamindsecretlair

@westside-rot @laurfilijames @inept-the-magnificent @bitchwitch1981 @secretelephanttattoo

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @connectioneverywhere @604to647 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept

@yorksgirl @sweetercalypso @schnarfer @soft-persephone @maggiemayhemnj

@magpiepills @paulmescal-s @lotusbxtch @wannab-urs

As for Nerdie’s fic recommendations, they are here! She’s keeping track of them and is going to put the whole list out at the end of the month because, promoting fics is fun and means she can type more randomness. 😆

1. Torment Part 1 Fear by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x fem OC)

2. Tempered by the Fire by @ladamedusoif (Din Djarin x f reader)

3. Talk Dirty to Me by @morallyinept (Marcus Pike x fem reader)

4. Nightingale by @rosecentaur1916 (Miguel O’Hara x plus size fem reader)

5. Daffodil by @starstruckunknown-princess (Javi G. X reader)

6. Into the Deep End by @magpiepills (Joel Miller: the hole filler x AFAB reader)

7. your favorite kryptonite by @kedsandtubesocks (Comic Bookstore Owner!Dieter Bravo x F!Reader)

8. Kings & Queens by @joels-shitty-puns (Joel Miller x reader)

9. Insatiable by @lowlights (Pero Tovar x fem reader)

10. Top Me, I deserve it by @for-a-longlongtime (Santiago Garcia x Francisco Morales)

11. Fifteen Minutes by @whocaresstillthelouvre (Din Djarin x fem reader)

12. Raining in Baltimore by @schnarfer (Marcus Pike x f reader)

Nerdie did post a bit this week. She’s mainly been posting on AO3 since it takes less time and she can slap things up there with reckless abandon (and sufficient tags).

Part VIII of Only Parts of you Mr. Morales (Frankie Morales) *completed*

The Intended determines their Meaning (Javier Gutierrez)

Sure inside, but will you stay for more after we’re done? Chapter 5 of Weddings 101 with Dieter (Dieter Bravo)

Lastly there are a few ongoing challenges and fun things. Make sure to read individual challenge rules and fun things.

1. Help Wanted: Summer Reading with @strang3lov3 They’re asking for self-recs, recs of fics that have stuck with you, fics that you think others should read. Send them your Pedro boy goods. The best kind of summer reading.

2. Jett’s Flora and Fauna Challenge by @morallyinept It’s the incomparable Jett! Making her own challenge to being your fics, art, Moodboards or all any combinations. It just has to have a Pedro character and flowers. Any length (because we like all kinds here) and can be as many submissions as you want.

3. Jamie’s Ocean Challenge by @mermaidgirl30 Pedro characters, the ocean, fun, fics and moodboards mixed together for this one. Again any length (all are welcome and enjoyed), must have a Pedro character and the ocean in your fic or Moodboard.

4. @pedroscouts The Pedro Scouts have descended upon us to give us badges (gotta collect ‘em all), fun tasks and general tomfoolery to make Tumblr fun! Make sure to read through the rules if you’d like to join.

5. May Drabble Challenge courtesy of the @dieterbravobrainrotclub It features our favorite Kit Kat lover Dieter Bravo and aliens 👽 with a meet-cute. 👀 Not weird enough for you? Then write it extra strange.

So that’s about it. There was a lot of ground to cover but we got it done. Nerdie is going to go see a man about a goat 🐐 and also another guy about some teasing or edging? Maybe it counts as edging. Nerdie is 🫤 unsure. She’s only wrote like one of these before. 😆 She also has to look for boots, maybe she’s gonna go to her second concert 🎵

Stay safe and hydrated everyone!

Love Nerdie! ❤️ ❤️❤️

[jolapeno]

iv. before the gold and glimmer

javier peña x f!reader | chapter four of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: i adore each of you who are coming along this weird and wonderful journey, we're getting closer, i promise. wordcount: 2.5k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

I’ll be home in an hour.

I’ll be ready 

Are we going to do the crossword tonight or are you going to spend an hour flirting?

too early to comment

I’m bringing my A game. 

to flirt with me? baby you flatter me 

No. Crosswords, you fucking flirt.

hermosa did you just swear at me 

I did. Now I have to concentrate, stop distracting me. 

Javi is aware that his pop is thinking things. 

Has been since the phone conversations began. The ones initially having slotted in when the house was empty. Quiet. Just him and his thoughts banging around, occasionally punctured by him pressing the keys on his phone until the phone rang.

Now, the phone calls have bled out into quick chats on other nights (Javi’s hand over his mouth, trying to muffle a laugh). He’s caught sight of his pop’s smirk more than once.

He’s very aware that he hasn’t helped things by dropping your name into conversations.

Accidentally, at first.

Then just accepting his fate and embracing it. Talking about you as if you’re this fully fleshed thing in front of him—mentioning the news thing you’d heard, something funny you’d said. 

He even mentioned you to Murphy. Again, not on purpose. 

Steve was quick. Picking up on it immediately in their latest monthly catch-up where usually Javi listens to how amazing, disruptive and yet tiring kids are—how Miami would be good for him, and that Connie misses him. This time it segwayed suddenly into, and who might she be then, Jav? 

It had crossed his mind to play it down. To conceal you—because a part of him suspects he should hate all of it.

Before, he had always preferred secrecy. Kept the women he had been seeing behind lock and key. Partially due to the nature, the risk—now, though, he thinks he just doesn’t want to share. 

Doesn’t want to taint it. Selfishly wanting to keep you all to himself, his slice of happiness that no one can dull.

It also aids in holding himself back from falling over the cliff, tumbling into ruin because he let himself get ahead of himself. 

Feel too much, too quick, because Javi didn’t even know what you looked like. Hadn’t eyed you up across a bar, hadn’t spotted you in the aisle of the store.

You’d stumbled into his life.

No reason, no real cause or explanation, and now he’s not entirely sure as to why he feels the amount he does. That he cares, that he likes you. How that when he talks to you, he feels only happy, content and joy—like he could do and be anything.

You provide the key to the semblance of normalcy he’s been longing for. Liking what others would think is mundane, like about your day. Now he longs for it all face to face, where he can read your face instead of dissecting your voice. 

She’s just someone I’ve been talking to. Don’t—don’t even know her, really.  You knew all the others well before? Fuck off, Murphy.  Just sayin’, sometimes, shit just don’t make sense, Jav. 

Steve says it as though it answers all his problems. 

Like he thinks the words will make all the pieces click into place, suddenly cemented and real—all understood and no longer complex. 

But it’s all still very much messy—a tangling of feelings that ready exist and more which threaten to come.

In truth, he doesn’t mind the complications of it all. He just thinks it’s best to protest it a little. Pretend he hasn’t abandoned all logic just because someone made him smile and feel a little less broken.

Because he knew, just like those around him, that he was done for. 

It all perfectly evidenced by the fact he doesn’t mind when his pop begins giving him one of those smirks more often than not—the ones surrounded by wiry white hair, partnered with a knowing look on his face. The same conversation circling, the one that’s been going on for days now—

“When the two of you meeting?”  “I don’t know, pop.”  “You made plans to see her yet?” “No, pop.”  “You should go see her. You need a break.” “Pop.” 

At some stage, his pop stops beginning it—challenging him. Now he just signals the words with a look. One he assumes parents are given when their child enters the world—the one that is part knowing and part ‘you know you’re going to do what I’m saying, anyway’.

Javi hates that more than he hates the rest of the situation. 

Because his pop isn’t wrong. He wants to see you, watch your expressions instead of imagining them. 

Not just to see what you look like, but so that he can see how you react when he says certain things. Whether you scrunch your nose or your lips curl before you smile; whether you hide your face when he embarrasses you, or whether you fold your arms and pout. 

Each time the two of you text or call, he thinks it—wants to bring it up and ask.

A need in him growing, in the same way his feelings do. Multiplying, quivering in his bones when you laugh, and it travels straight to his heart—making it swell and bloom. Filling the expanse of his chest until he isn’t sure he can feel any more happiness. 

Picking up the phone on the first ring, he hears your usual chirpy hey, which he follows with his now usual: “Hey baby.” 

“¿Cómo estás, Javi?”

“Ay, you’ve been practising.” 

Hearing you laugh makes him smile. Unknots the stresses of the day from him as he pulls the chair over—sitting on it as his head rests against the wall. 

“I purchased a Spanish for kids book, so that’s my skill level.” 

Smirking, he rolls his lips. “You trying for me?” 

“Sí.”

Snorting, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Eres tan linda, querida.” 

“I know the last word means darling.” 

“I said you are very cute.” 

You pause, a shuffling sound coming from your side of the phone before the softest of sighs. “You’re making me blush, again.” 

“You make it too easy.” 

“Stop,” you say, all fake warning and all likely accompanied by a cute smile, “How’s your day been—tell me you got a splinter in your ass?” 

Smirking, he slumps further into the chair, legs spread, spare hand resting on his thigh. “Starting to think you only talk to me for my body.”

The laugh you let out is closer to a howl, and his cheeks hurt from hearing it—his grin so large, it doesn’t fade for hours. 

apprehensive feeling, 5 

Come on, Javi. 

I think it may be angst 

If I were there I’d kiss your cheek. 

I know you mean that in a nice way but it feels demeaning 

Oh no I meant it as the latter. 

is that how we’re being

You tell me. 

paris divider, 5 

Seine. You ever been to Paris?

no have you 

Not yet. 

not yet? 

Well there’s always time. Heard it’s a romantic place to go.

maybe if you were nicer someone would take you 

You make a good point. 

things go ok this morning

Not like I wanted but not the worst. I can apply but they’re playing the experience card again. 

bullshit, you ok

I will be. Thank you for checking in on me. 

you can tell me if youre not yknow

I just need to destress is all. It’s like talking to a fucking wall sometimes.

fuck I love it when you swear 

Javi, stop. 

do you really want me to 

No. But you’re making my face burn. 

bet you look real pretty getting embarrassed 

I actually do not, so you should stop so you don’t inflict the face on others. 

I don’t believe you

Maybe one day you’ll see it for yourself so you can believe me 

wish one day was today 

Why would you destress me? 

baby I’d make sure you couldn’t even think the word stress never mind feel it 

You confident in that? 

youll have to find out

Something was different in the air the moment he woke up. 

Things went far easier than they normally would. No one tried to bowl him over during feeding. The fence he went to check on didn’t look all that bad—and there wasn’t even a queue when he visited the homeware store for pop. 

There also wasn’t a rain cloud in the sky.

And it put him on edge. 

His gut—the one he had relied on to take down the narcos—flared back to life. It could be a good day, a once-in-a-blue moon, a blessing in a sea of disguise. 

But rationality didn’t stop him from checking over his shoulder, do a final sweep of the land. 

It had been like that when he’d first gotten back. All on edge, finding it difficult to settle. He had smoked back then, worse than he had done when he’d been over in Colombia. It’s why he’d chosen to quit.

Now, he rotated the phone between his finger and thumb, feeling it vibrate against his palm, checking if it was you before he allows the smile—the one you pull from him by just texting him—blossom. 

So I have good news and I have bad news lead with the bad first I can’t call you on Thursday night

His heart drops, plummets. 

A part of him knew something bad was around the corner. Taking in your text, over and over. Checking he understood it as he climbed the stairs up the porch. 

Javi rolls his head on his neck, staring up—the flies around the porch light buzzing away as he tries to compose himself. 

Somehow always knowing that deep down, this day would come. His mind is too quick to act, abruptly busy with conjuring thoughts. That old analytical part of him whirs back to life as it tries to make heads or tails of the situation in front of him, as though it was a case.

Because he suspects that your good news is that you have a date—someone you’ve seen face to face and has swept you off your feet. A person who will take you away from him because he can’t offer you that.

Plus, you don’t even know him.

Not really. 

He’s just this person you text. 

This person he feels…

well fuck. The good news best be the best news ever I think it is. Don’t tease me, querida Says you, baby.

Baby?

It takes him a second. 

The four letters blowing all the conjured theories well and truly out of the water. 

His eyes trace over the letters, even after he’s sent the reply. Javi’s heart suddenly in his throat, pulse in his ear—the blood banging around. 

Shut up. Anyway I can’t call you because I’ll be on an early flight in the morning to Houston. Work needs me to check out some odd sales. You’ll be in Texas? Yeah. So the good news is, if you meant what you said, we could meet in person.

He swallows, spine straightening—posture suddenly pristine, making the muscles in his back ache from the day as they flex and tighten under his shirt. 

You want to meet him. 

Or he thinks. 

Not wanting to read between the lines—needing the confirmation, to hear you say it. His shirt begins to cling to his back, hair falling over his forehead as sweat grows, strands of hair being grasped against his skin.

You want to meet me? Of course, I’m the one suggesting it. But if you don’t, that’s fine. I mean, I’ll begin judging how lonely you actually are if you don’t. But it’s fine.

His thumbs aren’t quick enough. 

Each text firing in—and he wishes, more than he usually does, that he could be there with you. Clutch your cheek, assure you, make you breathe—

baby breathe. I want to meet you, I do But? but nothing

Even if there is. 

There seems like there’s a but

Javi doesn’t mean to, but he laughs. 

Somehow, miles away—you can already read him. Know him. His thumb massaging his nose, wrist hiding his smile from the world. 

I’m nervous about the fact you could see me and never want to speak to me again You think I’m that shallow? No. It’s just you’ve been the best thing about my day in a long, long time, querida Call me. it’s late isn’t it Javi. 

He moves, the chair he had been on almost toppling over as he opens the storm door and then the next. Moving into the kitchen, not even needing to pull your number up. He knows it. 

It’s burned into him. 

The receiver meets his ear as you answer in record time as your voice greets his ears. Followed by a sigh when he greets you in a low-whisper.

“Javi, I feel the same.” 

He swallows. “Yeah?” 

Silence greets him before you do a soft laugh. That little one he’s begun noticing you do when you later tell him you’ve just nodded or shrugged—forgetting he can’t see down the phone. 

“I wanted you to call so you could hear it. That I want to meet you because I can’t stop thinking about you. And that might be insane, and odd. But… I like you. I feel things.” 

“I know,” he says, pressing his forehead against the wall—eyes closing, hand tightening around the phone. “I like you, too.” 

Javi hears it. The discernible way you relax. 

It comes across in the way you take a breath, in the way he suddenly feels his own shoulders slide from his ears. 

“But if it’s too soon, I can use some time off—“

“No, cariño. No. I… I want to. I’ll be there.” 

You swallow—loud in the silence. Almost clunky. “I’m scared too.” 

Opening his eyes, he stares at the peeling paint. Something running over him, from his head to his feet. It whispers to relax, to breathe—allowing him fully to do both. 

“You could… I don’t know, see me and find I don’t match the image of me you’ve created. Or, find me horribly boring. Or that I’m actually the strangest person. It’s scary. I’m scared too.” 

He nods, smiling to himself. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Baby.” It silences you, and the thought makes him smile. “I’ll pick you up from the airport, okay?”

It takes a beat. 

A full ten seconds. 

“We’re going to meet,” you say softly, almost wistfully. 

And it cracks then, a smile. A real one. His usual one. Turning on the spot, pressing his back against the wall, head meeting it as he lets the grin spread into his cheeks, almost to his eyes if his thumb and finger didn’t begin rubbing them. 

“We’re gonna meet,” he replies.

Opening his eyes, seeing the noticeable flicker of the television—its shimmering light flittering through the doorway, illuminating his pop, who is standing smiling at him. 

AN: remember, if you wish to see the deleted 18+ scene for the birthday bash, be sure to check back on 8th of July, otherwise see you next Tuesday 

next ->

[freakrenaissance]

FANFIC REC MASTERLIST!!!!!!!

It's gonna be quite the undertaking....it'll probably take me a few weeks...but I thought I'd use the remainder of Valentine's Day for a true labor of love.

Still plugging away!!! Thanks so much to all who have liked & reblogged this monster of a list! I won't stop til all my faves are saved here...these masterpieces deserve it! (Check the bottom of the post for the date/time of latest update)

I'm gonna start categorizing alllll the juicy fanfic I'm collecting, so it's easier for me & my tribe to finds what we needs.

The artistry. My goodness. The hellsite we're all addicted to doesn't always show us the goods (tags, searches...you're still left wanting), so, it's high time i created my own card catalogue

I'm going to tag all my lovelies, my faves, & try to categorize them accordingly. Bear in mind, I'm NOT Tumblr savvy, even though i've been on this site for YEARS, so if you take issue with anything, please, POLITELY let me know. Also, if you don't wanna be a part of my lists, feel free to shoot me a message, & I'll remove ya, np ;)

Enjoy!!! & Please, like, share & REBLOG!!!!!!!! & remember: HEED ALL WARNINGS! ALL FICS ARE RATED E, UNLESS OTHERWISE INDICATED

THERE BE BOTH SMUT & FLUFF AHEAD....IF YOU'RE HERE, YOU SHOULD BE OVER 18!!!!!!

Pedro Pascal Characters

Pedro is my love. Has been since before that dark day In King's Landing ...These are the fics that I can't live without:

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin

Fic Rec Lists:

Din - @amorevolousfaith

First Class to Tatooine - @mandosmistress

multi part fic that has made the wait for season 3 an absolute JOY! Fills in every gap in the most delicious ways

Look - @omgreally

one shot - Touch-starved din, making me weak

Dosed - @absurdthirst

one of my all time favorite sex pollen fics!!! sooo delish

Hard Candy - @ezrasbirdie

possessive, bodyguard Din. Need i say more?

You became all the things I wished for, all the things I hoped - @charnelhouse

This entire series! Domestic din at his FINEST

Shared (ft. Paz Vizsla) - @javier-pena

delicously depraved, & exactly where i wanna be. lil dark...mind your warnings. but, omg, what a fave,,,,i've read this so many times! lol

Tattoo My Heart - @mandosmistress

I loooove this fic! our favorite bounty hunter, getting all tatted up & being sexy...I've read this countless times...definitely a fave

i’ve flown too close to the sun - @charnelhouse

One of my all time favorite Din series! That's it. That's the rec. Go check it out immediately!!!

Tie Me Up, Hold Me Down - @mandosmistress

younger din, showing off his knot-tying skills. Dominant & delish

Ner Yaim (My Home) - @dindjarindiaries (G)

A rare bit of fluff. Domestic DIn is my jam...this is adorbs

Carry Me To Safety - @221bshrlocked

More of Din & a lil lactation. this is a series, & I highly recommend going back & reading the whole thing (I'm about to start it all over again) this gem has it ALL

Lord Mandalore - @babybugwrites

Teasing the king in public...ill advised :) Smut ensues. Sign me up!!!

Chemical Feelings - @absurdthirst

One of my all time favorite sex pollen fics! (I should probably just make a whole sex pollen list lol)

Bred - @absurdthirst

One of the best Alpha Din fics in the galaxy. Including shenanigans from our favorite lil baby green bean.

Stuck - @omgreally

Trapped in a small space with our bounty hunter. What's the opposite of claustrophobia? This is one of my faves to reread right here

Marcus Moreno

Frankie "Catfish" Morales

Take Care of You - @whiskeynwriting

Edging Frankie. Sooo perfect

View - @say-al0e

Long distance lovin with Frankie

Ezra (Prospect)

A Girl Walks Into a Bookshop (T) - @oonajaeadira

Bookshop owner Ezra. I think thats nuff said <3

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Oberyn Martell

Marcus Pike

Pizza Comes Third - @whataperfectwasteoftime

Marcus finds your nipple clamps at work...then dreams come true lol,,,i love everything about this gem

Good to Know - @221bshrlocked

New Boyfriend Marcus. Size & age difference kink...sooo sweet!

Javier Pena

Dieter Bravo

A Little Like Strip Poker - @mandosmistress

DIrty, & delicious Dieter at his FINEST! The first Dieter fic I ever read, & still one of my faves

Hubris - @javier-pena

A lil hate sex with asshole Dieter. I adore this (every) version of him

In The Script - @the-fic-baker

Running lines with cocky, asshole Dieter. Love this! lol

Measurements - @boliv-jenta

Working on set with asshole Dieter...Gotta go reread every part of this!

Mr. Ben / SNL Pedro

Maxwell Lord

Joel Miller

"The Thief"

Pero Tovar

David York

'Aw, why are you shy now?' - @danidrabbles

I think this was the first time I ever read a Dave fic, & Omg, i was instantly hooked. So intense & delish

Javier Gutierrez

Chris Evans Characters

Oh, Chris. Yes, captain, my captain. It truly is America's ass :) These fics vary in their intensity...be forewarned. There's something very saucy about seeing the golden boy all tarnished ;)

Steve Rogers (AU)

Silent Whispers (i) - @bonky-n-steeb

Lumberjack Alpha!Steve. I need him to be real :P Completed trilogy!

Captain America

Curtis Everett

Ransom Drysdale

Ari Levinson

Lloyd Hansen

Andy Barber

Chris Evans RPF

Sebastian Stan Characters

The winter soldier is the part of a lifetime...but i'm still salty that the mcu stole him from once upon a time. He was a sexy ass mad hatter. gotta find all the jefferson fics!!!

Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier

honey, there is no right way (i) - @bonky-n-steeb

Sugar daddy, mob AU Bucky. This has so many layers of awesomeness, I can't even begin. Just go read it :)

nothing holding me back - @bonky-n-steeb

Alpha Bucky being sooo sweet & sexy! Roomies in Love!!!

A Proper Welcome - @navybrat817

More Alpha Bucky, with a special guest...this is one of my faves!

no sweeter innocence - @bonky-n-steeb

Another fave! Dom Bucky corrupting Tony's daughter....sooo yum!

Dinner and Diatribes - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

A dark, regency AU for your pleasure..this is a stunning series!

Whiteout - @dilemmaontwolegs

Oh, to get stuck in a storm with Bucky Barnes...Let it snow, baby!!!

Make You Mine - @bonky-n-steeb

Alpha Bucky, all emotionally wounded...until he takes what he deserves. omg, I love this fic!

None Like You - @bonky-n-steeb

Football (soccer) player bucky, being all dominant in the locker room. this baby is delish. & i love his character in this!! It's a series...settle in :)

I'm a Fiend & You're All I Need - @bonky-n-steeb

Getting hubby Bucky to go harder...an embarrassment of riches lol Dominant Bucky deliciousness

Nick Fowler

Trust Me - @navybrat817

A lil Dominant Nick, with a sprinkle of feels. SO delish

Jefferson / The Mad Hatter

Oscar Isaac Characters

Mercy. I fell in love with this marvelous actor before i even knew what he looked like! I still can't believe he was apocalypse in x-men. & then you get a look at him?! Good gravy. Him & my hubby pedro together. My dreams have come true.

Poe Dameron

Santiago Garcia

Tom Hiddleston Characters

This one was a sleeper lol...out of nowhere he attacked me with those cheekbones & that accent....very friggin Loki

Loki

Jurassic Park Characters

One of my first fandoms EVER! I cut my teeth on dinosaurs, just like a normal kid....then things got nastay! lol Sometimes i'm in the mood for the OG, sometimes i want Owen & Claire. Here's a collection of my faves.

Owen Grady & Claire Dearing

Maisie Lockwood

Alan Grant & Ellie Satler

Ian Malcolm

Bridgerton

Doctor Who (These will mostly involve my river)

Right Person, Wrong Time - 11 x River Song - @mnemosyne-musing

Sugar Baby with Your Champagne Eyes - 12 x River Song @mygalfriday

Miscellaneous Characters:

My Love is Vengeance - Bruce Wayne- @charnelhouse

(more coming sooooooon. gtg back to orders, & i'm very tired. stay tuned for more updates!!!)

4:59am est 02/15/23 - started

10:00am est 04/06/23 - last updated

[bumblesimagines]

if you're expecting something in return, forget about it.

i'm in your debt.

i wasn't expecting this from you.

- Javier Peña

if you're expecting something in return, forget about it.

i'm in your debt.

i wasn't expecting this from you.

basically a continuation of this

pronouns: gender neutral, they/them

It was a bad idea.

A horrible idea.

Quite possibly the worst idea you ever had.

Brief conversations with the detective were one thing, but getting into his car in the middle of the night with a club just down the street? A death sentence if anyone saw you. And as far as you knew, nobody had actually seen you. But it didn't make things any better.

You chewed on your bottom lip the whole drive to Javier's place, regretting every moment that led to you getting in his car. Maybe if you'd been more assertive with your brother, maybe if you had taken another job and gathered the money to flee to the states, maybe if your brother hadn't been such a dickhead... you wouldn't be risking your life trying to get some sort of safe haven from Javier.

"You know, I wasn't expecting this from you." Javier spoke quietly, the radio playing so faintly you hadn't noticed it until then. You hadn't noticed a couple things. The car smelled like him, a musky sandalwood mixed with the old smell of cigarettes. His eyes remained on the road ahead but he'd glance in the rearview mirror, and the longer you watched, the more it hit you that he was likely keeping an eye for anyone who could possibly trail him.

"If you're expecting something in return, forget about it." The words tumbled out of your mouth harsher than expected. Javier continued looking forward and you couldn't help but narrow your eyes. You knew the law of the land well. Help wasn't given for the hell of it, something in return was always expected. And Javier Peña was no stranger to that dance.

"What makes you say that?" He questioned gruffly, thumb tapping against the steering wheel and eyes locked on the red traffic light.

"I'm in your debt, aren't I? I'll have to repay that debt eventually, and when the time comes, you'll ask for something. That's how it goes." Your arms folded over your chest and Javier's lips quirked. He dipped his head in a nod.

"Yeah, that's how it goes most times. Right now, though... I'm just doing you a favor."

"Favors are called in too." You muttered and looked forward at the road, the light flickering green and prompting Javier to step on the gas. "I guess you want information? Details about meetings? Who does this and who does that? I'm not stupid, Peña. You want something from me."

"Yeah." He nodded again. How unsurprising of Javier fucking Pe- "I want your trust."

"...What?"