#chris fiestl

[lokiiied]

narcos s3 may not have stavier/murphy, wagner moura, carillo, or trujillo but at least we got them:

[kirsteng42]

God I love this scene as they have actually succeeded in something!!!

That’s the post

[jolalibrary]

i. fairy lights

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter one of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. “You should also know, Peña. I’m harder to sleep with than an informant.."

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, smut, angst. no use of y/n, mild use of a codename for story purposes. wordcount: 5k authors notes: this would have remained in my google drive if it wasn't for the sheer love, listening ears and heart of both @yeyinde and @guyfieriii - every bit of sass is written for you.

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Your eyes studied him. Peered through the half-open blinds, trying to assess at what stage you should go in—make your introductions. You’d hung back, not wanting to fawn like the others, needing to know if the man they placed on such a high shelf really deserved to be raised amongst the rest of you. 

Because you knew what he had done. You’d heard the whispers, the gossip—even if they tried to keep a lid on it. 

“Here.” 

Your eyes are pulled to a tall shadow, finding no smile—no smirk. Face entirely void of emotion. The coffee in his hand presented to you, your fingers obediently wrapping it, narrowing your eyes at the person in front of you. 

“From your favourite place.” 

The smirk falls easily over your lips. “What did you do, Van Ness?” 

It’s then he smiles—almost smirks. The two so closely woven together that you aren’t entirely sure where joy and torture truly begin. “I may or may not have fucked your filing system—but in my defence, I’m not the only one.” 

“I’m aware.”

“You met him yet?” he asked, nodding his head towards the office you’re stationed outside. “The new Attaché.”

“No, and do you not have work to be doing, Dan?” 

He shrugs, placing his cup down before leaning both palms on your desk, moving closer and closer. You watch as his smirk begins to cut into more of his features, almost being allowed to greet his eyes.

“This is for Fiestl’s sake—and the new pair of eyes studying us. The former thinks you’re seeing someone.” 

Mirroring him, you bring the coffee to your lips, leaning forward as then noted and the taste explodes across your tongue. “Lemme guess, you’re enjoying watching Chris squirm?” 

“Do you blame me?”

“No. Not really.”

You command him to look up when you walk through his office door. Your knock barely meets his ears before you’re there, stalking into his office with your hands full of files, papers and a single notebook.

He hears you murmur about not wanting to interrupt, but Javi doesn’t believe you.

Because of the sly smirk carved into your cheeks. The way you’re standing boldly in front of his desk, not giving him any indication that you’re not standing exactly where you want to be, at the time you wanted to. 

Your name falls from your tongue like it’s supposed to be blessing the air. As though you’re doing him a favour by informing him of it—not that it mattered.

He’d already learnt your name. That, and the name you’re so often called around the office—the one no one has yet explained to him. 

Now that you’re here, not restricted by half-open blinds and glass, he can look at you fully. He can run his eyes up and down your frame, not just admire your side profile. You’re pretty is what he thinks. Likely knows it from the way you don’t cower under his gaze, but rather thrive under it. He bets you act like you’re made of glass, when you’re in fact made of steel—that you’re used to making others feel better about their inadequacies than owning the fact you’re good.

You stand straight, not extending your hand out across his desk to him—telling him, without using your words, you’re not really here to make introductions. 

It almost pulls a smile from him. Your obvious indifference is welcomed after the sea of interviews he feels he’s had with the rest of the department.  It’s clear you’re not here to fawn, to interrogate him—you don’t even appear to be impressed he was half the reason Escobar was taken down.

Your eyes are still on him—piercing, digging themselves in as you continue to speak. They pierce, both your words and your sight, back remaining as diligently straight, words tumbling and falling from your lips into sentences he’s not even processing. 

Javi suspects you know he isn’t listening.

Holding yourself in a way that tells him this is a process, more than kindness. Your impassiveness growing, fermenting in the lack of interruption from him—and he welcomes it, almost craves it. So drained from shaking hands and listening to pester him for a scrap of information—an insight they’ve not read from a newspaper. 

You, without meaning to, provide a semblance of normality as you continue to talk. 

Shifting, he moves to lean on the sideboard behind him, keeping his eyes trained on you, noting how you’re American, but your vowels are tinged with the tone of someone who has been here too long. He hangs off of them, the inflictions, the oddities in the way you speak certain words. 

He shouldn’t. 

Javi has already woken up beside a colleague—an intern. Had already failed his promise to himself he made on the plane over, that this time would be different. 

And, here he is, dragging his eyes up and down your frame—noting things about you that are irrelevant, not listening. 

“--I’ve made notes, which I’ve tabbed for you. Just in case you decided to stop listening.”

You lift your eyes from your notes, and it’s different than when you’d first stalked in. They’re softer, their piercingness lost—vanished, as if you’d never tried to dig them into him—dousing him something akin to cool water on a stifling day. 

For the single, briefest second, he’s lost to the world around him. He’s falling, tumbling into them—losing his grip on morals and right from wrong as you just watch him. Not knowing how you’re basking him in light, sunshine and fucking serenity. 

A sight he’d never expected in his office, never mind in his presence. 

He clears his throat, Crosby’s words coming to him—rotating around and around. It’ll be different this time. By the book. Javi knows he has to make amends for what happened before. Even if it means having to follow orders, keep himself to himself—not fuck a subordinate again. Leave with his head held high, determination strong, impenetrable—

“Did you get all of that?” 

The air around you both tenses, constricting. 

It almost cracks, suddenly pulled to the point it’s making it hard to breathe. His mind is trying to latch to words, but just keeps replaying your entrance—how you stormed in like a hurricane, sweeping everything to the sides and leaving only you. The air shifts under the pressure, poisoned with patchouli and amber, a scent he cannot help but continue to inhale as it tries to stick to the walls—to the inside of him. 

Your eyes change again, sharpening—pitchforks at the ready as though you’ve already built him a stake to burn him on. Them trying to needle into him, undoing the carefully stitched threads that are working hard to keep him together. He equally tries to carve something out of you, work behind the layers, walls and forced aloofness. 

That’s when he finds it—hidden under carefully placed truths and hidden lies: hope. 

His heart descends, spluttering in annoyance. Because people pin that to him more than anything else. They assume he’s the answer—the centre of something big, important. A beacon they’ve all been waiting for, the one who can slay the biggest monsters and undo the greatest of crimes.

He feels it. 

How they say they wrap him in armour, but actually weigh him down in expectations. 

He moves his index and middle finger in the same pattern against his thumb. A slow rotation once, before moving it the other way twice. The pain in his head continued to throb, to pulse—his free hand rubbing that spot on his forehead. 

“I can repeat the basics, if that would be easier?” 

Your voice is like syrup—dripping into his ears, yet they’re not sticking. They’re clumping, forming somewhere between his ears and not filing themselves where they’re supposed to be. 

He can’t find the word no, or thank you. Unsure as he looks at you, how to explain this isn’t your words, but everything else. That there’s something sitting on his chest—has been since Escobar. That it lies there, dormant, waiting. 

“Sir…” 

He snorts, both at the way you say his title and that you’re the billionth person to call it him. Suddenly realising, knowing that the reason he cannot find the word no or thank you, is because they’re not the words he truly wants to say. Javi wants to say that he can’t take in your words because the floor is slipping away, his blood is bubbling nervously in his ears, heart and throat. 

Swallowing, he meets your eyes, wondering if you know that he feels like he’s drowning and yet he’s on land. While the ground feels and appears tough, firm and solid, it’s sliding under it—back to the flames he baptised himself in last time. The licks of fire singeing the edges of his skin.

Mainly, Javi wants to tell you that your to-do list that’s bigger than even you… he’s not sure what to do with any of it. 

You step closer, heels echoing in the small space as you slam the files on his desk—a piece of ripped paper capturing his attention. Your handwriting, all swirls and legible letters—not the writing of a man or another idiot in this place. Not able to pull himself away from it until he feels your fingers on his bicep, tight but soft in nature. 

“Breathe.”

You whisper it, let it greet the air with more kindness than you’ve shown since you burst into his office. Your thumb draws a triangle shape against his jacket, as you repeat the one word again. 

“What?”

Javi doesn’t mean to spit it—to let it hit the air harshly and questioningly. He doesn’t mean to be blunt or direct, shattering your softness and mellow tone. 

You pull your hand back all the same, but your face doesn’t shift—doesn’t change—and you also don't move. 

“Take a breath,” you say, in a tone devoid of any emotion. “You… look like you need it. And, I know I reeled off a lot there, but we’ll find ways.” 

Eyes full of something he can’t place—like knowing, experience and grief. Your unspoken words slide into his mind without needing to speak them. 

“We because you and I, we’re going to find ways around problems. I’m not Stoddard, and I’m not one of the idiots out there, Agent Peña.”

His pulse quickens, especially when you take a step back, pulling a piece of paper from the top of the pile before placing it more firmly in front of his chair. More in view, if he were to lean forward.

“I cannot put a vest on and leave these walls to do your bidding, but I can do a fucking lot inside these walls. With sheer will and a sharp tongue. This is what I’ll do for you. I’m the one who does your grunt work, so you can make the difference; I’m the one who’ll take the mountain of shit first, so you can make that difference. I’ll hold up the goddamn walls, Peña. You just have to tell me what street and what number. Whatever you need me for, I am here. So, breathe.” 

Your words almost make him crack—make him believe for a second that what you said was true. 

But, Javi knows better—has seen so much.

He’s played the game, seen the deceit wrapped in kindness, and been spat out because of it. 

“Alright…”

You nod, shifting your weight, watching you be lulled into a false sense of security—wondering if your walls are down enough for him to see a real answer on your face as he asks:

“Answer me this, Agent. What did they give you?”

It’s instant—the way you flinch. Small, likely not visible to most. 

Truthfully, it catches him by surprise, not expecting it. Having spent a large chunk of time around people who hold secrets, he’s not seen that one happen before. Not so quickly, not so naturally it flitters and is removed before he can truly take notice of it. 

Regret bathes him. Falls in heavy buckets from the ceiling down onto him, and he stuffs the feeling down under his suit and faultily-thrown-up ego. 

Even if the words to take it back are so easily there, readily available to be spoken—

“Not a glass prison,” you reply, words as sharp as knives.

Your back straightens again, face unreadable as you snatch your notebook from the files, the soles of your shoes making their exit before you pause, giving him one last look. 

“I’ll be at my desk, Sir.”

You don’t slam the door back into place, but rather cautiously slide it until he’s alone, lifting your chin, eyes holding his. 

Fuck.

Blanketed in low light and the soft twinkles of the bar’s fairy lights, Javi spots you immediately. 

Your jacket is removed, hanging limply from the barstool you’re sitting on, swirling the crystal glass, sloshing the liquid and ice inside of it. 

It’s instant—the twist of guilt in his stomach. 

He’s tried to speak to you. Tries to find ways to apologise without as much as saying it. But, you’re good. If he tries to ask you about work, you are nothing short of professional. Calling him sir, fetching what he needs and handing him notes—needling yourself further into his guilt. 

Outside of those moments, when he’d offered you coffee, you’d simply lifted your full mug without as much as meeting his eye. He had even tried to beat you into work, only to find you already there, your desk lamp being all that illuminated the office as you tore through files and mumbled a brief morning. 

The only benefit to your ignorance towards him is he’s been able to watch how soft you could be—how you smile with ease and how gentle your voice could be with those that aren’t him. He’d been able to watch the dynamics of the people who approach you, a taller one making you smirk and a more blonder man able to make your back straighter than he can. 

It’s also allowed him to peer under the hard exterior and defensive tone, and learn more about you from others.

Luna. That’s what they call you—a callsign, codename. A reference to your last operation in Cali before you forced yourself to be on desk work. A name chosen by you, they said—now one you fit so perfectly. One with the night, never sleeping, never leaving the office. 

Now, you’re here. 

Haunting him out of work as you are his work life. If he had known you drank here, he’d have grabbed a bottle and drank alone in his apartment. Not caring for the uptempo music and the fact others stare at him. 

He knows he’s giving more to Colombia than he ever should have—both fractions of his soul and his pride, as well as pieces of his future. The notion forces him to undo his tie as he walks over, letting his tie hang as he slides his jacket off—trying not to fixate on you. 

Even in the low lighting, he sees your perfectly manicured nails and the way your lips slide into a smirk. You roll your wrist as he slides into the chair beside you, amber and ice swirling with your motions—likely making a rhythmic noise if not for the loud music. 

We’re going to find ways around problems. 

“Evening… Sir.” 

He’d found your file, and read the pieces he was able to. He knows a redacted file when he sees one, but the main points are still there—still bold in pressed ink and serif. 

Javi smirks, both at the fact you still haven’t looked at him and the fact he can’t get used to being called sir. Least of all when it falls from your lips—a hidden note to it when you let it leave your tongue. Mouth curling around each letter as you let it float to his ears. 

It’s almost torturous when you say it—just like your perfume has grown to be. Hanging heavy in the air when he walks through, giving him hints of where you are, where you’ve been. He’s also been able to discern vanilla is another element to it, mind flicking to you when he smells a note from your perfume. 

He knows he’d be able to work out the other notes if he allowed himself to. Be able to work out which ones are all you and which you soak your skin in. 

You bring the glass to your lips, draining the liquid down your throat before placing it between the two of you, taking the hint.

“Same again?”

Nodding—direct and clinical, just like a well-trained agent. “Por favor.”

There’s a story. One which goes deep or goes high, he hasn’t quite worked it out. Knowing there has to be a reason for so much to have been removed and a reason why someone as talented as you has been saddled to a desk. If he were more drinks in, he’d ask. Bite the bullet, use his lack of tact to make you angry until you’re bursting at the seams, spilling all of your treasured truths. 

You don’t look at him until your glass is full, and then your eyes meet his, placing him under a spotlight. Illuminating him, making him glow as you make his skin warm and his shirt clings more to his spine. No words leave your lips as you bring the glass back up, taking the smallest sip as you smirk—letting the silence thicken. 

She’s good. Talented.

That’s what he’s been told by Crosby. No further explanation, moving quickly on. 

“You have secrets.” 

You laugh, harsh and short. “Oh, don’t we all. I know a lot about yours.”

“You gonna start calling me a hero too, Luna?”

Pursing your lips, your eyes narrow briefly. He watches as your head tilts, eyes not sharpening or changing, but something in you does. Likely to do with the name—the codeword. The one they used when you were down in Cali to refer to you. 

“I wouldn’t waste my breath telling you something you don’t believe.” You let the words hang, brew and fizz. “You don’t get to call me that, either.”

You take a long sip, rolling your lips together as he brings his own to his lips. He coats his tongue in it, attempting to smother the growing anxiousness embedding itself into his bones. Because there’s something about the way you stare at him, how it makes things unlodge and shift inside of him. 

“You should also know, Peña. I’m harder to sleep with than an informant and I’m not half as impressed by you as Katie, the intern.” 

He tenses, visibly. Not able to hide it, bury it. He doesn’t miss the tone, the way you say it with brimstone and annoyance. The hair along his neck standing on edge as you continue to stare, to dig into him. 

“What… here all of one day and you already managed to fuck the intern. My hero.” 

His cheeks burn, draining his glass as the whiskey does a good job of burning his insides. Hating how you know—how you’re unafraid of lifting a mirror to show him his failings. He despises that you know the edges of him, pierces—the worst parts of him. 

Mainly, he dislikes that you’re smirking, sipping your glass as though taking a victory sip. A checkmate. 

“I sat next to you because I thought you’d cause me the least amount of issues.”

Smirking broader, you tilt your head. “You clearly don’t know me then, Peña.”

“No, Luna. I don’t.”

Placing his glass down, slowly rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. Regretting coming here, regretting thinking he could… 

“I’m sorry. For… the other day. For upsetting you now.”

You lean back, something between the two of you shifting as he watches you sigh. The music changes, slowing, almost quietening. “I’m a bit impressed you know that word.”

He almost laughs. Letting the thick silence thrum between the two of you, resting his elbow on the bar’s counter as he watches you play with your glass.

Clearing your throat, you refuse to meet his eyes as you ask, “It’s likely the whiskey… but, you doing okay, Sir?” 

He watches as you roll your finger across the rim, occasionally glancing at him, but never meeting his eyes. 

Something he suddenly wants—desperate to earn the sight of them. 

“Less of the ‘sir’.”

It’s then he hears you laugh. Low, smothered by faux indifference, compared to the usual you so easily muster. 

“The barrel—barrels—they have you over… i get it. I meant what I said, Javier. If you need an ear,” you say, fingers flexing across the counter as you meet his gaze. “You’re not the only one, to be fucked by bureaucracy—is all I mean. But, you likely know that, right? Heard all about me, and my failings. Have to if you’re calling me my cover name.”

He swallows, watching your chin dip, eyes falling to your lap.

“They make you feel like you’re it, and then just as easily they’ll rip it from you—and you’re left with… nothing.” 

It fluctuates—changes—some shadow of truth emerging from the depths between them as it stands before them both, almost warningly, but not threatening. He can’t understand it, can’t read it fully, but knows it’s there. 

And then you smile, vanishing it all away as you offer him your name again. 

As though you hadn’t already handed it to him, as if he hadn’t already committed it to memory and tried it on his tongue. 

“--just in case you didn’t listen to me before.” “I listened.”

Your lips curl. “Yeah? That before or after you checked out my ass?”

He says nothing, taking your glass and draining it. 

“Don’t call me Luna.”

“Why, you hate it or something?”

You say nothing for a moment before you turn to the bartender—ordering them both another drink. 

He finds you taste like heaven and hell all at once. 

You burn him, consume him—desperately trying to rip through him. He’d let you. Aid you in shredding him apart as long as your sweet, full lips remain pressed to his. They pull him from self-deprecation and overwhelmingness, gripping your waist as he gets you inside his place, pressing your spine against the inside of his door as you let out that honeyed whimper he heard outside the bar. 

You taking me to yours, Peña? Can do.  Don’t pretend you’ve not been thinkin’ it for the last hour. 

One of your arms slings around his neck, eyes full of molten fire and lust as you capture his lips. Pressing yourself roughly against his body, allowing him to pull you so flush he feels the buttons of your blouse against him. 

Before we do this—you clean? Yes, I’m fucking clean. Just checking. I don’t know where you’ve been, Peña. Get in the car. 

The moment halts, pauses. It breathes between you, all set to unravel as your eyes ghost over him, breath merging with his as he stares at you. 

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your lips curl into a smile, one he strokes with his thumb. “Thank you, Sir.”

Fuck. That word. It drips from your tongue to his ear and down to his cock. His lips messily meeting yours, every other touch precise and well-versed, as though the two of you have done this before together. The movements are painted together by moans and whimpers, a part of him sliding back into place as clothes—both yours and his—fall to the floor in the wake of him getting you to his bed. 

He runs his thumb over your blouse-covered peak, his teeth running down your neck to a spot which makes your nails dig into the back of his head. Your other hand is on his spine, fingers sprayed as he moves you elegantly around the furniture like it’s a dance and not ruination. 

Then your lips find him again, pulling him up, teeth slightly nibbling at his bottom lip. You kiss him like you’re breathing life into him—trying to awaken parts of him stolen months ago. Pity, guilt and an array of other things are all smothered by the way your tongue slides past his teeth. Your fingers are busy in their pursuit, the clanging of metal undoing hammers into the air as his trousers ease from his hips. 

“Thought you were harder to sleep with.”

Your laugh blends with a moan as he presses you against the wall outside his room, hand snaking inside your underwear. 

The fabric cuts into his palm, sliding two fingers into your slick as you clench around him—enveloping him, coating him in your want and need. 

He waits for the back-pedalling for you to tell him something egotistical like others usually do. Only, you don’t. 

“Took pity… fuck—on you. Seemed like—oh, fuck—you need this.” Your hand clutches his cheek, eyes burning into his as your lips try to capture his, just about ghosting, the sensation of it almost making his move against the air. “Plus… thought you’d be better than my—oh, Peña—fingers… Sir.” 

He emits a groan which comes from somewhere at the back of his throat. It makes him crash his mouth to yours, fingers twisting to find the spot that makes your knees weaken. He tastes the whiskey and the mint you’d popped on your tongue when they’d left the bar. 

He smells your perfume, noticing how it wraps around him, digging its claws into him, smearing over his skin. 

“Wanna taste you…”

You clench your walls around his fingers, nails digging into his cheek and waist as you stare, slowly nodding. 

Not allowing you to change your mind, he frees his hand from your underwear, picking you up, kicking the door of his bedroom open as he takes in the small yelp from the sudden movements. 

It’s not until you’re lay against his sheets, eyes coating him in a potion mixed of lust, pleasure and need, swirling shades all around him he couldn’t begin to name, does he really take notice of how fucking beautiful you are. He’d seen it, noted it—but hadn’t allowed himself to truly appreciate it, something he began making up for as he slowly drops to his knees, pulling you a little closer. 

You watch him watch you, chest rising and falling before him. 

“Javi,” he breathes as he hooks a thumb on either side of your underwear, beginning to slide it down your thighs. “That’s what you should call out when I make you come on my tongue.” 

He places a kiss to the inside of your knee as you moan, discarding your underwear before hooking your legs over his shoulders—noticing how wet you are, allowing his breath to dance over it, purposefully blowing it as your hips wiggle in both desperation and apprehension. 

“You have to earn that,” you murmur, missing your usual confidence as he stares at you through his lashes. “Sir.”

He smirks, and then he devours you. Tongue flattening against you at first before he plunges it inside of your folds, tasting you—tasting how much you’ve wanted him since your eyes had begun flicking from his lips to his eyes. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, hearing you—a chorus of please, Peña,  fuck and—

Javi. 

After a night of Peña and a day of sirs—it’s bliss. His name falling from your lips makes him rock his hips for friction. Makes him want to halt his plans to have you come on his tongue, and instead bury himself to the hilt inside of you. 

But there’s time. 

He knows this. Wants this. He wants to take you apart with the same tongue that made you mad. He wants to apologise with the mouth which went too far. He wants to know what your pleasure truly tastes like and commit each note of it to his taste buds. 

You lose it when he sucks lightly on your bundle of nerves, swiping his tongue in slow and quick circles one way, and then the other— “Fuck, Javi. Please—please, fuck—let me…”

He grins. Plunging his fingers back inside of you, curling them, letting them meet that spot he discovered earlier, that he now wants to conquer. Feeling how tight you are, how soaked. How each movement makes a sound which blends with the sound of your pleas—a compilation he wouldn’t ever let be taken from him. A sound he’s happy to burn into his brain. 

Each movement takes you closer to the edge. Your nails carve through his hair, digging into his scalp as his name falls and falls in a mixture of moans. 

He swirled his tongue in a way which makes your hips buck, and he grips you tightly, not letting you move from it until you were breaking, snapping—

The sound you emit sprays across the walls of his bedroom, his tongue lapping up every drop you’ll give him—ears taking in each infliction and sound you bestow on him. 

“Fuck,” you say when you come down, all breathy and sweet.

Fuck, he thinks. Swiping his fingers across his chin, licking you from them as you pull him up from between your legs, kissing him—tasting yourself on him as he grasps her cheek and jaw, falling against the sheets with you.

“Need you.”

“Sí?”

You smirk, all devious and devilish—sliding your leg over his as he grips your hip—digging his thumb into your skin as you whisper in Spanish:

Ruin me. 

He halts, letting the words circle as you bite your lip, rolling your hips against him—knowing he was going to do just that. Over and over again. Savour each moan of yours until even in the morning, before responsibilities and rights and wrongs sneak back in, he would need you again.

Except, Javi doesn’t wake up with you beside him in the morning. 

He wakes up alone, bed sheets cold—and something akin to disappointment fluttering in his chest: you left.

Briefly, he wonders if it's karma. Another arrow to his knee, a mirror confronting him of his past mistakes. Because, he shouldn’t be bothered that you left—preferring to avoid mess and complication.

But it stung. It irked him. Because usually, it was he who did the leaving, not the woman he had just slept with. 

chapter two ->

[supernaturalgirl20]

Love Me or Leave Me

Part 2

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, mutual pining, slow burn, jealousy, angst, fluff, sexism, forbidden relationship.

Summary: Your Javiers’s secretary. One he does not want. You are also the ambassadors daughter which he hates even more. What happens when the hate you have for each other slowly turns to something else? What will your father say when he finds out?

Reblogs appreciated 🥰

Javi reached across to grab her purse and pull out the box of cigarettes, quickly lighting one up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t do this again but then you came crashing into his life and trampled all over him. He didn’t stand a chance. He had to get out of here he thought to himself as he slowly slipped from the bed, quick to grab his clothes and leave.

Resting his head back against the cool metal wall of the elevator his mind went to you last night. How fucking good you looked in that damn tight dress and he could feel himself getting hard again. Shaking those thoughts from his head he stand straighter as the elevator comes to a stop. He’s early. Earlier than most and he prays he can get into his office without any interaction. A fleeting thought that is quickly crushed when his eyes land you sitting at your desk typing away.

A quiet groan leaves his mouth as he starts to make his way towards his office, eyes focused straight ahead, determined not to look at you. Please, please don’t talk, please.

“Someone got laid last night,” you say with a slight snort. Javi closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh.

“What are going on about?”

“Really? You’re going to pull that one when your clearly wearing the same suit as yesterday, your hair is a little disheveled and you’ve got lipstick on your neck. Real classy Pena.”

“Someone jealous are they?”

“Ha not in this lifetime. I’ve left some files on your desk, Crosby wants you to look them over and report back to him later.”

“Don’t you mean…”

You stand abruptly and put your finger on his lips, your eyes staring right into his. He feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest at the feel of your warm skin on his lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare say it. If you’re so desperate for those words to fall from my lips then you better fucking woo me first.”

Pulling your hand away you make your way towards the coffee machine, leaving him standing there gawping like an idiot, again. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and curses to himself as he storms into his office. Fucking perfect.

***

“Y/N?”

Closing your eyes you take a deep breath as you try to calm yourself. This was the tenth time he has called you in an hour and you were getting pissed. Standing up, you quickly adjust your skirt as you make your way into his office, the biggest smile plastered on your face.

“You called!”

“Can you get me some..”

“Sir I found something,” Fiestl say as he barges into his office.

“Oh sorry…hi I’m Chris you must be the beautiful secretary I’ve been hearing so much about.” You blush at his compliment and fiddle with your hair as he continues to stare at you.

“What is it Fiestl?” Javi says loudly, his voice dripping in anger.

“Sorry sir. I found a link to an offshore account I think they’re…”

“That’s it?! We had that months ago I need more.”

“Oh I thought this was…”

“Unless you have something concrete, don’t bother me again.”

“Sorry sir,” he says slowly turning to leave before grabbing your attention.

“Hey do you wanna grab some lunch maybe?”

“She’s busy.”

You glare at Javier as he continues to keep his head down focused on the papers in front of him. “Well then maybe dinner..”

“Out! Now!” Chris hurries out the door and back to his desk. Turning back towards Javier you move down over his desk, the blouse your wearing revealing the top of your breasts as you lean over to whisper in his ear.

“Now’s who’s jealous?!”

***

Your day had been - a breeze really. Javier had been busy at meetings all day and you were on top of all the paperwork so you decided to take a quick coffee break.

Making your way back into the embassy you overhear some of the other agents talking, passing no remarks until you hear them mention Javier and your father.

“I heard he got absolutely chewed a new one by Crosby. Serves him right though, I mean who does think he is coming back over here trying to run the show. We don’t need him.”

“Crosby fucking hates him.”

“Yeah I heard he’s back to his old truck again too, fucked that intern last night.”

“Same old Javier Pena.”

Rolling your eyes you scoot past and make your way back to your desk, eyes glancing into his office but he’s not back yet. Wonder where he is? Grabbing some of the files he was finished with you decide to bring them back to storage. Nothing else to do really.

The halls are practically empty as the day dies down and you don’t realise there’s anyone else there until you here his voice. He’s talking to someone and you move a little closer to try and hear what’s being said.

“If there was any justice in the world Agent Pena, you would have been arrested.”

Whoever he’s talking too clearly has some issues with him and you can tell from the way his shoulder stiffen that this has hit him hard. You heard about what he did last time with Los Pepes and honestly you can’t blame him. He did what he thought was the right thing to catch a bad guy. Sure he could have done it differently but that’s life, we live and we learn.

Waiting until they’ve gone you quickly make your way to storage and then back to your desk. Gathering up your things for the day you hear a muffled ‘fuck’ come from his office and against your better judgment you but your bag in your desk and knock on his office door.

“What!”

***

This day has been a clusterfuck.

First, the two agents he had in Cali were made and he had to send them packing back to America. Which didn’t go to well. To make matters worse, Crosby is on his ass to wrap things up. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if he could send two new agents to Cali but he’s under strict orders to stay grounded. I need a fucking cigarette.

Pacing his office he curses loudly before rummaging through his desk drawers. Letting out a frustrated sigh when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

“Fuck!”

Bracing himself on his desk eyes closed he takes in a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He thinks it even starts to work until he hears a knock at his door.

“What?!”

“I’m gonna head out for the day,” you say as you poke your head in his door. “Everything ok?” Javi doesn’t look at you just shrugs off his suit jacket and throws himself onto his couch, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Please just leave I don’t want to take this out on you.

“Here,” you say softly as you hand him a glass of whiskey. “You look like you need it.” He stares at your hand for longer than he should before taking the glass and downing it.

“Thanks.”

“I take it things didn’t go to plan in your meeting?”

“Could say that.”

He realises he’s being short with you and the guilt starts to eat at him, it’s not your fault your fathers an asshole. Finally looking up at you he finds you already making your way towards the door. Please don’t leave.

“Look, if it’s any consolation you’re great at your job so just go with your gut. Do what you think is right. That and Crosby is a glorified dick.” He can’t help but snort at that.

Javi looks at you now a mix of admiration and awe on his face. “Do you normally talk about your father like that?”

Your hand reaches for the door handle and as you open it you look up at him one more time, “some men, are only fathers by name,” and then your gone. He sees you gather your things through the window and he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. Maybe you were coming round to him after all.

“Goodnight Agent Pena, try to actually get some sleep tonight.” There’s my girl.

Part 3

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[hausofmamadas]

Ngl the second I saw your day1 character pick, I was like, “it was only a matter of time” and was also trying to figure out how this hadn’t happened yet at the same time? bc even though it’s just 2 of them, I sorta view Van Ness and Feistl as the like OG equivalent to the Smash And Grab Crew or at least the Sal and Walt and by that I mean haphazardly put together, ragtag duo of lovable but emotionally dysfunctional manchildren with too much time on their hands and no alternative outlets for their Tiny Feelings to look at this job and say …. Y’know. Maybe not? What if I just? didn’t? Maybe not just ruin my whole life over this jUsTiCe thing that doesn’t?? exist???Maybe therapy instead???? * …… crickets …….* no? Aight, just a suggestion

Anyway, I digress. I also lowkey do not have adequate words to describe how this fic made me feel particularly after this last watchalong of S3. Like before, I might've been all, "awwwwww how cute and sad and happy for them," but when I tell you I was clutching my chest for Jyeeeeezus by the end. And it's not that cracked of a ship, but I lowkey left this shit being like "uhhhhhh YES???? FUCK CANON BC DO WE KNOW HER??? DO WE SUPPLANT HER WITH OUR OWN REALITY???? IN THIS HERE HOUSE OF MAMADAS WE SURELY FUCKIN' DOKSKSK"

Bc straight out the gate, you're hitting me right in the eyes, forehead, heart, gut, you're taking a baseball bat to my gotdamn kneecaps like a regular Capodecina no way in fuck I spelled that right, it's fine sksksj with this: Under the yellow lights, and through the thick glass of the several drinks, he found that his partner looked older than he expected. Worn out, like an embassy vet. When exactly he'd lost that eager Boy Scout look, that look like a golden retriever about to pounce, Van Ness couldn't figure out.

OKAY FIRST OFFKSKSKS I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE TERM "EMBASSY VET" FOR THE NEXT 500 YRS AND NOTHING ELSE. Bc my goldfish memory can't hold any OGdetails for shit I blame Nmx so was this something they said in the show?? that you just put in there bc your eagle eye ear? caught a gem? or did you make that shit up???? Either way, the fact that it's something Van Ness thinks about regularly enough to have a name is like- I can't a[sdfj;qlejweveen idkwhyyyyy I find that so fucking funny. I think it's bc I'm just having visions of him getting to Bogota, walking through the halls of the embassy, taking in all the military personnel and capital-F, Feds in their suits bustling around with their papers, with their presumably haggard-ass faces and being like, "Jesus. Is this what tf are we in for? Cause if so, I need to up my skincare regime. Mfs straight lookin' like those before/after recovery pictures for ppl addicted to amphetamines." Like justasldkjfslkfj is he that catty bitch?? ...I mean, sí, obvio KEKW

God, moving on, and it's really gonna take a biblical amount of strength not to actually quote this whole-ass thing or go as hard as I normally do bc I only have so much finger strength and time to scream if I'm still trying to like eat and sleep and stuff scratch the sleep actually bc when really do I do that sksk but I wasfull hoooowowlwlling at Van Ness telling Feistl he reminds him of his ex wife, followed by just the most sincere outrage from Feistl like you know his Feelings were legit hurt. But bc you knew you had me where you wanted me aka wide open to this deadly offensive you had to go and just- ... they'd never had this argument before, not exactly, but it felt familiar in the way it felt dangerous.

LIKE FOR THE AL;SDFKJA;LS;DKJF;LQKWJE R;O;J LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, HOW IN THE ACTUAL FUCK DO YOU COME UPWITH SHIT LIKE THAT. *refers back to detective notepad, trying not to sob behind impossibly tiny reading glasses* You did it again. What did you do exactly? Well, according to my notes here, it's A Thing You Do that I've noticed where you put to words a common emotional experience that most ppl can relate to but that we don't necessarily have the right or a shared vocabulary for in the general zeitgeist, digital soup of the interwebs? And do it in the most succinct, poignant way possible, where I'm like- I know that exact teetering on the edge of an Actual Fight that will unlock deep and profound truths about you and the other person but you really don't wanna get into it rn, and I've thought about the experience before but only in teh sense that like the thought has bounced around nebulously in mind, but I havne't had the words to describe it. In my experience, it's usually it's a joke couched in Too Much Truth or that thing of like- how do I- okay, it's the one couple that shows up to like someone's engagement dinner and they take sarcastic little jabs at each other all night, to the point that you're like exchanging looks uncomfortably with your homies and when they leave, you all know for a fact they're having a screaming match in the car on the way home SKSKSKS

And then, there was this other devastating banger of a line: He almost missed that Feistl was speaking, only maybe by now it wasn't Feistl, it was Chris. He couldn't be sure, and he thought another aguardiente would've helped. It was probably Feistl. NOOLSKDFJA;LKJ OKAY bc ngl it took me a second to see that this was going in the slash direction bc I didn't fully read the masterlist kskss before copy/pasting the fics into my google doc to read like an Agatha Christie novel bc I am 80 and this was when it finally hit me that he's drunkenly trying to talk himself out of or into going home with Feistl in a don't-think-of-a-Purple-Elephant sorta way sksks and then it broke me apart bc I realized that it's basically the same as Dina saying "David" vs "Barron," or vice versa, him calling her "Dina" vs "Enedina," like the attempted maintenance of distance crumbling so spectacularly in a way that is almost measurable skskjd

And then, in closing, one last assault to really make sure I'm a full 6ft deep in my grave: Dark bar, hard liquor, he could've gotten away with it too—could've figured his way out of the conversation and fled on back to his shitty little apartment for the night. But it wasn't his shitty little apartment he wanted to fall asleep in.

what we do now

for day one of the narcos october challenge: create a fanwork about a canon character you’ve never written about/used before.

Victory lasted them a little while, until one night in some overpriced bar near the embassy, Van Ness looked at his glass and found it was empty.

“Damn,” he said. “I was just getting a taste for that.”

“Aguardiente?” said Feistl. 

Van Ness looked at him. Under the yellow lights, and through the thick glass of several drinks, he found that his partner looked older than he expected. Worn out, like an embassy vet. When exactly he’d lost that eager Boy Scout look, that look like a golden retriever about to pounce, Van Ness couldn’t figure out.

Feistl had undone the top button of his collared shirt and loosened his tie so the dark knot of it hung below the hollow of his throat. That was another thing Van Ness noticed.

“Hey,” said Feistl. “Earth to space cadet.”

It was no use protesting that his mind had been in the present. 

“You’re the one who dragged me here,” Van Ness said. The words came out of his mouth, bypassing his brain entirely. It occurred to him that he was drunk.

“Uh, no. I said I wanted to get arepas at the street stall Trujillo recommended, you said it was too far to walk.” Feistl chuckled, finished his beer, gestured at the bartender for another. 

“This fuckin’ guy,” he added fondly to nobody in particular. “Can’t hold his aguardiente for shit.”

Van Ness heard himself saying, “You remind me of my ex-wife.”

Feistl leaned back an inch, eyebrows shooting up comically, mouth sketching a willingness to smile just in case this turned out to be a joke. “The fuck, Dan?”

“I meant Colombia,” Van Ness said. “You’re the one who dragged me here.”

Feistl slumped his weight a little to the side, onto the elbow he had rested on the bar. Van Ness didn’t think for one minute that meant his partner was relaxing; he knew better.

“You’re the one who followed me here,” said Feistl, and they’d never had this argument before, not exactly, but it felt familiar in the way it felt dangerous. He felt his mouth go dry.

Then, magically, he got saved; Feistl’s eyes flicked over to catch something happening behind Van Ness’s back, and a mischievous smile touched his lips. “Oh shit. Pay up.”

Van Ness turned. In the back corner, Peña had just gotten up, followed by a tall brunette.

What do we do now? Van Ness had asked Peña only ten minutes ago, or maybe it had been Feistl, he couldn’t remember, it was funny how he couldn’t even remember, but anyways, Peña had said nothing. Just downed his drink, stood, and made his way to the back corner where a couple beautiful women were sitting at a table all to themselves.

Van Ness had bet that he’d go for the blonde, Feistl the brunette.

As they watched, Peña started making his way through the crowd, followed by the brunette, followed by—“You pay up,” Van Ness said—the blonde too.

At the door, Peña opened the door for the two women like a gentleman, returned Van Ness and Feistl’s little waves with a cool kid’s nod, and disappeared back into legend. 

Van Ness looked at Feistl, shrugged, and swapped five-dollar bills with him. 

“Guess that’s what you do now, huh,” said Feistl.

“Guess so.”

The two of them eyed each other, Feistl taking a swig of his new beer, Van Ness having nothing to do with himself at all but sit there, feeling unaccountably cheated. He had wanted things to go back to normal, and they had, and now he didn’t want normalcy anymore.

“You want another drink?” Feistl said. 

“No,” said Van Ness. It wasn’t at all what he said, but the way he said it, that made his partner’s expression get a little tireder, a little warmer. His brown eyes were wise; Van Ness missed the early days, when he thought the new rookie was stupid. 

He almost missed that Feistl was speaking, only maybe by now it wasn’t Feistl, it was Chris. He couldn’t be sure, and he thought another aguardiente would’ve helped. It was probably Feistl.

“Dan,” Feistl said. “Don’t.”

“It’s what we do now,” Van Ness said. He felt a little lightheaded.

“What’s what we do now?”

“What we want to do.”

Chris—it had to be Chris, by now—looked at him like he’d just pieced together a fresh, cartel-sized new lead, only a really fucking weird one, ‘cause whatever it was, it seemed to entrance him and amuse him and hurt him and piss him off all at once, and also, somehow, he was smiling. A small, forgotten kind of smile, but still noticeable. To Dan, at least, who noticed all his smiles.

Slowly, after a second, Chris said,“You do know that you don’t have to work a hundred hours of unpaid overtime and catch a cadre of internationally wanted drug lords just to have the thing you want, right? Please tell me you know that.”

“Sure, I know that. Everyone knows that,” said Van Ness “But I worked a hundred hours of unpaid overtime and I caught a cadre of internationally wanted drug lords, so I damn well better get what I want.”

He had aimed for sweeping and gruff and masculine on that last part, but ended up petulant; the difference was doubt. As always. It didn’t help that Chris had stopped smiling.

Chris said, “I wouldn’t want to drag you anywhere.”

He didn’t say it mean, but Dan flushed anyway. Dark bar, hard liquor, he could’ve gotten away with it, too—could’ve figured his way out of the conversation and fled on back to his shitty little apartment for the night. But it wasn’t his shitty little apartment he wanted to fall asleep in.

“I’ll follow you,” Dan said.

And he did.

.

.

.

[ my narcos fic masterlist ]

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blame it on the alcohol? no, blame it on the @axreliono.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 10: Used Tea Bags - Javier Pena

Day 10: Used Tea Bags - Javier Pena 

This takes place during season 3 of Narcos. Honestly I love season 3 Javier when he’s the boss and even more stressed and I just want to rub his shoulders and tell him it’s all going to be okay. 

Pairing: Javier Pena x reader 

Rating: 18+ language and implied sexual situations. 

November Writing Challenge Masterlist (Holy crap I am 1/3 of the way done!) 

Day 9: No, you don’t - Maxwell Lord 

It was late, the sounds of cumbia played through the open window from the bar down the street. The well worn kitchen table is covered in maps, half drunken cups of coffee, a chipped plate is covered in cigarette butts, some still smoldering, and on another is several used tea bags bleeding onto the plate. The world should be sleeping but not here, here there were plans to be made. 

Javier Pena kneeled next to the coffee table flanked by Trujillo, and Colonel Hugo Martinez on his left and Chris Feistl and Daniel Van Ness on his right. A map of Cali with different routes to the airport are highlighted. The Cali police force are crooked as hell so they needed a way around them, if they got in there and actually found Gilberto Rodriquez they needed to figure a way to get him out of Cali and back to Bogota without any corruption. The only way to do that was to plan everything in secret. 

You had been assigned to work with Javier upon his return to Columbia as his assistant. Everyone had warned you before he got there about Agent Pena, saying he was an asshole, womanizer, and should have gone to jail for his involvement with Los Pepes. But, you tried to go into it with an open mind. 

When you first introduced yourself the only thing that stuck out to you was how exhausted he looked and not just physically. His eyes held a weariness that couldn’t fade from only a good night's rest. He was reluctant at first to accept any help whether it be in the form of a cup of coffee, an ashtray, or a file he had left on your desk the night before. 

But you never gave up, always thinking one step ahead of him. You handed him a file before he even asked for it, you brought him lunch before he starved to death in his office, and you always knew when he was low on cigarettes because a new pack would appear on his desk. He tried to tell you he was quitting but you both knew that was bull shit. 

When Feistl and Van Ness made their connection to ‘Natalia’ the informant inside the Cali cartel things began to move quickly. It became apparent that they needed to work under the radar on this one. They needed to find somewhere they could meet but would also be discreet and before Javier could even asked you offered your apartment as ground zero for taking down Gilberto Rodriquez. The small government provided apartment wasn’t meant to hold more than maybe two people but over the past few nights it held at least ten at all times. Not only the Colonel, and Trujillo but Pena, the DEA guys, and several loyal members of Search Bloc. 

At this point you're sure your neighbors believe you’ve become a prostitute from the revolving door of men who come through your door during the night. Especially Senora Rivera who yesterday morning gave you a rosary before telling you she is praying that you don’t get any diseases from the men you keep company. What a charming neighbor she is. You're tempted to bake her some chocolate chip cookies and ask a few Search Bloc guys to deliver them but you know that will only make it worse. 

Javi is going over the plan for the twelfth time that night and you're in the kitchen making another pot of coffee. You yawn silently to yourself before pouring the steaming magic into the cups and putting them on the tray to bring them to the men in the living room. They nod there thanks and you return the gesture taking the remaining two cups over to the window and tapping lightly. On the fire escape are two armed Search Bloc members keeping their eyes open onto the street below. They take the cups gratefully before thanking you. 

“Estrella, can you come over here?” Javier calls you. 

You turn raising one eyebrow at the nickname but you don’t correct him, “Si, what’s up?” 

“I want you to sit down and listen to the plan, if there is anything you think we missed or does not add up I need you to tell me. People’s lives could be at stake if we make any mistakes.” 

Feistl sighs loudly running his hands over his face, “Pena why the hell are you going to explain this to her? She’s not going to understand any of this!” 

You have to bite your tongue before you say something you regret. Luckily the looks the other men give him are enough to shut him up. “Because idiot it’s good to get a fresh set of eyes on these things, and she can always see things before I even think them so sit down, shut up, and let her listen. I’m sorry Estrella, can you sit please?” he gestures to the seat across from him. 

You sit down and nod your head. Javier proceeds to go through the entire plan again. Describing the whole thing from beginning to end, it was truly brilliant to use a poultry truck to transport Rodriquez to the airport, no one would be looking for a poultry truck….Except for any of the crooked Cali cops that see him being arrested. 

You interrupt Javier, “What about two trucks?” 

“What do you mean Estrella?” 

You try to prevent the blush that is slowly creeping up your neck from the new nickname, “I mean using the poultry truck is brilliant but why not have two trucks a decoy to mislead them. Someone else can drive the other truck and lead the cops on a wild goose chase while the truck containing Rodriquez goes to the airport.” 

The Colonel grabs a new cigarette before lighting it, “that's’ damn genius, they will see the truck when we arrest Gilberto but they won’t know there are two. We get them to follow the wrong truck and we are in the clear,” he smiles at you, the first smile you had seen on his face. 

Javier is just about beaming at you from across the table and you listen for several more hours as they rework the plan to include your idea. When they finish each man feels like the best plan has been laid forward and they break up the group to go home. Tomorrow would be a big day for them all and they would need to be on the road to Cali by ten AM if they wanted their plan to work. 

You walk everyone to the door, and as they leave one by one they thank you for the use of your apartment until they are all gone except for Javier and Fiestl. “Hey boss, are you leaving soon? I want to have a private talk with our hostess,” Fiestl asks gesturing with his thumb toward you.  

You frantically shake your head no begging Javier not to leave you alone with the DEA agent, “Actually I have some more things to finalize before we leave tomorrow, just ignore me it will be like I’m not even here,” he smirks at you and you are half tempted to walk across the room and slap the smirk off his face. 

Chris turns to you, “So uhm listen, I know that this is all really scary for you, but I want to let you know that we are all going to be ok. And I was kind of wondering when we get back if you’d like to go out and get a drink?” 

You try not to let the cringe show on your face, “Oh uhm Chris, thank you but I don’t really drink and uhm…” you're trying to think of some other excuse when you lock eyes with Javier across the room. Gone is the smirk and instead you see something dark in his eyes, unwavering, and you know what to say, “I’m actually already with someone else, it’s not really a public thing but I’m really serious about him.” 

Chris’s right arm comes up to scratch the back of his head, and he lets out an awkward chuckle. “It’s ok, you don’t have to lie to me. I understand.” 

“I’m not lying. This guy he...he drives me crazy, he’s better than any drug on the market I...I’m already taken, I’m his.” You can feel the burning gaze of the man on the couch and it takes all your strength not to look at him, 

Chris lowers his head nodding before turning towards the door turning at the last moment to say, “he’s a lucky man then, goodnight,” before he leaves shutting the door behind him. 

You don’t turn away from the door scared to death of what you will see behind you. You are so focused on keeping your breathing level you don’t notice Javier has gotten up and is now behind you. You let out a small yelp when he spins you around to face him. “Did you mean it?” His voice is raspy and deep from years of smoking and his cologne is deep and strong in your lungs. 

You're worried your voice will betray you but you need to get this out, “Yes...you do drive me absolutely insane, but we both know what’s been going on here, I’m yours...I’ve always been yours,” you whisper. 

The hands on your waist slide against your lower back pulling you even closer to him. You can smell the smoke, and coffee on his breath and you try to calm down your heartbeat but it’s useless when he looks you in the eyes and says, “mine.” 

You crash together, his mouth is fused to your own and every single one of your senses is screaming Javier. His taste, his touch, his smell it’s all overwhelming and you cry out when you feel him grope your breast through your shirt. His lips move towards your neck and begin nipping as his tongue tracing along the same path to the curve of your ear, “bedroom?” The raspy question breaks you from the haze and you pull him towards the small bedroom. 

The whole way your lips never break from his skin even though you both aren’t the most graceful and when you both land in the bed with a small grunt that’s the last discomfort you felt for the night, from then on it was all pleasure. 

When the sunlight streams through the sheer curtains the next morning, illuminating the bed in the warm glow of the morning. Rough calloused fingers trace patterns over the top of your exposed back and you smile before nuzzling yourself further in the warmth of Javier’s chest. He smells like smoke, leather, and cologne; an intoxicating combination. 

“I have to leave soon,” his voice is raspy and heavy from sleep. 

“I know...but I really wish you didn’t have too,” you tell him, pulling back to look into his eyes, “but when you come back you will be the man who took down Gilberto Rodriguez.”

“This better work,” he sighs, “or else I will probably be sent back stateside, I messed up once already, they aren’t going to let me do it again.” 

“You're going to succeed! Don’t be so defeatist, your amazing at what you do your-” 

“Would you come with me?” he asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him. 

“What?” you whisper. 

He takes a few minutes to collect himself before he asks again, “if I get sent home, would you come with me back to Texas? I...I am not the same person I was when I first came here. Yes, I drink too much, I smoke too much, and I can be a real asshole but I’ve never been shy about what I want. I want you Estrella.” 

You have to remind yourself to breathe before you close your eyes letting out a small sigh, “Yes, yes I would go with you Javi. Remember what I said last night? I’m yours.” 

He pulls you back towards his chest, putting a finger underneath your chin and fusing your lips together he only pulls back once to repeat the same thing he told you the night before, “mine.” 

Day 11: Walking the dog- William Miller 

[hopelikethemoon]

Headlines (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Headlines Rating: PG-13 Length: 2000 Warnings: None. Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in March 1998. Summary: The article hits the newstands. 

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DRUG ENFORCEMENT AGENCY UNDER FIRE FOR GENDER-BASED DISCRIMINATION 

America was captivated by the DEA’s pursuit of the Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar. Following his death in 1993, two names became synonymous with the chase — but there was another name carefully removed from the narrative. 

In 1987, Annie Morley transferred to Colombia from the DEA’s Atlanta Division eager to make a name for herself within one of the government’s most notorious agencies. Her drive led to numerous successful apprehensions. Most notably, she led the takedown on a notorious associate of Escobar within her first twenty-four hours with the agency. 

The DEA rewarded her loyalty to the agency by burying her efforts and scrubbing her dedication from the record books. 

Following Escobar’s death, Morley entered into a quiet relationship with her longtime partner, Javier Peña. After years of fighting against the rampant sexism at the embassy, she was forced to conceal not only the relationship, but the paternity of her daughter.

The DEA’s response to her pregnancy was to place her on indefinite desk duty, prematurely ending the career of one of their best field agents. She was replaced by Chris Fiestle, a junior agent with a record for complacency, forged documentation, multiple disciplinary infractions, and at least one harassment-based misdemeanor on his record. Fiestle’s connections within the DEA agency allowed for his unowned momentum, despite his unfavourable records. While Morley found herself under increased scrutiny, harassment, and intimidation merely due to her transition into motherhood.

Once the couple’s relationship became known to the agency, the DEA swiftly severed Morley’s employment and terminated her work permit sponsorship in Colombia. Morley and Peña have provided the paper with first person accounts and documentation of numerous actions undertaken by the DEA to silence, intimidate, harassment, and even blackmail them into subjugation. 

Files obtained by the Post, courtesy of the Freedom of Information Act have confirmed internal communication between several upper level members of the DEA actively conspiring against the couple. Including, but not limited to, explicit correspondence reflecting on the nature of Morley’s morals and whether other members of the agency would be willing to “share her”. 

Two years ago, Peña contacted the Post to investigate Morley’s omission from official DEA records and was met by the DEA financially blackmailing one of his students at The University of Miami, orchestrating false sexual assault claims in an attempt to silence their attempts at going to the press with their story.

The Post will continue coverage on these shocking allegations next month. 

 ———

 The newspaper trembled as your eyes skimmed over the article. There it was. In print. The summation of your six years with the DEA. Pictures of the three of you on assignment — a copy of the one that had sat framed in your apartment for years. You had been there. You had given your blood, sweat, and tears to the agency and in return, they’d buried your contributions all because you had become a mother. 

“I didn’t know that.” You remarked, peering over the edge of the newspaper, watching Javier as he read through his own copy of the Post. 

“What?” He questioned, arching a brow at you. 

“That they wanted to share me.” Just repeating what you had read made your skin crawl. You sat in briefings with those assholes — stupidly thinking they saw you as an agent and not as a woman. “I must’ve missed that in the FOIA files.” 

Javier nodded, “That’s tame, in comparison to what Vickers has sitting on his desk.” He reached over and gave your leg a squeeze. “You good, baby?”

“It’s just surreal.” You admitted, covering his hand with yours as you sat up. “I never thought it would come to this, you know? When we were back in Colombia — before Josie… I would never have imagined this.” You gestured to the paper. 

And it was just the beginning. Now that it was out, you were certain the DEA would retaliate. They’d dredge up something to hurt your image, to hurt Javier’s. They played dirty and you weren’t sure how swift their retaliation would be this time. 

“I wish I could be a fly on the wall when Chris reads this.” Javier said, loosely shaking out the newspaper before folding it closed and sitting it aside on the coffee table. He stared at you for a long moment and you could feel his eyes on you. “C’mere baby.” 

You sighed heavily as you sat the newspaper aside, crawling down the length of the sofa to him. Javier pulled you into his arms and you settled against his chest, listening to his heart beating beneath your ear. 

“Are you glad we did this?” Javier questioned, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

You swallowed thickly, nodding slowly. “I think so.” You trailed your fingers over his arm, drawing little patterns against his skin. “You know, it’s really wild to see our relationship put to print. Because it was a quiet affair, we’ve never made it into something.” 

Javier played his fingers through your hair gently, his other hand sliding down your back. “Do you want to make it into something?”

“No.” 

“I didn’t think so.” He chuckled quietly. “But you’re not wrong, baby. Seeing the two of us in the paper like this — it’s fucking weird.” Javier gestured to the newspaper on the table. “Seeing everything put so plainly, spelled out for the world to see.”

You tilted your head to press a kiss to his throat, “Thank you for this very belated Christmas gift.”

Javier snorted, “Well, we had to have a baby and move first, didn’t we?” He stroked his fingers up and down your back. 

You cracked a smile, resting your cheek against his chest again. “The last year has been a blur.” 

“Make that ten years.”

“Truly.” Your eyes flickered towards the newspaper, your heart best quickening as you stared at the picture of yourself right there on the front page. 

One. Two. Three.

You exhaled heavily.

Javier pressed a kiss to the top of your head, just as the phone started ringing in the kitchen. “I should get that. It might be the daycare.” He remarked, reluctantly starting to get up. 

You pulled away from him, reclining back on the sofa as you watched him head into the kitchen to catch the call on the third ring. 

“Hey, baby?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s for you.”

Your brows rose upwards are the somewhat odd tone Javier was using. You hadn’t actually considered that people might call you in regards to the paper until that moment. 

“Who is it?” You questioned, hands on your hips as you stared at him. He had the receiving pressed to his chest to muffle out your voices. 

“Lance.”

“What?”

Javier shrugged, a casual indifference that you knew wasn’t indifference. 

“Javi,” You rolled your eyes as you took the phone from him. You turned back towards the wall to press the speaker button on the phone. “Hey, Lance! You’re on speaker.”

Lance chuckled coolly, “Saw the headlines this morning, thought I ought to drop a line.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” You admitted, folding your arms across your chest. “How’s Sheena?”

“It’s going great. We actually just moved back closer to her parents. She’ll need the help in about four months.”

“Congratulations, Lance.” You offered, “I know how much you wanted kids.”

“Got my wish too. Twins.”

Javier arched a brow at you, looking in between you and the phone. 

“What?” You mouthed. 

He shook his head and headed over to make himself a cup of coffee, eyes still flickering your direction. 

“How are your kids doing?”

“Josie’s a spitfire. I don’t know how she’s going to manage kindergarten.”

“Kindergarten? No shit. How the hell is she five?”

You laughed, “She’s still got a couple months. And Sofía’s doing really well.”

“Sofía. Sheena actually has that one on the name list.”

“It was my mother’s name.” Javier remarked, with just the edge of annoyance to his voice. You stepped away from the phone, curling your fingers around his arm. 

“Stop.” You whispered when he tried to pull his arm away from you. 

“Well then, I’ll promise to steer Sheena away from the name then.” Lance remarked with a good-natured laugh. 

Javier’s expression softened as you cupped his cheek and leaned up on your toes to kiss him. You drew back, brushing your nose against his. “You jealous fool.” You whispered just for him, ruffling your fingers through his hair. 

“I wish I was calling just to congratulate the two of you for sticking it to the DEA, but I, uh… I come with some unfavorable information.” 

You stiffened and Javier reached for your hand. “What do you mean by unfavorable news?”

“Looks like the DEA got ahead of your story in the Post,” Lance explained. “First thing this morning I had the public relations team at the DEA Headquarters calling me. They were wanting any information I would give them about our relationship.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Javier hissed out. 

“Easy there, Peña.” Lance warned him, “I told them we had a good relationship, but we both ultimately wanted different things. They seemed rather disappointed to find out you and I still talk.” 

Javier’s hand tightened around yours. 

“What kind of questions were they asking?” You questioned, biting down on your bottom lip as you worried about what the DEA could possibly be up to. “Specific questions about our relationship?”

“Start and end date. Whether I suspected that you and Javier were more than partners.” Lance chuckled. “You and I were long over before the two of you got together. I told them they didn’t have a story with me. But that means they’re going to be following other leads that might be able to discredit your story.”

“We have the fucking FOID files. There’s nothing to discredit.” You seethed.  

“You’re welcome to pass my contact info along to the journalist,” Lance told you. “I’m happy to lend whatever assistance I might be able to render.” 

“You might be a fucking suit, but you’re not a bad guy, Lance.” Javier retorted, his tongue pressed into his cheek as he glared at the phone.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Peña.” Lance countered. “You make her happy and frankly that’s all I care about. You two have a good rest of your day.” 

“Thanks for calling, Lance. I’ll pass your information along to Vickers.” You offered as you stepped towards the phone to hang up. “It’s not like we should be surprised that the DEA is already trying to damage control.” 

Javier gave you a look, his lips drawn thin. “So you keep in touch with Lance?”

You rolled your eyes, “You are ridiculous. You should be thanking me for keeping in touch with him. Otherwise we wouldn’t know what the DEA is up to right now.” You approached him, poking him in the chest. “Once again, I prove to be a better agent than you.” 

“And how’s that?” He questioned, curling his hand around your hip as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I keep people close,” You answered, resting a hand on his shoulder. “People who someone might be able to turn against me. I keep that relationship — no matter how badly it ended — in good condition. The old adage is ‘an enemy of my enemy, is my friend’ and I try to keep that from being used against me.” 

“Is that why you went to coffee with Elena?” 

You shrugged, “I always liked Elena.” 

“Me too.” He admitted, “She let me talk about you.” 

You made a face, “Pretty sure I talked about you to Lance and neither of us knew why.” You reached down and took both of his hands into yours, interlacing your fingers before bringing them to your lips. You pressed a kiss to each knuckle. “We knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Look what the DEA did just because of a FOIA.” 

“Yeah.” Javier sighed heavily, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “I’ll fucking tear that entire institution down if they try to hurt you for this. I’ll burn it all to the ground.” 

“Oh, arson.” You pursed your lips, giving him an appraising look. “I hadn’t taken you for an arsonist.” 

Javier snorted, tracing his tongue over the edges of his teeth, “DEA deserves to burn. And I’ll use the embers to keep you warm, baby.” 

“I’ll get the matches.” You smirked, tracing your fingertip down the length of his nose, before you tilted your chin and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. 

[narcosfandomdiscord]

GAHHHLKDJF;AKJ;LKJ LONG LIVE CHRANIEL - I was stoked to read this bc they're one of those ships that I wholeheartedly believe in, and support, and share in the brainrot (like another fav ship of mine, Eduardo Sandoval/Cesar Gaviria thanks to @ashlingnarcos) but that I tragically will never lift a finger to make happen😂 like writing these two, I draw a blank, so cannot be the change I want to see in the world. But it works out bc you're filling the vacuum beautifully. So yea, immediately upon reading -> Before Dan could explain himself, the elevator juddered, leaving both of them stumbling. Then, it stopped dead... I was like, YESS this what narcovember is abouttt bc this is another prompt I was curious to see what cool shit ppl would come up with and stuck in an elevator is the ultimate bottle ep, so 10/10 start.

Loving how cranky Fiestl is here bc he's usually the cheerier one so seeing him all sour n pissed off was fun not for him but for me also howled at -> Not only was he trapped in this elevator, he was trapped with someone potentially minutes away from a full-blown breakdown. bc imjustsosorry my dude, it’s like 50/50 btwn which one of you is having that breakdownsdkfj also the idea that Van Ness is afraid of elevators is so correct for reasons I can't articulate except that it's just yes.

And SORRYAKSD may we pls join hands and rejoice in this QWEENEST OF QWEEN MOMENTS -> Chris let out an admittedly undignified scream, stumbling to grab onto the handrail... okay I am not above an undignified scream/yelp/howl/screech/squawk esp in those circumstances but in my mind's eye(ear?), it's the gayest scream ever sdfkjsklfj like it is a firm Kinsey 6 screech, which tracks bc then this -> He’d gone white as a sheet, one arm grabbing onto the handrail as tightly as possible, the other curled protectively around Chris’ torso happens and I'm cheesing into my screen. The fact that they end up trapping Stoddard in the fucking elevator at the end is just the cherry on top of this beautiful gay sundae bc no one will convince me that “I’ll buy you a nice headstone,” “You won’t be alive to buy me one, asshole,” isn’t foreplay

Ofc the cynic in me can't help but berate these naive lil mancitos for -> the humiliation of the entire department…hot on the heels of such a big success with Escobar... bc oh Chris, you beautiful, tropical fish. Dw in a few years, you'll learn about a lil thing called iran-contra and realize the shit with Escobar was just geopolitical kabuki theatre but it'sfine sksk and this -> “The DEA always gets their slice of the pie, too, you know.” mans clearly has not seen Nmx SKSKSK

UMM????alsothis??? -> More like the man he’d caught glimpses of in the corners of dark bars and rowdy office parties, more like the man he was always trying to provoke out of that impenetrable shell of his. stopped me straight fucken dead. like uhh☝️pls excuse me while i..

and finally kids, in case you were wondering, the answer is no -> “There is never a socially acceptable time to piss in a trapped elevator.”

an island lost at sea

Chris Feistl x Daniel Van Ness

For the @narcosfandomdiscord's monthlong event, ft prompt #16 from Book of Locally Sourced:

Fanwork that mimics a bottle episode, so the entirety of it takes place in a relatively mundane setting

Warnings: Language, mild mortal peril, incredibly light angst, set during S3 (specifically ep2)

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: This feels so silly but I absolutely had to write something for these two. Vanfeistl you will never leave my brain. Posting this at almost 3am so if it's bad... no it's not.

AO3 link:

- fic under the cut -

MINUTE -1

“Hey.”

It was far beyond the point at which Chris found he could still focus on his work. With the announcement earlier that everything was fucked and over before it had even started, it was a miracle he’d not walked out the door right then and there. Instead, he’d sat at his desk, mulling over Peña’s words for hours, trying to find reasoning, some kind of way out, any loophole, until everyone around him had left and taken the last of his hope with them.

“Hey.”

Everyone, that was, apart from Dan. Chris hadn’t told him what had happened. He was sure Dan would be over the moon at the news, which would only leave Chris to suffer alone. That was a worse fate than the one he’d landed himself in already, and so he had decided to say nothing, just silently packing away his things as fast as humanly possible, throwing open files and unlidded pens into his bag like his life depended on it.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing up. Going home.” Maybe in more than one sense. The job was done; what else was there to do? The Cali team was dissolved permanently. The career criminals they claimed to fight had won with nothing more than a handshake. Some deal. He slung his bag over his shoulder and bolted for the elevator, ready to be out of here and away, somewhere he could actually think.

Footsteps followed him across the empty office floor. The space was lit only with the dim glow of computer screensavers and lamps carelessly left on here and there.

“Hey, man, talk to me. You’re acting weird.”

Weird didn’t begin to cover it, but Chris kept his lips sealed shut, pressing the button and watching the numbers go up.

“Seriously.”

Chris whirled around to stare at him. “Seriously, back off.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Chris stepped inside, expecting that to be the end, with Dan watching from the other side hesitantly. The doors started closing, peace almost in reach, only to be interrupted as Dan ducked in, the doors slamming shut behind him.

“What is your problem?” Chris hissed. He was too tired for this bullshit.

Before Dan could explain himself, the elevator juddered, leaving both of them stumbling. Then, it stopped dead. The two of them stood in silence, staring at each other, waiting for it to spring back to life and start moving again. Instead, the red light illuminating the buttons died.

Perfect.

MINUTE 1

Dan reached across and hit the bell button, and a piercingly loud alarm burst to life, filling the tiny metal box with its wailing.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Chris asked, plugging his fingers into his ears.

“I panicked, okay?” Dan said, hitting it again. The sound didn’t stop. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? To get someone to come and help us?”

“Okay, well, who in the office can save us?” Depending on the answer, they’d either be fine or utterly fucked.

Dan just stared at him, saying nothing. Chris mentally worked through the office, trying to remember who was actually around and only coming up with images of empty desks and logged out computers. Realization dawned on him slowly but surely, and his heart sank. Unless someone was in the toilets, or sitting in a side room with the lights off like some kind of freak, they were alone. Every other fucker had been sensible enough to leave on time, probably lured out by Duffy and Lopez’ promise of goodbye commiseration drinks. Which meant they were trapped in an elevator in an entirely empty office.

“Shit.”

Chris started banging on the doors, to no avail. Dan dug his fingers into the seam of the door, leaning back and straining as he tried to pull them open. They didn’t budge.

“Hey!” Chris yelled as loud as he could, but the sound was lost in the blaring of the alarm.

“I really don’t know if that’s the best solution to get us out of here,” Dan drawled, though the bite wasn’t as powerful as usual. He was hunched over the button pad, wincing as he scanned each one, as if there would be some magic opening code if he just looked closely enough.

“Like you’re doing better.”

Dan whirled around, looking incredulous. “This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault?! You must’ve fucked up the doors jumping in at the last second! Why are you even in here? You’ve never used this elevator in your life. Are you that desperate to piss me off?”

“Hey, fuck you, man.” Dan said, stepping away from the corner. “You’ve been in a bad mood for hours. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you spent three hours staring intensely at a blank document like you were trying to light it on fire with your mind? And tapping your pen like you were trying to bore a hole in the desk?”

“And so you follow me into an elevator?” Chris folded his arms.

Dan ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Can we get the fuck out of here?”

Chris didn’t think so. They’d set off the alarm and nobody had come - not yet anyway. If there was anyone to come. Dan had tried the doors and stared at the instructions. Chris walked over, digging his nails into the gap on either side and pulling as hard as he could.

“I already tried that.”

Chris fell back, surprisingly out of breath. The doors didn’t even have a scratch mark, not a single sign that they’d been pried at, not moved at all from their original position, jammed solidly shut. Okay, so there was no way out of this shitbox metal cage they’d managed to trap themselves in. Fine. Surely there was another way out. Surely these elevators were designed for incidents like this. Maybe that panel on the roof…?

“I’m going to climb on your shoulders,” Chris said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. The hatch would likely have as little give as the doors, but it was better than wasting away in this stupid elevator until someone deigned to return to the office, likely tomorrow morning.

“The fuck you are.” Dan took a step back, looking at Chris like he’d grown an extra head.

“There might be a way out through the roof.”

“What, so we can scale the elevator cables like we’re spies in some action movie? We’ll still have to pry open a different set of jammed doors once we’re on the other side.” Dan looked Chris up and down in a way that suggested he did not believe they were getting up those cables. It would’ve been hurtful if it wasn’t true.

“We’re competent DEA agents. Surely we can work our way out of a trapped elevator.”

“Barely. And clearly not.”

Chris stared at him. His features were contorted into a hard, cold expression, not a single hint of hope mixed in with the despair he was trying so hard to conceal underneath. His hands had definitely started to shake, and despite his even tone, his words were getting harsher and more clipped with every minute that passed.

“You weren’t joking. You’re actually afraid of elevators.”

Dan didn’t meet his eyes this time.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Not only was he trapped in this elevator, he was trapped with someone potentially minutes away from a full-blown breakdown. The day just kept getting better and better.

“Are you fucking stupid? Why the fuck would you follow me in, then?” Chris snapped. He immediately felt guilty for how scathing his words sounded even to him, but everything felt like it was amplified ten times over in here, intensified by the fluorescent lights overhead and echoing off the mirrored walls. “You in love with me or something?”

A heavy silence fell over the two of them, punctuated only by the blaring of the alarm, persistent as ever.

“Actually fuck off,” Dan said, turning back to the keypad.

Chris watched as he pressed all the buttons in order, none of them reacting at all, nothing inside changing, and sunk to the floor. Maybe that was that. Maybe this was just his fate, the perfect cherry on top to an already shitty day. Dan eventually gave up, giving the keypad a final whack before joining him on the floor, curling in on himself in a ball.

“The elevator isn’t going to collapse in,” Chris said, though as soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he hadn’t said them. He had no real confirmation the universe wouldn’t immediately try to prove him wrong.

“And you know this how?”

Chris didn’t have an answer to that.

“You’re convincing yourself as much as you’re convincing me,” Dan said, a hint of smugness crossing his face, briefly extinguishing the fear.

“I am not,” Chris backed up. He wasn’t taking shit from a guy who chose to take stairs instead of the elevator every single day.

Dan just shrugged, shifting back into his corner. So he was perfectly able to cope when it came to jabbing at Chris, it seemed. “If we die in here, at least I’ll be able to say I told you so right before impact.”

Chris buried his head in his hands. This was going to be a long evening.

HOUR 1

The alarm died after an hour of assaulting both their ears, but with the near-deafening tinnitus that followed, it may as well have stayed on. All it meant was they were trapped in silence, and anybody who came into the office from this point forwards would never know they were in here. Chris had tried to think through every option, every possible outcome that could happen depending on what they decided to do from here, and came up with no better answers than to sit and wait. At the very worst, people would be in in the morning. Fucking with the mechanics anymore would only risk sending them to their deaths. So, with no feasible way out and his mind slowly dying off in the now silent, empty elevator, he started walking from end to end of the claustrophobically small box, bored out of his mind and succumbing to stress with every minute that passed. The elevator was exactly three and a half steps by five steps, he’d discovered. The numbers were now seared into his brain, not that they would help him at all.

“Please stop that.” Dan said quietly. He had his head resting against the wall of the elevator and his legs folded underneath him, as far as they’d go into the corner. It didn’t look anywhere approaching comfortable.

“Stop what?”

“Pacing.”

Chris stopped for a minute, and took a deep breath in, wooziness washing over him. He couldn’t be entirely sure he had been breathing properly at any point during the last hour. His reflection watched him from the mirror, already dishevelled and exhausted-looking. It could’ve been the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead, but Chris doubted it. He was wasting away in that office long before he walked in here. If he wanted to file reports and listen back to recordings all day, he may as well have been put on basement duty and locked away with all the evidence.

“Are you going to explain what the hell is up with you?” Dan said, pulling one of his knees up to his chest. “Or are you going to stand there all evening?”

“I’m quite enjoying standing,” Chris said, turning away from the mirror. “Getting my daily exercise in.”

“You could’ve got that easily if you’d taken the stairs,” Dan mumbled, furrowing his brows, but he no longer had the alarm to drown out his words and hide behind.

“Well, I didn’t, and for some reason, neither did you. So you better get used to the idea of sleeping here tonight.”

Dan was looking more and more weary with every second that passed. “You couldn’t pay me to fall asleep in here.”

Chris just sighed and turned back to pacing, unable to stop the nervous energy from rising up in him the second he gave it room to breathe. He didn’t like feeling helpless; his entire job was searching for answers and hunting them down until they came to fruition. In here, he had nowhere to go and nothing to work off. He wasn’t used to hearing his own thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d last let himself sit alone with them, and he was not about to start again now.

“Chris-”

The elevator suddenly let out a long, drawn-out creaking noise, almost a cry of pain. Both of them froze, eyes meeting each others’ in the split second before the elevator dropped suddenly, before jolting to a stop again. Chris let out an admittedly undignified scream, stumbling to grab onto the handrail as his stomach dropped from beneath him. He missed and tripped forwards, barrelling into Dan, both of them crashing into the wall and causing the entire box to shake. Chris looked up at Dan, their faces much closer than was comfortable. He’d gone white as a sheet, one arm grabbing onto the handrail as tightly as possible, the other curled protectively around Chris’ torso. Chris could feel his face heating up with every second that they were in contact, but he couldn’t bring himself to move in case the entire elevator collapsed under him.

“Oh fuck,” He whispered, heart jumping into his throat. Trust them to get themselves into this shit. “Oh shit.”

“I don’t want to die in this shitty evil metal box with you,” Dan said simply, voice quivering. “This is not what I had in mind.”

“Is my company that terrible?” Chris joked, but it fell flat in the silence between them and in the shaking of his own voice. There was only so much bravado could do to salvage a situation like this, after all.

“Can you be serious for one second? Just because you’re being pissy about this stupid Cali decision doesn’t mean we’re free to die in this elevator.” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if the conversation was physically paining him. “Jesus christ.”

Chris stared at him. So he knew all along and said nothing? Acted like it was all fine and to be expected, and that this wasn’t the blow of a century, the humiliation of the entire department that hot on the heels of such a big success with Escobar, they were giving up on Cali over nothing?

“You might not get it because your biggest ambition in life is paperwork and your own comfort,” he snapped, tearing himself out from Dan’s hold and backing away, “but I don’t know how to stand back and watch as the biggest cartel in the world hands over the keys for nothing more than a slap on the wrist when everything I’ve worked towards for years now, trying to painstakingly take them down, gets burned to cinders in an instant.”

Dan didn’t say anything in response, staring him down with that slightly pained expression of his, which told Chris nothing more than he’d just let his stupid big mouth run away with itself. The elevator creaked in agreement.

“My life isn’t over,” Chris clarified, turning away to look back in the mirror, more so convincing himself than Dan at this point. “I care about more than just this stupid job.”

“Sit down before you bring the entire floor down with you,” Dan said quietly.

Chris had the sinking feeling he’d crossed a line somewhere along the way, but he didn’t know when or how to even begin to fix it, so he just sat down in the far corner in silence, resulting to tapping his hands against his knees instead of pacing, in case he really did bring about their untimely deaths.

“Do you have to do that?” Dan watched Chris’ hands, frowning deeply.

“You get to pick one; the pacing or this.”

Dan sighed, like maybe. “Fine.”

Not sure where he went wrong, and still waiting for the inevitable moment that the elevator came crashing down around them, he kept tapping like their fates depended on it.

HOUR 2

“Can you please stop announcing every hour that passes?” Dan gritted out, burying his head in his knees. “This situation is depressing enough as it is.”

Chris shrugged. “It’s like keeping tally marks in prison. Gotta keep my eyes on the prize.”

“There are no prizes for dragging out every godforsaken minute in this place.”

Chris turned to him. It had been almost a full hour since the elevator last made a noise, and they had yet to fall through the floor and splatter across the reception floor, but they had equally not got any further along in getting out of here. He was really starting to doubt that anyone was ever coming back to the office, and had now got to the stage of truly wondering if the universe was personally conspiring against them specifically.

“You never answered me earlier,” he started. Dan looked up with a quizzical expression. “The piss question.”

The other man’s face went suddenly slack with horror. “Please tell me you’re not about to piss right now.”

Chris tried and failed to stifle a laugh. “I’m not. You just never gave me your answer, and now it’s actually pertinent.”

Dan looked defeated. He shuffled forwards, bringing his knees away from his chest. “There is never a socially acceptable time to piss in a trapped elevator.”

“Even if you got in to go to a bathroom on another level? Even if we’re stuck in here for 6 hours?”

“This is why I don’t take the elevator,” Dan muttered to himself.

“To avoid philosophical conundrums?” Chris pulled a face. Dan tried to reach across the elevator to swat at him, but missed by a few centimeters, instead just throwing his arm across the room. “Look, what else is there to talk about in here?”

“I already tried asking you things,” Dan said simply, withdrawing back into his corner. “Instead, you choose to talk about this.”

Chris sighed. He still hadn’t worked his way up to any kind of apology, but the air between them had cleared a bit in the last hour, probably helped along by the knowledge that they weren’t seconds away from perishing in here.

“You knew why I’d been acting off,” Chris’ tapping got louder and more desperate, echoing off the metal walls. “One minor screw-up, not even close to the shit that went down with Escobar, and it’s over. Why even hang around here? We may as well pack up and go home if we’re going to let them pick their own punishment. I don’t get it. No matter how many times I’ve raked over it, I can’t understand why they’d pick this of all the options.”

Dan was watching him with one of those indecipherable looks of his again, somewhere between concern and pity. Chris wasn’t sure he liked it. It made his skin itch.

“They agreed a surrender deal with the Colombian government. There’s nothing we can do to interfere with that.”

“They’re some of the most powerful figures in Colombia. Don’t act like they don’t have all the connections needed to force their way out of this mess entirely unfairly but entirely unscathed.”

Dan ran a hand through his hair, some of the dark strands coming loose and hanging over his forehead. He looked so different in here, in the dim light, blazer abandoned and tie hanging loosely around his neck. More like the man he’d caught glimpses of in the corners of dark bars and rowdy office parties, more like the man he was always trying to provoke out of that impenetrable shell of his. The atmosphere between them was always shifting; it was hard to pinpoint where it would go next when the ground beneath their feet had never quite been steady. They never talked about it, of course, but “back to normal” felt less like the truth every time it happened. Everything managed to lead to something new with them. The prospect usually excited Chris, but here, trapped in this lift with no way out and no next step in sight, it terrified him.

“I’m not happy either,” Dan said simply. “I do give a shit, you know? This is just as much of a blow to me as it is to you. You know the last thing I want is to be sent home, let alone empty-handed. But what do we do? I’m not going to meddle with an entire government. We don’t have the same power as the CIA.”

Chris snorted. “The DEA always gets their slice of the pie, too, you know.”

“So maybe we will this time, too. But my point stands; that isn’t up to us two. We’re nobodies.”

Chris knew he was right. He wasn’t in any position to make decisions like that; he was barely more than an admin lackey at this point. He might’ve been a respected detective in Arizona, but here, he didn’t even have a partner, let alone enough power to oversee these kinds of decisions.

“They’re not even going to have their businesses confiscated,” Chris said quietly. “I can understand them not wanting a repeat situation of Escobar, but Cali pales in comparison to the shit he got up to. Why give them so much?”

“Quiet doesn’t mean dormant,” Dan warned. “They keep a lot under wraps, I’m sure. Doesn’t mean people don’t suffer, definitely doesn’t mean people wouldn’t suffer if they were provoked.”

Chris shifted around, turning to the wall and trying to picture the pinboard in the office splayed across the room. “Gilberto owns enough legitimate businesses to get into bed with politicians. That’s his entire social circle. One of them has got to be involved.”

“Do we know anyone specific? Anyone connected to higher government?”

Chris shook his head. He couldn’t visualize the whole board. “Not without the files.”

“Well, funnily enough, I don’t have them. So now what?”

Chris opened his bags. He’d just sort of thrown things into it in a huff. There were a few files, a few loose sheets that had slipped out of them, too. Mainly the financial stuff Eddie had faxed over after Cornerstone. But maybe, deep within encoded transactions and offshore accounts, there was something, one name or company or link that’d expose the entire thing. Fuck Peña and his instant dismissal. There was something here, Chris just knew it. He just had to find it. He spread the files across the floor, crawling between them on his hands and knees in case the entire thing came falling down.

“Some office,” Dan joked, watching but not making a move to get involved.

“It genuinely isn’t half bad. Get me some tape and some red string, and we’d be set. It’d be quieter than the main office.”

Dan quirked up a single eyebrow. “Not to mention how tiny it is in here, the lack of computers, the fact that we can’t get out and the ever-looming threat of falling two stories.”

Chris couldn’t say much in response to that. “Okay, fine. Fair point.”

It wasn’t the best setup, that much was true, but it was a distraction from his wandering mind, and a welcome one at that. Another hour in silence would kill him off, and he was already starting to feel the effects. Dan shuffled over to him, turning to try and read the files before sitting himself down next to Chris and reaching across to help him unpack the files. Just like that, the last of the tension in the air was gone, both of them wordlessly sorting through the paperwork he’d abandoned as useless earlier in the afternoon, positioning banks together into stacks, handing each other papers of interest, all with a silent agreement and occasional one-word clarifiers or accidental brushes of their hands, moving in perfect synchronicity. The files slowly emptied, dispersed across the floor, forming a mosaic of evidence, but it still didn’t add up. Without more information, without feet on the ground and eyes in the sky tracking when, where and how they were getting all this through, it was useless. No matter how they pieced this together on the elevator floor, no matter the order or the theories, it wouldn’t change the course of events, and the intel would sink to the bottom of a drawer somewhere to gather dust.

Chris bashed his fist into the side of the elevator. Dan only had time to shoot him a concerned look before the elevator juddered, making an ear-splitting creaking noise.

“Chris…” Dan warned, backing up very slowly.

Chris was immediately back in his own corner, hugging his body against the metal walls as tightly as he could. “…Sorry?”

Dan was clinging to the handrail so hard, his knuckles were turning white. “Please, please just sit back down.”

Chris mushed all the files into one big, messy pile, sheepishly shoving them back in his bag before carefully inching back down into a sitting position again. So much for that. They were no further ahead and only closer to an untimely death. What a waste of time.

“Look, you’re not wrong to be doing this,” Dan said. It was uncanny how much he seemed to be able to read Chris’ mind nowadays. Chris wasn’t sure how to feel about it yet. He wasn’t used to being an open book - most people saw him as a noisy but ultimately empty vessel, and that wasn’t such a bad thing as far as he saw it. “This data is useful. We can keep track of the accounts from the office just fine.”

“But what’s the use of that without people to pin actual crimes on? They’re just a bunch of numbers.” Chris buried his head in his hands. He was tired of this shit now. He just wanted to be home, where he could sleep off the terrible day and try again tomorrow.

“All we need to do is find one case. One example of laundering, drug money going through a legitimate business,” Dan explained. “Catching just one of the four leaders in breach of their deal could send the entire thing up in flames.”

Chris froze. He slowly lifted his head to meet Dan’s unwavering gaze. He didn’t seem at all rocked by this information.

“What?”

“They have to cease all illegal operations, right?” He gestured to the file poking out of Chris’ bag. “Maybe it’ll be harder to catch them doing that on the ground, what with their airtight security and eyes everywhere, but we find one dodgy transaction from the comfort of our computers, and we have all the ammunition we need to start the manhunt again.”

It took all of Chris’ energy not to jump up to his feet right there and then. “Laundering in Panama, undeclared offshores in Gibraltar…”

“Financial crimes are still crimes.”

Chris couldn’t stop himself from grinning. They’d found it. A key out of this clusterfuck. Sure, it relied on a lot of luck and good fortune that never seemed to be on their side, but it was something.

“See?” Dan flashed him a smug kind of half-grin. “Not worth throwing your shit around over, after all.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Chris felt a little breathless at the prospect. “We have to get the hell out of here.”

“Well, yes, hasn’t that been your aim from the start…?” Dan started, but Chris was already rising slowly to his feet and tiptoeing as gently as he could towards the door. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us out of here.”

Dan backed up into his corner again. “Absolutely not. You’ve got us into enough shit in this death box already. Get away from those!”

Chris was trying to pry open the doors again, with just as little success as the first time around. “Get up and help me.”

“And if you send us falling to the ground?”

Chris shrugged. “I’ll buy you a nice headstone.”

Dan looked at him for a second, face crinkled up in distaste, before he eventually pulled himself up using the handrail, looking far beyond disappointed. “You won’t be alive to buy me one, asshole.”

Chris rifled through his bag. Surely there was something in there that could pry these doors open. A particularly thin pen? A stray mouse mat? Anything? His search was cut short, though, as Dan brandished something shiny in front of his face. Chris backed up to take it in. A shoehorn, in all its metal glory.

“Why do you own a shoehorn?” Chris said, excitement causing him to immediately bypass the ‘thank you, I owe you my life’ or the ‘how did you know exactly what I needed?’ . Dan rolled his eyes.

“Do you want it or not?”

Chris took it, slotting it between the doors. “Grab the scissors from my bag. We’ll need some kind of counter action, right? Torsion or some shit?”

“Stop pretending you have any idea about physics.” Dan reached in. “These are going to snap instantly.”

Chris just waved him over. “You get the top of the door.”

Dan sighed, positioning himself on the other side of where Chris was crouched and reaching up to jam the scissor blades into the gap, his arm digging into Chris’. God, this elevator was far too small.

“On three.”

“This won’t work.”

“Two. One. Now.”

Both of them strained against the doors, the elevator rattling as they pulled at them. There was a non-zero chance this sent them both on a quick trip down to the first floor at full speed, but Chris was just about ready to lose it. It was about time they got the fuck out of here. The doors creaked and strained, small dents in the metal appearing but no real gap appearing between them. It looked like it wasn’t going to work. After all that, they might actually be stuck here overnight.

Suddenly, the shoehorn in his hand started bending, and the smallest gap, only a centimeter at maximum width, opened up. Chris reached into his bag with his free hand and jammed it with a fountain pen, then moved around to start prying it open with his fingers.

“It’s going to crush your hand, you fucking idiot,” Dan yelled, grabbing the shoehorn and placing it right under the scissors, pulling the other door away from Chris’ fingers until he was red in the face. The doors kept denting, not moving any further, until they suddenly flew open, throwing both of them into the walls at the side before the entire box shifted down again before jolting to a stop.

Chris stared at Dan, gasping for breath and dizzy. Dan looked no better off, eyes squeezed shut and sweat beading on his forehead. Chris dared to roll over and peer out of the newly opened door, waiting to be met with the dark inside of the elevator shaft, and instead staring out onto the reception. He looked down. They were maybe three inches above the ground at most.

“Dan…”

Dan slowly opened his eyes, then quickly darted forwards to take in the scene. “You’re fucking joking me.”

The day wasn’t done with them yet, though. Before either of them could say another word, none other than Stoddard walked right through the front door, humming to himself, only pausing when he saw them sprawled across the floor of the lift, both staring up at him.

“Hi?” He said, looking them up and down.

“Hello.” Dan said, as if everything was completely normal. Chris could barely bring himself to grunt a greeting.

“Are you guys… okay?”

Chris nodded, letting his head collapse to the floor. “Yeah, yeah man. So fine.”

Stoddard just stood there, still staring at them. Chris just wished he’d fuck off already, but he didn’t have the energy to say that. Instead, he forced himself to his feet, dusted himself off and stepped out onto solid ground. He’d never really valued fresh air quite as much as he did now, inhaling like it was his first breath in 26 years. Dan followed him out, looking about as frazzled as he felt.

“I… gotta go pick up some files.” Stoddard said slowly, still watching the two of them suspiciously.

“Party over?” Chris asked.

He shook his head. “I’m just going home.” He stared at the lift expectantly, then back at Chris and Dan where they stood in front of the doors. Chris could have explained what had happened over the last two or so hours to him, to warn him off the inevitable failure he was about to experience, but in his exhausted, elevator-fevered brain, he just stepped out of the way.

“After you.”

Stoddard shot him a final, poorly-concealed, concerned look before stepping around him and up into the lift, dented doors and all. Chris wasn’t sure whether he was just unobservant or if he truly did not care anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to care, either. He turned to Dan.

“So? Shall we get started?”

Dan was watching some unfixed spot on the horizon, clearly in a world of his own. Chris jabbed him in the ribs, and he jumped, finally making eye contact.

“Yeah, alright. But we are taking the stairs this time.”

Chris took one last look at the lift as the doors inched shut behind Stoddard, wobbling the whole time. “Obviously. I’m never getting in that piece of crap again.”

“I’ve been telling you this all along,” Dan said, lips quirking up at the corner.

“Well, I’m sorry, okay? Stairs stay on top. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Dan’s mouth quivered as he clearly tried to repress a smile. He nudged Chris in the arm, though not with enough force to be convincing. “Ass. Come on, then.”

They headed towards the stairs, climbing up them like their entire futures depended on it - because maybe they did - as the distant sound of a familiar alarm ringing to life followed them up.

DAY 0

[letaliabane]

Learning to Cope

summary: You’ve been left behind for months from raids, but when you lose your best friend, Javier is there as a shoulder to lean on. 

warnings: takes place in season 3, death of a character, angsty angst, fluffy fluff

prompts (If you would like to request a prompt, please include the name of the list and the number of the prompts)

You groaned as you climbed the stairs of the apartment building, undoing the first few buttons of your blouse. Pressing the key into the lock, you jostled the doorknob. Again, and again, again, before shoving it roughly with your shoulder, sending it flying against the wall. 

You chucked you’re back across the dining table, watching it disappear over the edge as your jacket followed suit before grabbing the bottle that sat vacant in your fridge. 

What a rollercoaster of emotions it had been, a day that continued to only get worse and worse as it went by. First having to put up with the behaviour of the other officers, left behind by Javier under his own orders, only to find out hours later that one of you dearest friends, Eloise, who also was another agent, had been shot. 

You and Eloise had trained together and become great friends during your academy days, and though she was a couple of years older than you, you looked towards her as your mentor. 

As you threw yourself on the couch, taking a long sip swig of the sweet wine, you couldn’t help but recount the events of the past couple of hours that had passed.

You threw your files across the table as Eloise followed you to your desk, throwing yourself in your seat with a huff. ‘Every fucking time El, I always offer up the best intel and yet I never get to go out on the field because Peña is being a douche bag!’

Eloise sighed, giving your shoulder a squeeze, ‘I know how frustrating it can be Y/N, but trust me, when the time comes you’ll know why its best to sit out on the first couple of go arounds.’

‘I’ve had the training though, you know how good I was then-’

‘But thats different,’ Eloise says gently, ‘it doesn’t matter about the training, trust me Y/N. There’s more to it than what they teach us. You’ll understand when the time comes for you to go out on the field.‘

Before you could reply, Javier walked past, looking between the two of you before nodding at Eloise, ‘Don’t be too long agent, we’ll be leaving with or without you. We’ve gotta get moving now if we wanna grab this guy and get him to speak.’ 

When she had nodded, he glanced towards you, noticing the disdain on your face. He wanted to say more, even an apology. But instead, he gave you a curt nod before leaving the office. You rolled your eyes. 

‘And they said he was a ladies man,’ You muttered.

‘Y/N!’ Eloise burst into giggling, looking around at the other workers who paid them no attention. 

‘What?! I’m just saying he treats me like chopped liver than any other woman in this agency! Could be at least a little decent in making small talk with me ...’ 

‘Sounds like someones got the hots for the big boss.’ 

‘Oh shut it you,’ You said as she raised her eyebrow towards you, giggling at your outburst before grabbing her gun from her drawer. 

‘I’ve gotta head out, but I promise drinks are on me when I get back okay?’ 

You waved your hand towards her vacantly, only for her to plant a kiss to your cheek, laughing as you squirmed, slapping her face away. 

‘Be safe okay?’ She saluted you with a large smile as you called after her before she left the office, her laughter still echoing in the corridor. 

It wasn’t even an hour later when the high shrill tone of the phone ringing echoed throughout the office from your desk, where you sat head deep in files. You sighed, dropping the papers before pressing the phone to your ear, 

‘Y/L/N.‘

‘Y/N thank god you answered, you need to get down to the hospital right now as fast as you can, Eloise was shot and—’ 

‘Whoa whoa whoa, what’s going on Chris? What happened to Eloise?’ You asked, concerned at his rushed and panicked tone of voice, barely registering the scramble of his words. 

‘Eloise was shot during the raid. S-Someone snuck up on her an-and she’s not doing too well. Were at the hospital and—’

‘I’m on the way,’ You concluded, slamming the phone down before grabbing your keys, pushing past the other workers as you ran to your car. 

After rushing through the streets and barely crashing, you ran through the hallways of the hospital, skidding to a halt when you sighted Chris, hunched over in a chair. He stood to his feet at the sight of you. 

‘Y/N—’

‘Where is she?’ 

‘In there, but Y/N—’

You made your way to the room he had pointed to before he could finish, pushing the door open, only to freeze. 

Eloise lay unmoving, terribly pale beneath the bright fluorescent lights. But your eyes were glued to the bloody wound that Eloise had sustained at her side, skin ruptured and torn, her blood staining the pristine sheets of the bed. A nurse stood over her body, letting out a horrified gasp, glaring as she shouted at me in Spanish.

‘I tried Y/N’s phone, she’s not answering—’ You barely heard Javier through the chaos of the nurse screaming, Chris trying to calm her down and talk with her in his bare knowledge of the language. 

Javier froze as he heard the outbreak of shouting, his eyes instantly falling upon you. Quickly, he gently spoke to the nurse, calming her down before turning his attention to you, carefully grabbing your hand, ‘Come on Y/N.’ 

Without waiting for your answer, he guided you out of the room, helping you into a chair. Once he knew you were comfortable, he dragged Chris a few feet a way, ‘Goddamit Fiestl what are you doing?! What were you trying to achieve by showing her that?!’ 

‘She wanted to see her but I didn’t‘—’

‘You really wanted her to see the dead body of her best friend when she hasn’t even been out—’

‘What?’ The men turned to you at your whimper, watching as you stood to your feet, glancing between them and the door that was now closed to the room where your best friend laid. 

Javier glanced at Chris as he muttered, ‘I didn’t get to tell her.’ 

He sighed, slowly making his way over to you, ‘Y/N, I’m so sorry. She passed just before you arrived. She lost too much blood in the ambulance and went into cardiac arrest before they could operate.’ 

You couldn’t help but gasp, looking back towards the room, the image of your best friend’s body, wounded and in tatters smearing your mind, how the blood oozed and dribbled down the sheets.

 Javier watched sadly as your face fell, reaching out towards you. However, he flinched when you suddenly slapped his hand away. 

‘This is both your faults.’ 

‘What?!’ Chris exclaimed as you back away from them, shaking your head. 

‘If you had let me come, none of this would’ve happened! My best friend wouldn’t be dead!’ Your cry echoed down the corridor, people turning towards the scene, making your insides twist. Without another word, you started back down the corridor. 

Before Chris could even take a step after you, Javier pushed him back, shaking his head, ‘Let her go Fiestl, She needs to be alone right now.’ 

You were beginning to doze off when a series of knocks echoed through your apartment. Dazed and tipsy, bottle still in hand, you stumbled towards the door, throwing it open. A groan left your lips at the sight of Javier, missing the worry that was written in his face as he took in your drunken state. 

‘Oh look who it is! Agent fucking Peña to the rescue!’ You cried, not waiting for him to reply before turning back into the apartment, leaving him to follow you. 

He watched as you leant against the kitchen counter, thumb tracing the rim of the wine bottle, eyes cloudy and far off. 

‘You look like shit don’t you?’ 

‘Fuck off Peña,’ You spat. 

He couldn’t help himself but chuckle, ignoring the glare you sent him, ‘Your fucking taking it out on me?’ 

‘You let her die!’ You seethed as you turned towards him, ‘If you hadn’t left me behind we could’ve at least had a chance at saving her—’

‘And lost you too?’ Javier cut off, now staring you down, ‘Y/N you’ve never been out in the field—’

‘Because you and every other motherfucker won’t let me!’ You screamed, ‘I could’ve at least helped her, she was my best friend! I could’ve at least been with her in that moment! I could’ve tried to save her! We could’ve had a chance at keeping her alive!’ 

Javier could feel the anger and hurt radiating from you, your pained eyes wide and wet with tears, hands balled into fists at your sides. But it was more than that, he could tell. 

He reached for your hand, but you slapped it away once again, shakily pointing a finger in his face, ‘Don’t you fucking dare.’ 

But this time, he persisted. Ignoring your cries he pulled you towards him, allowing you to push and shove at him, slamming your fists hard against his chest, ignoring the curses that flew from your mouth. He held you through it. 

And he still held you when you slackened against his chest, gripping his shirt as you cried into his shoulder, knees buckling beneath you. Javier caught you, helping you to the ground where he cradled you, leaving no room between you as he leant against the back of the couch, holding you. 

When your sobs had softened, and your breathing had evened out, you felt his fingertips running through your hair soothingly. 

He finally spoke, ‘You are a very intelligent person Y/N, and I know you have a big heart and would do anything to help your friends and colleagues. But I know if you had been allowed to out into that gunfight today unprepared, you would’ve gotten injured or worse and I-I would never have been able to live with myself if I saw you go through that.’ 

You barely pulled away from him, looking up towards him. He was a jackass, you knew that, but you could tell he was sincere with his words, telling the truth. 

Looking away, you reached for his hand, entangling your fingertips with his, running your thumb across his knuckles. With a sigh, you looked back up to find him watching you. 

‘Does it get easier? The pain?’ You croaked. You felt him tense up against you, his grip tightening on your hand momentarily before replying, ‘You learn to cope and live with it. However I learnt later than sooner ... you should never hide your pain from the ones you care for.’

You watched him for a moment, giving him a small smile before nodding. With a gentle tug you allowed him to pull you against his chest once more, hands still intertwined, his other rubbing your back. 

Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Tagged: @pascalisthepunkest​

A/N: This was a bit of a random idea I had, especially after looking at some stills I took from S3. Not sure if people will like this but thought I’d share it. Will get back to finishing requests now! Also masterlist has finally been updated so make sure to check that out when you can! As you can also see I had NO IDEA what to call this. 

Remember requests are open for Pedro Pascal characters! Check it out and request whatever you like!

[skysailor90]

La Sombra y Su Sol

Summary: This is a concept I’m playing with. I’m  a HUGE Pedro Pascal fan and I love his character Javier Pena from Narcos. I thought it would be fun to play with the idea of a female led cartel that Pena has to investigate and ultimately takedown. This is my FIRST attempt at any kind of creative writing so constructive criticism is welcomed! I hope you at least enjoy the read!

Word Count: Little over 2,500 (whoops)

Warnings: Soft drug reference, language, sexual reference...

                                             Worlds Apart

7:16PM: Peña  

It was a long fucking day. After an even longer fucking week. Being promoted to the lead DEA Agent on this new case was the last thing he wanted. Javier Peña had not recovered from the last time he led a major case, and he had a feeling that this was one going to come with strings. Strings he was not willing to be manipulated by again. This week only confirmed his suspicions. He needed to figure out a way out of this before things got too carried away again. He finished his last cigarette as he pondered a way out of this when he heard a knock at his door. 

“Hey boss, Dan and I are going down the street for a drink. You in?” Peña looked up from his distracted gaze to see Fiestl hanging by the door looking beat. Luckily, Peña was able to assemble his team. He instantly brought on the two guys that helped him bring down the Cali Cartel. Dan Van Ness and Chris Fiestl were good guys. Guys he could trust. Trust was hard to come by in this business. Before he could politely turn down the invitation, Fiestl argued his case. 

“You know you need something after this week. We all do.” He shared and Peña  couldn’t lie to him. Despite feeling exhausted he knew he would not be able to sleep. Too much to work through. Too many doubts that would surely keep him up. 

“Sure. I’ll meet you guys there. Need to finish up a couple of things here.” He replied and Chris exited the doorway walking down the hall. Peña  waited until he was all the way down the hall. He sat back taking another cigarette from his suit pocket and lighting it taking a deep inhale. He leaned back in his chair exhaling. He needed to sit there a little bit longer before putting on a brave face for those guys. He couldn’t let them see that he was already contemplating leaving them high and dry for their own good. 

8:20PM: Sombra

I had been sitting in my car for about 10 minutes before I decided to walk in and wait for him. I would be lying if I wasn’t excited about tonight. I rarely put myself in such risky situations. It was a life saving practice for the leader of the fastest growing cartel anyone had ever seen. The greatest gift to my success was the anonymity I had so carefully created for myself. Although, I understood that this recklessness was putting so many things in jeopardy I had to meet him in person. It was almost like a predator stalking his prey. I needed to understand what I was up against to succeed where others hadn’t. DEA legend Agent Javier Peña  was a formidable opponent. One I had not had in some time and it sounded like the perfect opportunity to have a little fun. 

You see, I have always been a survivor. Growing up in an orphanage and jumping from foster home to foster home, it was all I knew. It might have felt lonely at first, but just as they say you get used to anything if you give it enough time. By the time I met Emilio, I had settled on the idea that company was for a purpose. For advancing something in your life otherwise it wasn’t worth the compromise. He was my safety. Being attached to a drug lord came with risks, but I wasn’t afraid of taking risks because I know that you have to take risks to achieve greatness. I admit I was still naïve. I was after all only 22 years old when this 38 year old drug lord swept me off my feet. He was charming, but mostly he was powerful and I saw potential in this power. Little did I know just how much that power would shape my future over the course of almost a decade. 

My intel informed me that Peña  and his men frequented this bar. His team of two other male DEA Agents  Daniel Van Ness and Chris Fiestl, were his small but effective team. I waited down the street having a hunch I would get an opportunity to see what I was up against. I saw Ness and Fiestl walk in shortly after I parked. They looked exhausted, and I smiled as I felt that this might be the perfect time to gather my own intel. I sat back a bit longer waiting to see if Peña  joined them. As I waited I  recalled the file I read on Peña  . DEA’s Golden Boy for some time. He was integral to the take down of Pablo Escobar and later led a tactical team that took down the Cali Cartel. Digging a little further, Peña  compromised a lot of his so-called “integrity” by working with Los Pepes. This resulted in an innumerable amount of deaths. It was a massacre and based on his involvement in that, he must have not left Columbia the same man. He later led a team with Fiestl and Ness to take down the Cali Cartel. It is my understanding that things also got messy there. However, in each he was successful in breaking an empire enough that a shift in power was forced to take place. This left a struggle for power for some time. Emilio was a small player but biding his time. Until, it became my time. 

I glanced at the door and saw Peña  walking into the bar. He paused to smoke a cigarette before entering the bar. Interesting. My curiosity got the best of me. I quickly called Julio, my right hand and head of security, and informed him that I would not be needing him for the rest of the evening. He paused but he knew better than to question me. 

“Claro, señora.” He responded and I know he hated this but I felt like this was going to be a lot easier than I originally thought. Plus, I knew how to take care of myself if need be. It was time to test how effective my other intel was. I quickly primped myself in the mirror before exiting my car and headed towards the bar. I got butterflies as I got closer. The hunt begins. 

  8:33PM: Peña  

Javi entered the bar and immediately saw Ness and Fiestl at their normal table. They were in the middle of laughing when he pulled up a chair. 

“Guys, what did I miss?” Javi asked as he took a seat and waved at the bartender to bring him his usual. 

“How did you survive Wednesday’s debriefing?” Ness asked. 

“It was brutal. Wasn’t it, Javi?” Fiestl asked. Javi let out a sigh as a double whiskey neat was placed in front of him. 

“I tried to imagine I wasn’t there. That I was anywhere else really but there.” Javi responded. Javi had decided it was all a waste of time.  A lot of nothing but you would swear that the intel they had was a godsend. It was all bullshit. It had zero backing and also was missing so many aspects of this case. So many things didn’t line up. So many names from unreliable sources. But he was instructed to chase down every lead he was given, and that already was suspicious. 

“Well, all I know is that we are getting fucked already.” Ness said half amused, half genuinely frustrated. They all nodded in agreement and drank. Javi saw Ness and Fiestl look up at something behind him.

“Speaking of getting fucked.” Ness said and Fiestl nearly spit out his beer. Javi glanced subtly behind his shoulder to see a woman walk into the bar. Not just a woman. A gorgeous being that made Javi understand Ness’s reaction. 

“Fuck.” Javi muttered quietly under his breath. 

Javi had never seen her in here before. He would remember seeing her before tonight. She was dressed in a figuring hugging dress that perfectly accentuated her curves. Her curves mirrored an hourglass. However she almost seemed to be trying to hide those curves with an oversized black jacket that clearly did not belong to her. She wore thigh high boots and had long dark curly hair that made Javi yearn to pull on while he did awful things to her. She seemed irritated though. She made her way directly to the bar and sat alone ordering some kind of drink. Javi thought she seemed out of place, but he also saw an opportunity for a fun distraction. As he imagined himself approaching her, he could hear Ness and Fiestl negotiating who would approach her first. Without saying a word to them, Javi stood up and began walking over to the bar. Fiestl and Ness fell silent realizing that Javi wasn’t one to wait his turn. 

Javi approached the bar and stood a couple of seats down from the woman. She was downing the last of her drink and waving to the bartender requesting another. 

“Rough day, huh?” Javi said more out loud than directly to her. She turned to him and Javi got a good look at her. Her dark chestnut hair made her big light brown eyes really stand out. Her piercing gaze took him off guard. It was like she could see right through everything. Her lips pressed into a small smile. Those soft pink plump lips. Javi imagined how it would feel to have those lips wrapped around his cock. 

“You could say that.” She responded before reaching for her next drink. He could tell she wasn’t seeking company but she also didn’t seem to push him away. He took a chance and moved in a little closer. She glanced at him, but did not object. Javi took this as an indifferent invitation. 

“I’m told I’m a good listener.” Javi said, sitting right next to her.  She looked at him again. Her eyes trying to read him and looking for something, but Javi remained cool under her gaze. 

“Well, I usually don’t air my dirty laundry to strangers.” She said. Javi could tell she was fishing for some reassurance. 

“That’s a good rule. I’m Javier Peña .” Javi extended his hand out to shake hers. She shook his hand using a firm but polite grip. 

“Sofia. Nice to meet you Mr. Peña.” She replied. They both held on to each other’s hands for a second longer than necessary but that didn’t seem to bother either one of them. 

“So will your pals be joining us?” Sofia asked as she nodded in the direction to Ness and Fiestl who were caught staring at them from their table. Javi shook his head amused but slightly embarrassed at their gawking display. 

“Oh, those guys? Yeah, I’ve never seen them before in my life.” Javi coyly replied and Sofia smiled in return. Javi asked the bartender for another round and took a sip of his new drink. 

“ So, about that rough day?” Javi asked before taking another sip. He turned to see Sofia once again staring but this time he could see she was processing. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind looking back at him through her soft brown eyes. He opted to remain silent but didn’t break eye contact allowing her to make her assessment. Javi was curious to see exactly what she saw. 

“Well, Mr. Peña ,” Sofia started and Javi corrected her. 

“Javi, please.” he politely insisted. 

“Right.” Sofia started again and continued.

 “Well Javi, I got stood up tonight.” Sofia answered more annoyed than embarrassed. Javi couldn't fathom who in his right mind would do such a thing to this captivating woman. 

“Bullshit.” Javi spurted out before taking another sip of his drink. Sofia laughed, almost spitting up her drink and Javi couldn't help but smile and feel even more drawn to her. 

“Bullshit? You think I’m lying?” Sofia playfully retorted. 

“Excuse the vulgar language, but you’re full of shit. Was this guy blind or something?” Javi asked, attempting to make his argument. 

“Well, it was a blind date. A mutual friend thought we would hit it off.” Sofia finished the last of her drink before signaling for another round. Javi waved at the bartender and gestured to put her next drink on his tab.

“Oh, that's not necessary. I don’t really need a pity drink.” Sofia tried to object to Javi’s offer, but he stopped her. 

“Not a pity drink, carino. Just trying to buy a beautiful woman a drink she rightfully needs.” Javi explained and Sofia nodded both granting permission and thanking him. The bartender served a fresh round and Sofia took a sip before providing context. 

“Yeah, I mean she meant well, and he sounded decent, but a girl can only wait so long alone at a table clearly meant for two for before sacrificing too much of her dignity.” Sofia took another small sip and turned to Javi. 

“Well, in that case, I say this is a celebratory drink.” Javi raised his glass and nodded encouraging her to do the same. Sofia raised her glass. They met eyes and stayed locked in for a few seconds before Sofia interrupted. 

“And, what are we celebrating, Javi?” Sofia asked but sipped from her glass nonetheless. Javi also took a small sip before responding. 

“Someone’s massive mistake brought you here and now here I am, sitting easily with the most beautiful woman in this place. And now I get to enjoy your wonderful company.” Javi gave her his devilish grin and she held his gaze. It became too unnerving and he reached for his drink. 

“I’m not sure you will feel very lucky later.” Sofia responded. Javi quickly replied.

“I’ll take my chances. Something tells me I won’t regret it.” Javi gave a sly grin and Sofia smiled. 

“I respect your forwardness and the slight arrogant undertone.” Sofia replied. 

“But I need more than a  smug smile and air of confidence to be convinced, Mr. Peña .” Sofia countered before taking the last sip of her drink. Javi couldn’t help but feel like he had met his match. Someone complex enough to  distract his mind while provoking his dark desires. Javi finished his drink before making his offer. 

“Well I’m sure given the opportunity, I can be very convincing.” He smiled and sat back in his seat, awaiting the wheels in her head to start turning. Sure enough, he saw them again. Her contemplation. She was conflicted, and he felt like it was enough for her to be convinced. She rose from her seat and leaned in to whisper into his ear. 

“Outside. Five minutes. Then we will see how convincing you can be.” Sofia gently rubbed her cheek against Javi before turning and walking towards the restroom. Javi watched her walk away left stunned by how this night progressed. He gestured for the check and closed out both their tabs. Whatever came next, he was ready. He quickly signed the check and made his way to the front door. He turned briefly to look back at Ness and Fiestl who were already watching him walk away. Javi shrugged and gave  them a nod. Better luck next time.

[kirsteng42]

I love PP’s strut as Javi P. He has the twitchy hand thing going which is 1 of his quirks. Maybe needs a cigarette!

That’s the post

[jolalibrary]

ii. coffee + fruit

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter two of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, mild use of a codename for story purposes. wordcount: 5.5k an: as always, a huge thank you to @guyfieriii who talks me down from panic, and @yeyinde who listens to my insane plans

He finds that spot on his forehead, thumb and index digging—massaging into his skin and bone. The edges of himself, frayed, stressed—teased to the point they could almost pull away and crumble as he walked past your desk.

It’s empty. The half-drunk coffee still there. 

You’ve not been there for a while. Not since earlier, when he should have looked away at the sound of raised voices, instead of honing in on them. Something wrapping around his insides—

“You got a minute, sir?”

He listens, even if he doesn’t. He hears the important parts: Miami, Cornerstone. He also hears the noticeable slap of the file on the rest of his files—the ones with your post-its and notes all over. 

“What’s this?”

“A shitty diagram.”

He stares—feels himself glaring. Ridding it, hopefully before the agent can even notice it. A reaction he blames on a headache, even if he knows it has more to do with earlier. 

“What’s your name?”

“Fiestl.” 

Javi chews it. Staring up and down at him. 

“Chris Feistl.”

He smirks at the rest of his speech. That same gnawing feeling rising inside of him, half-hoping the man in front of him isn’t the reason you’ve been hiding, but heavily suspecting he is. 

Javi likes shooting him down, he realises, when he watches that same kicked-puppy face stretch across the man’s features—the same way it did when you muttered whatever you did under your breath. 

It’s only as he crosses the office, hoping to rid him—when his eyes land on you through the blinds. Thankful you’ve made another appearance, looking somewhat more you than you had done earlier. Coffee firmly in hand—chewing the inside of his cheek. Relaxing him—having not needed to go find you. 

“Nice office by the way.”

He snorts. Realising quickly how fucked he was. “Thanks.” 

Yellowing light woke you as it bled through the open window.

The scent of him still clings to your skin. All Marlboro smoke and ambery wood, blended with the sultry scent of whiskey and something you suspect is just him. 

It was easier to leave. 

To watch his eyelids grow heavy, sliding from under his arm and dressing in the silence of his government-issued apartment. You’d thought about staying, about the morning when he’d wake and likely feast on you for breakfast. How good it would feel, how good he is. 

You’re not young and impressionable. Good sex is good sex, not an invitation to begin manifesting and dreaming about a life together taking down narcos. 

So, it was easier to leave. 

To burst the fantasy before it could begin growing, amassing into something which would involve hurt feelings from either side. 

You do this a lot?  Fuck my boss? No. Have you seen Stechner? I just m— Don’t lie to me, Peña. It’s beneath you. 

You weren't quite sure what to classify last night as, but guilt began to peck at you, all the same. It made you consider things. Turning them over in your mind under the low pressure of the shower…

Maybe you should have left a note. Something. Anything. 

Although, when it boils down, you’re not entirely sure what the appropriate messaging even would be. Never having needed to do it before. Maybe it never happened to him either. 

He struck you as a man who did the leaving over being the one who was left. It crossed your mind, only then, that maybe he wouldn’t take kindly to being greeted by cold, undisturbed nothing. 

From what you knew—outside of the rumours and the intern—he didn’t tend to fuck his colleagues. That thin line is the one he drew. Javier Peña didn’t like to shit where he eats. The thin line, though, has been erased, kicked away until dust covers it. 

Your soap slowly rids you of his scent, his touch—leaving only the blossoming-welcome bruises and the soreness. The only thought which began to appease you as you turned the water off, is that judging him or not, he didn’t appear to have a reputation that screamed he’d ever left a note himself. That and the fact you owed him nothing except professionalism. 

You’re late. 

Not late for the start of your shift, but when you’re usually in. People have come to expect you around sunrise. Not today. Today, you’re greeted by some of the agents beneath you, their smirks being the evidence of your unexpected time in. The gossip already likely fluttering around, half-expecting the whispers to chirp before you’ve even removed your coat. 

If you were a man, it wouldn’t happen. 

They wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Peña walked in draped in two women. It was a thing reserved for women. The shame-guilt. The whispers behind your back, trying to act as though by doing it in a low voice, they’re doing you a favour by keeping back what a whore they think you are. 

Because usually, you’re the one to turn the fluorescent lights on. The only one making noise in the large expanse. But, there’s already chatter when you throw your bag in your drawer. Your phone is already ringing before you’ve even made a coffee.

It is distracting. It smothers wandering thoughts and any chance at regret. It’s only when you’re making your final note for him, all set to sit down ready to consume the coffee when you see him. 

And time slows. 

Everything around the two of you almost stops as you let yourself take him in. Meet those same eyes which had almost cut your clothes off last night. He doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful, but sorrowful. No spark in his eyes, no twitch of his lips—two things you’d been washed in by the time you reached his place last night. 

You should tear your eyes away as he nods at someone and heads in your direction. You should stand up, hand him the notes and a coffee—unsure why you’ve even stopped to stare. 

Your legs have other ideas, already carrying you to him. Watching him trace his eyes up and down you like he didn’t have his fill of that last night. Acting normal, no smirk, no blush of his cheeks, as though he didn’t have his tongue, cock and fingers inside of you hours ago.  

You should be happy. Grateful. 

It isn’t as though you like mess or complications. It had churned inside of you on the drive in, hands wrapping around the steering wheel, unsure if you’d made things difficult. If you’d blurred the complicated lines before they’d even really been laid out. 

You take his wrist, lifting it as you coax his hand around the mug, looping his fingers around the warmth. His touch sends sparks up your skin, along your fingers, and forearms all the way to your chest. Ones you have to ignore. Ones you pretend aren’t there. 

Because he’s like fire. He burns, but you welcome it. 

Like you did last night, over and over again. 

Your throat goes dry, watching as he brings the mug to his lip. Your mug. The one you hadn’t drank from and craved more than anything. 

“Morning.” 

It comes out normal, but it’s forced. Trying to banish any sound of indifference, hand grasping at some papers before you turn to walk alongside him, matching his strides. 

“You have a meeting in ten—which I’d do your top button-up for. There’s also a file on your desk, less important than the meeting, but more important than the phone calls you need to make.”

He looks good. 

Something you had noticed before sleeping with him—not able to help but acknowledge it, even if you hated it. But now, having seen him more undone, more walls torn back, it was hard not to look for longer. Linger. Let your eyes trail down from his eyes to the slope of his nose, to his lips— 

“Fuck. This is good—“

His eyes widened, taking another sip of the drink. 

Your hand tugs on his elbow to stop him, keeping close to him as you smile. “Look. Tell anyone, and I’ll cut you.” 

“About last ni—“

“No.”

It comes out like a squeak. Something which quickly warms your cheeks and ears, tugging your shirt into place, swallowing back further denial. 

“The coffee,” you continue, straightening your spine. “I don’t—I don’t care if you climbed a desk and told everyone I fucked you senseless last night. I do care if everyone knows I have a stash of good coffee.” Your head tilts behind you. “They’re feral—fucking… animals. For good casework and for good coffee.” 

For a second, he stares. Just stares. His mouth opened, before closing. 

He’s hard to read. Even when you know so much about him. Some things are easier, like the things he wears. The shame—the need to do right. Even if he blurs the lines, even if he gets lost along the way of finishing the task at hand. Other parts of him are harder, hidden behind thick walls of concrete you don’t expect to ever see past. 

And yet, it makes something bubble in you. Something you can’t place, but really hate.  

His hand twitches though. Not the one around the coffee, the one limply at his side. The only sign that your nonchalance is bothering him, his eyes attempting to claw through you the same you’re doing to him. 

“Drink up,” you say, licking your lips. “You’re gonna need it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s with the Ambassador.”

“Shit.” 

Draining the mug, you take it from him, handing him the file in your hand. “Try to smile, Peña—you make it through this, I may be able to give you a bigger reason too.” 

“That so?” 

You smirk, and he has to know how warm your cheeks are. Must be able to feel the heat from them through the air as you avoid his eyes, hating the impact his words have. Two simple fucking words. 

It’s dangerous, the game you’re playing. 

Red lights flash, a warning tone sounding in some dull recess in your mind. 

“Yes,” you smile, with equal wickedness. “I’ll take some of your paperwork from you.” 

He rolls his jaw, smirking in return. 

“What?” you ask innocently. “Something else on your mind?” 

You wondered if he hoped. 

If he’d woken up and stretched his hand out to find you, to pull you close. From the small window into his life, he was insatiable. Good. Knowing exactly where too… 

Shaking your head, you smile. “Just so you know, I’m also good at things that don't involve me being naked.”

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Plus, I already saved your ass. I delivered the news and not Stoddard.” You stop at your desk, putting a distance between the two of you. “Well, I’ll be here if you need me.” 

He nods. 

Just nods. 

You’re a coward. 

Even if you’re not ashamed, even if you had been happy you went home with him. You still hid. Flipping between your desk and the file room.

The fact both Dan and Peña, plus Stoddard, had fucked with your filing had proven a blessing in disguise. Your hands itching to put it right all day, thankful whatever the meeting this morning was, it kept Peña behind glass. 

“Hey.”

You know the voice before your eyes land on the face. It's ingrained into you. A voice you used to love, but now makes your blood boil. Quickly, you try to rid the heat from your cheeks, lifting up to watch him—the former lover: the romance that ended in disaster. 

He wipes his mouth before he leans down on your desk. 

Even now, all you can think is Chris Feistl still has a cute smile. That and the fact you like the way strands of his hair fall over his face—just like they are now. A slight urge, the slightest need, to brush them from his face rose inside of you. 

In the same way, you had done before things got complicated, before when things were wonderful and lovely—before they went up in flames. 

You always wondered how hard it would be to get over a breakup when you were confronted with it every day. Having always been thankful your previous relationships ended as you were required to move, whether across the states or to a different country.  

It’s hard to ignore what you have learnt quickly. Difficult to rid everything, such as the mug on your desk that was a gift before anyone knew you were both a thing. Knowing that when you walk past him, he’s seen the lingerie you’re wearing under the clothes. That he’s the one you had originally bought them for—the one who peeled them off your skin while dinner bubbled messily in either one of your two’s kitchens. 

It hadn’t been him who ruined them the other night. 

That had been the man to the side of her—the one surrounded by glass and wooden blinds. The one you’re hiding from. 

“So… you good?”

Smirking, you put your pen down. “You walked over here to ask me if I’m good?”

He stares for a second, reconsidering his words. “You didn’t answer my call… last night.” 

You bite your tongue, leaning forward. Remembering. 

Recalling how you’d cancelled it at the bar, and again before you left the bar…with Peña. How his lips had ghosted over your neck as you dug your hand in your bag to silence it. Ignore it. His teeth grazing your—

“I know that you’re strong, but I also—“

“I’m fine, Chris.”

His silence is damning. The air is tightening as you stare, hoping he doesn’t push, silently hoping he doesn’t. The two of you having spared mess and more pain than needed. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know. I know that you’re not doing as well as you… like to let people believe.”

It’s instant, the way a cold chill spreads down your spine. Your lips straighten before the words meet your ears, knowing how this is all going to go. 

“I know you’re not eating, so I can only assume you’re not sleeping.”

Your body knows before your brain does—the hold on your chest tightening, pain spreading like ink across your heart, poisoning and squeezing.   

Him calling it out—the panic, the memories, the fucking nightmares. 

“Some of the guys said you were in late—“

“Will you keep your voice down?”

Your eyes cast to the side, finding narrowed brown eyes staring at you through the blinds. Ones which you hold for a second too long. 

Ones who seem to be assessing the situation quicker than he should.

Chris leans closer, likely so the whole office doesn’t begin its idle gossip again. It does that. 

Breathes and spreads ideals and rumours quicker than a virus spreads in a hospital. You can feel the eyes through the blinds now, the ones watching—studying, trying to understand the office dynamics and who knows who. 

“I just don’t want you to think you’re alone, no matter what’s happened—happening—between us—“

Standing, you place your palms flat on the desk. “—Stop. For the love of my sanity, please can you just stop, Fiestl.”—“

“I know you chose to end things but I still want—“

You shove him. Lightly. Two fingers at most, not even likely to bruise—but enough to make his words shrivel in his throat. Your eyes, burning holes into him.

“You know what, I was with someone,” you say, snappier, harsher than your previous words. “Last night.”

They hit the air like bullets. Piercing into him and the air. It washes over you both—your confirmation, your acknowledgement. They shatter the space between the two of you like glass. Watching as his eyes acknowledge your words, temporarily frozen before his jaw tightens and his teeth grit. 

You’d sympathise if he hadn’t pushed. It is the sole reason why you don't shift your expression, keeping it firm, and rigid. Feeling the pair of eyes in your back, the ones behind the open door—having likely heard every bit of his speech. 

“I told you to stop.”

He nods, reeling back, standing—running his hand through his impossibly thick hair as he forces a laugh. All half-hearted, weak, as though the air had been punched from his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.” 

“I’m not your problem.” 

He frowns, tilting his head. “You’ll always be my problem. I—“

“Please, s-stop.” 

It’s less this time. It cracks out of you. Voice shaky, more tinged with threatening-to-spill tears. 

His words fade, vanishing—disappearing into the air without truly being spilt. So much more on the cusp of his tongue, but you stare until he swallows them. Watching him instead nod. 

It pricks at your heart. Hating how it makes the part of you which had already healed, throb. It hadn’t been easy, as much as you pretended it was. But, it was better to pretend than to acknowledge how car-crash-like their argument had been. How it began as one thing and ended as something neither of you both could come back from. 

Everything good having wilted when you’d gone to Cali, coming back to crumbling roots and sharp-edged memories. It had been wrong beforehand, tainted. But, it had worsened, leaving behind nothing but death and the ghosts of what once was. 

“I have work to do, so if you’re done...” 

“No, I’m d—“

“Good.”

You straighten fully,  moving past him as you head to the bathroom. Feet moving you around bodies and desks. Waiting for the inevitable.

Thankfully, it slams into you when you’re on the other side of the door.

The thread he’d unpicked with his words. I know that you’re not doing as well as you’d like people to believe. Feeling your throat tighten at the memories, how you bristled at the feel of the door on your spine. 

Seeing them—the cold, dark eyes. How even though you know they aren’t here, they’re staring at you as stones cut into your knees and weeds tried to wrap around your ankles. The sight—the blood. The crimson staining your hands, knees and soul as helplessness stole your facade, confidence and belief. 

It makes you weak. 

Makes you crumble from the inside, out all over again. 

Shifting to dust, turning to something opposite to the training you’d taken to be here and more of a shadow of someone you once knew. Something you know they’re waiting to see—the higher-ups. The ones who are desperate to be proved right. 

Then, when it’s raging through you, ripping apart the carefully placed threads and walls that keep you up straight, you’re flooded with grief. 

The nightmares that have bled into the moments you’re awake. Its grip on your chest tightens, restricting—hand grasping at the cold bathroom counter as you will yourself to snap out of it. Shakily turning on the tap until cold water slams into your skin—

It lessens. 

Looking up, meeting the mirror, seeing only thick tears that have carved into your cheeks. Sweat pebbling at your brow, your mouth taking in copious breaths as you slowly find you can stand straight. 

Shame vibrates in your bones. That and tiredness.

You've spent the better part of your day darting through an array of emotions—all of which had given you whiplash—and made it hard to smile.  

You had taken a while to resurface from the file room, awkwardly holding a mug up to Peña through the blinds once again—noting how the office had emptied.

It’s nice, the silence. The lack of ringing from phones, fingers on keyboards and low-murmured chatter. It’s even nicer seeing the glow the setting sun casts over the place, casting shadows. Not needing to glance at the clock, you know the hour is late. Is time to be going home, even if you’ve stayed far later than this on so many occasions. 

You have to show him you’re okay, even if you’re not. 

Even if you’re barely held together by the threads you usually are. 

The aftershocks of your panic ebbing through you. Small little wobbles and pricks to your eyes, followed by a slight gasp as breath is lost. Worsened by your anger when the news hit the office. 

That once again a mission went sideways. That two more agents were going home—and that someone they put in a position to lose something, happened again. Under it all, like the low hum of a song from a distant radio, you thought of Cali.

You’re used to them, the thoughts, the panic—having slowly become the norm. Yet, they’re rarely here, rarely ever embedding into your day—they normally wait until you’re in your car or at home. Appearing like ghosts when you’re alone, when there’s very little to distract you. 

On another day, you’d likely have handled it better. But, Chris had done a number on you. He had bruised you, in some ways. Knocked you off your confidence and thinly-veiled pedestal you climbed up onto to appear like the same agent the rest of the office knew before you came back.

You don’t have to pretend with him, though. It’s why you stayed in the bar longer than you should have. Why you didn’t bat his palm away from your knee and why you traced little shapes with your nail against the back of his hand. 

Peña didn’t know you. Likely didn’t care too—not that you want him to. 

Feelings are messy. A tangle of things that would worsen as and when you were sent home. If you grew too attached it would hurt when the inevitable crashed down; if you remained distant, it would lead to awkwardness and more office dramatics. Neither of which you wanted—having already ticked both of those of yourself not that long ago. 

Your eyes catch Van Ness and Chris’s new desks, the ones they’d moved into before the seats of the other agents were even cold. 

It pecked at you, the day. It wove under your carefully constructed armour and threatened to showcase who you were—a fragile, half-broken soul haunting a place you used to run. The thought niggled, swirling, capturing other feelings in its wake until it grew larger and larger. 

Blinking, you stared as the pot brewed. Finding it all of a sudden hard not to acknowledge that the first time you’d stopped thinking—outside of drinking and the few hours of sleep you were given—was when you were with him. That he had fully engrossed you, not allowing you to sink off to any recess or corner to drag up old demons and shadows to ruin what it was. 

You place the coffee down in the centre of his desk. Taking a while to drag your eyes from the steam spiralling up into the air, watching it softly before it’s lost to the air. Each silvery twirl captures your attention until all you see is caramel chestnut. 

Then you see the rest of him, trying not to let your mouth drop open at the sight of him. 

He’s removed his jacket since you’d asked him if he wants a coffee, his hair far more tousled—likely from pulling at it, something you’ve seen him do all too often. The cause for the dryness in your throat is the sight of his top two buttons undone. His tie loosely hanging, his finger probably having stuck in the knot and yanked it down. 

It almost cracks you. Makes you almost forget how to breathe, stomach tightening—wanting to spread through you as it reminds you of last night—his phantom touch spreading across your hips. Even if he’s safely behind his desk, not touching, breath not dancing across your jaw. 

“Everyone else has gone.”

His hand gestures to the chair opposite his desk, one you know you shouldn’t sit in—should head back to the file room or go home before the stars come out. But you sit, slowly too.

It would be a lie to say you hadn’t noticed the same thing countless women did. The angle of his jaw, the way his eyes hold yours, as if you’re the only source of light in a room. You’d just hoped to be better than the other women, able to snap out of it—keep a respectable distance. 

“They do that. Go home at the end of their shift.” 

He snorts. “Not you, though.” 

“Not you either, Sir.” 

Watching it land, that three-letter word is like a shot of caffeine to the veins. It makes his jaw shift, his eyes try to inconspicuously drag along your frame. 

“Look, it’s likely not any of my business, but…” you look at him, watching him play with the ends of his tie as he meets your eyes. “I didn’t ask earlier, you alright? Looked heavy—the conversation with—” 

The lump appears before you can stop it. Before you can think about willing it away, it shifts at the last second. 

“Fiestl. Which, I suspect you already know his name,” you smirk, crossing your leg over the other, “But yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

The most honest you could be. Your half-smile meeting his, hoping it soothes him—settles him. 

“You two date, or something?” 

It surprises you, somehow. Prickles at you, makes you sharpen and straighten your spine. “You jealous or something?” 

“No.” 

He says it too quickly. Only realising his mistake a second too late, the same regret you felt at instantly snapping at him. 

Clearing your throat. “Sorry… I just, we did, yes.” 

He nods, and the way he leans his head back in acknowledgement makes you notice how drained he looks, how withdrawn—how sunken. 

“This your coffee or the offices?”

Twitching your lips, you relax again. “Try it and find out.”

His eyes narrow, his lips shifting across the front of his teeth as he offers that slow smirk-smile he does. The one he did so much last night, once whiskey had loosened him and humour had let the weight from his shoulders lessen. 

“How’s your bad day?” 

He half-smiles with a snort, hand swiping over his jaw as he sighs. 

Because you know how hellish it has been. You’d seen it, heard it—watched it ripple across the office. 

Clearing your throat, leaning back against the chair, you tilt your head. “No one’s going to blame you for Duffy and Lopez. For one, Duffy is real a dick.” 

Folding his arms, he mirrors you. Leaning back, not even moving for the coffee. “You know the right words to make me smile, cariño.”

Smiling, you look down. Needing too. It almost catches you off guard: cariño. Makes your tongue heavy—forcing your thighs to push together as your mouth drops open. Dawning on you that this must be how ‘sir’ makes him feel. 

Then, like rain on a beautiful warm day, you begin remembering why you left this morning—why you’d told yourself it was the best thing, and yet here you were undoing it. 

The air puckers, ruffles and wrinkles as no words are spoken. The steam from the coffee continues to swirl, performing a dance neither of you are paying attention to. His eyes are on you, and you’re firmly on the spot on the floor, warming under his gaze—wishing you knew what he was thinking, and yet wishing you didn’t know him at all. 

“I left because whatever… last night was, it wasn't serious.” 

Flicking your eyes up, you expect contempt. Instead, you see understanding.

You see softness, shame—but you suspect not because of the act itself, but rather because he understood. 

“Because you know so much about me or?” 

Your watch as his forehead creases, waiting expectedly for your response. His fingers run across his jaw as he stares, more in waiting than anything else. Your eyes staring at his index finger, remembering—recalling. 

“Because I’m really not that person, Peña. I know people say that, and they usually don’t mean it. But, I didn’t expect coffee and a piece of fruit this morning. And I really couldn’t stand the idea of having an awkward morning conversation when we’re both naked and wondering if the other regrets it. Which I don’t, by the way—regret it.” 

He slowly takes the coffee, fingers wrapping around the white porcelain, a stark contrast in size as he keeps his eyes on you. Assessing you, trying to peel back layers and uncover things. 

You’re smarter. You’ve had to be. 

Already hard enough fighting amongst other agents for a shot, never mind the fact that so very few of you make it to Bogotá—least of all women. 

Throwing up walls, you quickly hide the complexities that make you nervous, the things which keep your adrenaline heightened and your nightmares prickling close to daydreams.  

“I wouldn’t.” 

“What?” 

“Keep looking for a secondary reason for why I left you in bed,” you say with a knowing smirk. “There isn’t one. I just prefer my own bed.”

Smirking, he brings the cup to his lips, pausing as he stares over it and through the swirls. “Guess next time it’s your place then.”

You have to laugh, to hide the heat in your cheeks. “Cute, Peña. Real cute.” 

He takes another sip, a larger one—rich flavours of herbs, nuts and chocolate flooding his tongue. “Fuck, tastes good.”

It’s a bad idea.

That’s what you think. What instantly follows behind the other thought, the one on the tip of your tongue, the one you should hold back, but—

“Odd, not the first time I’ve heard that in the last 24 hours.”

Whatever the air was doing previously, it stops—and something far worse replaces it. Something heavier, thicker. Something which makes your body thrum and his eyes momentarily widen, before darkening—almost obsidian in shade and so shiny, you almost slip on them into his soul. 

He places the cup down. The ridge of its base echoing all around the room in the silence—it like a note, spreading through your ears and leaping from bone to bone. 

You watch as he drags his thumb across his bottom lip, shifting in his seat, leaning more over the desk. Not taking his eyes from you for one second, as though by blinking you’ll vanish. You should. You should excuse yourself before you give in, before you snap and bury yourself in him until every other emotion is muted and easy to stuff away. 

Dragging his tongue across his lip, the corner of your lips twitching at the sight. 

Folding your arms, you smile. “What you thinking?” 

“That I shouldn’t do this.” 

It’s natural, how you slowly sigh. “I’m very aware, I’m not even informing you of anything.” 

Glancing at him, finding the light catching his dark eyes, how they look like pools you, all of a sudden, want to slide into them—drown in them. 

“Also thinkin’ how we shouldn’t repeat it.” 

Swallowing, you lift your chin. “No. We probably shouldn’t.” 

Standing, he drinks you in, slowly moving around his desk. Each step, he doesn’t take your eyes off you. The gap is shrinking and shrinking. 

It’s not until he’s in front of you, leaning on his desk, foot nudging against yours. “Is it bad that I want to...” 

“That good, was I?” 

His fingers brush over his chin, and you feel it—anticipate that in a second you’re going to snap and be pressed against him. You are almost holding your breath. Needing it too. The way he has already silenced things, stilled the nerves in your body. Afraid of showing that you want nothing more than it.

“Yeah, cariño. You are.” 

You shift in the chair, staring up at him, counting—not sure at what number you’ll either close the gap or leave. Would it be ten, twenty, fifty—

You don’t get past five. The ring of his phone cuts through the air. 

“Shit.” His eyes slide from yours, staring at it. “Do not move.” 

You smirk, listening to him answer before you slowly stand. Your legs feel like lead, trying not to let his frown halt your movements—because you shouldn’t do this. Listening, hearing him say his name, short, sharp and breathless.  

His one-sided conversation blended with the ghostly whispers of gossip likely to come. The ones which worsened when you came back from Cali—the ones which follow you.

You're at the door as you hear him, his voice a little louder—a little more stressed. 

“Wait—I’ll call you back. Hey.”

Spinning on your heels, you meet his odd expression face on, slowly walking backwards in pursuit of your desk—your coat, bag and keys—until his fingers lightly touch your forearm. Thumb around your elbow, soft, gentle—almost surprisingly so. 

“You’re right, we shouldn’t.” 

“Words rarely ever said to me.” 

Smirking, you almost roll your eyes. Almost. “Take it as a sign, then. Your phone call saved you from another thing to get in trouble over.”

His mouth clamps shut, a thin line appearing between his brows. The same one you saw when he was sleeping, and you dressed in silence. The one which you’d wanted to run your finger over and thin out, take it with you, leave it in some distant part of the city for someone else to wear instead. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir?”

“Less of the sirs.” 

You pause, half tempted to just close the gap and be done fighting him. “Why? Worried about something.” 

His lips curl. “I’m tryin’ to be decent.” 

“How’s that going?”

“Fuckin’ poorly.” 

You smile. “Goodnight, Peña.”

He doesn’t nod, not until his fingers remove themselves, one by one, sliding from your forearm. 

Wanting to stay. Wanting nothing more than to press your lips to his.

“You owe me a coffee.”

He doesn’t smirk, but his lips try to. “And a piece of fruit?”

Shaking your head, you grab your coat, and then your bag. “Night, sir.” 

“Night, cariño.”  

chapter three ->

[supernaturalgirl20]

Love Me or Leave Me

Part 3

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, mutual pining, slow burn, jealousy, angst, fluff, sexism, forbidden relationship.

Summary: Your Javiers’s secretary. One he does not want. You are also the ambassadors daughter which he hates even more. What happens when the hate you have for each other slowly turns to something else? What will your father say when he finds out?

A/N: it’s going to divert from cannon from here on out, it will still have some of the main storyline of narcos but there will be changes 😊

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

The following morning there was a commotion in the office. Apparently, there was a ‘gas leak’ at an apartment building. Families dead. Making your way towards your desk, Javi sticks his head out of his office and nods for you to join him. Dropping off your things your make your way inside.

“Close the door.”

“Everything ok?” You ask slightly apprehensive. Javi seems extremely agitated today, and you’re not sure if it’s what happened yesterday with your father or the ‘gas leak’.

“I take you heard about the explosion?” You nod in response, afraid to say anything that might upset him. A knock interrupts you both and Javi’s gaze shifts to the now open door where Fiestl stands, papers in hand.

“What?! We’re a little busy.” Chris’s eyes drift from Javi to you and back again as he moves towards him.

“Sir, I’d like to go to Cali.”

“I’m afraid that’s off the table right now.”

“What, why? Sir, with all due respect we have arrest warrants for all of the Cali godfathers.”

“We aren’t sending anyone at the minute. There isn’t a Cali team.”

“Sir I really…” Javi moves off the desk and moves towards his office door. “Is that it…what was it?”

“Agent Fiestl sir.”

Chris looks to you for support but you just stare at him. You were not going to go against Javi. “Like I said, we’re a little busy so.”

“Sorry sir.” He says head down as he scurries off towards his desk. Javi had moved quickly and was standing inches away from you now, his warmth radiating off him directly into you. Jesus is it hot in here?

“I need you to do me a favour?”

“Hmm Hmm.”

“I need you to get intel from your father on this. I have to know what really happened.”

“I…I don’t…”

“Please hermosa, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Ok….Ok I’ll do it.”

His arm touches your waist almost delicately as he slowly leans down towards you. Your heart is beating wildly within your chest and you can’t stop looking at his lips. Those soft, plump…bow like lips. Their slightly rough as they meet the skin of your cheek, a warmth flooding you as butterflies flutter in your stomach.

He pulls away and as he does his eyes drift to your lips. You think for a brief moment he’s going to actually kiss you but then he drops his hand from your waist and walks towards his desk.

“Come straight to me once you’re done.”

***

You need to get this crush under control. You’ve worked to hard to get here to ruin it all by fucking your boss. Not that he would…not that you would…god you want to so bad.

You’d finished off typing out a report for Javi before making your way towards your fathers office. Hoping to just speak with Maria his secretary but as soon as you reach her desk the door to his office flies open.

“Ah Y/N, sweetheart come in.”

“I told you not to call me that here. I want to be respected and you calling me that isn’t going to earn me any.”

“I’m sorry, old habits. So, how is working with Agent Pena?”

“It’s alright. He’s a pain in the ass but I’ve worked with worse. What happened at that complex? Was it really a gas leak?”

Your fathers face grows serious all of a sudden and he stands behind his desk, eyes trained on you. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m curious. A lot of families died, young children.”

“Did he put you up to this? I told him to stay out of it and just let Stechner handle this.”

“You think I’m asking because of Javier Pena? Ha, dad come on you know I hate the man. He’s a womaniser, why in the world would I help him?”

“I suppose. To answer your question, no it wasn’t a gas leak, but that will be official word on it later. We believe the Cali cartel had involvement in this but with the deal so close now…”

“What deal?” You knew right well what he was talking about. Javi had told you already but you wanted him to think you both hated each other. That you didn’t trust each other.

“Pena didn’t tell you? Hmm, he really doesn’t trust you does he?”

“Javi was just brought down to be the face of the DEA, the hero so to speak. We’ve had a deal cut with the godfathers for a while now. They’ll surrender and do maybe six month in jail. It’s win win for everyone.”

“Well that’s bullshit.”

“Language!”

Rolling your eyes you stand and make your way towards the door. “What happend to you dad? You used to be so different, more like Javier. You actually gave a shit.” Slamming the door behind you, you walk back to your floor to tell Javi when your stopped by Bill on your way.

“Y/N, looking gorgeous as ever. Getting along with Pena alright? Heard he fucked an intern his first night back on the job. Good old Pena. I wouldn’t worry though, you’re not his type.” He smirks at you then walks off and it takes everything in you not to rugby tackle him to the floor. Taking in a deep breath you continue on your way.

***

Javi’s hand is on your waist and he is trying hard to resist the urge to pull you close, to feel you on him. He can see he has you flustered. The goosebumps on your skin, the erratic beating of your heart and he wants to tell you that he’s just as affected. He doesn’t. He leans in and right before your lips meet he changes direction and aims for your cheek.

His eyes glance quickly to your rise coloured lips as he pulls away. Just do it. His eyes meet yours again and then he draws his hand away from you and walks towards his desk. No, I can’t fuck her up too.

He pacing now. Nervously biting the nail of his thumb as he keeps glancing out at your empty desk. Where is she? It’s been two hours. Shrugging off his suit jacket he rolls up his sleeves and loosens his tie. Suddenly the echo of your heels reaches his ears and he turns just in time to see you stride towards his office.

He releases breath he didn’t realise he was holding and that ache in his chest seems to lessen.

“You’re ok!” It wasn’t a question and you knew it, simply nodding by your head.

“Well?”

“You were right. It was the Cali cartel and they knew everything about it. He didn’t even care. Those children…” Tye words get stuck in your throat as you hold back a sob.

Javi can sense the hurt you feel from your fathers action and he pulls you into him, arms wrapping tight around you. “Hey, it’s ok.”

He can feel you shaking in his arms and he pulls back, his hand cupping your face gently. “Shh, it’s going to be ok. We are going to get them, I promise.”

You look up at him now and he has that urge again. Your lips are right there. All he has to do is lean down and capture them in a soft kiss.

“What are you going to do, Javi?”

His eyes look past you then looking for someone and when he spots him he reluctantly pulls away and leaves his office. He can feel your eyes on him as he approaches Agent Fiestl.

“I assume you have a partner?” Chris’s eyes drift to Daniel’s desk before meeting Javiers gaze.

“Yeah I do.”

“Good! Your going to Cali.”

Javi turns around and walks back to his office with a newfound sense of determination. He slams his door closed, his gaze focused on you as you look at him slightly confused. He stares at you for one..two and then he strides towards you, his hand wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into him. His eyes meet yours for the briefest moment before his lips are in yours.

You’re shocked at first and he thinks he’s made a mistake until your lips move against his. He holds you a little tighter as you slip your tongue past his lips. He groans and when he feels his cock harden he pulls away. His breathing is ragged as he rests his head against yours, eyes still closed.

“I…I can’t let this go any further…I can’t…don’t want this to interfere with job. But I want to so bad.”

His eye open slowly to find you smiling. He can’t help but smile back. You make him want to be a better man.

“I get it. You don’t have to explain.”

“When this is over, I’m taking you out for dinner.”

“I’d like that.”

He pulls away - even though is body doesn’t want to - and walks towards his desk.

“You should head home, before I change my mind.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

He groans into his hand before meeting your gaze. His pupils blown wide.

“You can’t say thing like that, I’m a weak man.”

You smirk at him as you move towards the door. “Goodnight Agent Pena.”

He sits back in his chair and watches as you leave the office for the night. What the fuck are you doing?

Part 4

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[guyfieriii]

Feeling eyes on you, Stetchner’s in particular.

FUCK YOU STETCH. FUCK YOUUUUUUUUU.

The former wounds and nightmares coming undone. Their soreness open to the world, thin cuts—barely noticeable, but they sting when the air brushes over them; when you’re alone for too long, when your mind begins to run. 

The way you’ve so viscerally portrayed Luna’s lingering trauma is just fucking AMAZING.

“You gonna be alright? Cause you look like you’re about to murder someone—“

“I’ll murder you if you ask me that again.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, moving next to you, leaning. “No one would blame you for not being okay. That’s all I’m saying.” 

Van Ness. My one and only. THANK YOU for making me fall in love with him again.

It was Chris who told you that you showed everything with your eyes. 

FUCKING OUCH!

“If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll have to hug you,” Dan says, cutting through your panic. “And that’ll be painful for both of us.” 

Van Ness.

Fiestl.

Javi.

The fact that he gets first named has RUINED ME.

He’s okay. Pe—Javi. Alive.

Pe— Javi

PE— JAVI

“Stechner took me to a jungle.”

SAY IT WITH ME BABY! STECHNER IS A FUCKING CUNT.

His fingers, cautious and calloused, brush themselves over your forearm and the last piece of restraint crumbling and settling alight—as if it was made of paper, and he was the match. 

LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS LINE!!

“You becoming an exhibitionist, baby?”

“I like the taste of my name on your lips, cariño.”

“Anyone fucked you like this?”

I AUDIBLY FUCKING MOANED AT THESE.

“Javi…” He blinks, forehead smoothing out—no lines, no frown. “I was worried. I was worried about you.” 

GOD. The fact that she’s meeting him halfway in this moment of intimacy has me going INSANE.

Once again, you’ve ruined me Jo. And you’ve done it so freaking well, I’ll always be back begging for more. Even though I’ve read this in some bits, reading it all together was just amazing. I will never tire of your writing and I will always consider it a privilege when you share it with me.

I loves.

sunshine yellow - part iv of nowhere to run

Javier Peña x DEA! F!Reader

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, ptsd/anxiety, lots of worrying for no reason, smut, p in v, desk fucking. wordcount: 6.2k an: the last scene in this i am both excited and nervous to share cause the walls are coming down. tehehehehe. as always, the biggest thank you to my bestie and cheerleader  @guyfieriii who lets me send her random ideas and also to @yeyinde who puts up with my nonsense and instils so much confidence in me.

series masterlist

“Panama DEA said no warrant, no detention.” 

Sweat pooled at the waist of his trousers, his thumb digging into the space on his brow. “Fuck—“

“Plus, Jurado didn’t stay in Panama.”

Staring around, Javi sighs. “They know where he went?”

Silence. Horrid, crackling silence, before: “No.”

Running his tongue against the front of his teeth, Javi shakes his head. “So Jurado could be anywhere. Fuck!”

Stoddard clears his throat. “Also, boss. Fiestl and Van Ness have been trying you. A lot.”

“All right, well, put them through when you get them. I’m on my way back—and, Stoddard.”

“Yeah, boss?”

He drops his hand, straightening his spine. “Jurado has a wife in Bogotá. She’s American.” He drops his head, thinking briefly of you—your words of protecting him. “Put a tap on her phone.”

Three days. It takes three days, and the papers are signed for them to go to Cali. 

You stand as you watch them being signed, your throat tightening the same as you did when you overheard the first talks of it. Feeling eyes on you, Stetchner’s in particular. Waiting for a reaction, wondering if the volcano will finally implode. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction, hiding it, bottling it—capping it somewhere deep under layers and layers, even as it uncoils inside of you. The former wounds and nightmares coming undone. Their soreness open to the world, thin cuts—barely noticeable, but they sting when the air brushes over them; when you’re alone for too long, when your mind begins to run. 

You’re sure it took longer—and far more paperwork—to order a bag of decaf for one of the secretaries, than it did to send two more people to Cali. 

It’s why you uncork a bottle of wine the day they’re signed. Coating your throat in it as you lean your back against the wall of your living room. Music flooding through your place, drowning out the ringing phone—muffling over hope and better days.

Cali does that, it unearths things.

It shakes the foundation you’ve cautiously built. Threatens to pull you through the soil back into the hole, looming in a corner like a shadow, ready to remind you that you’re not whole anymore—and to stop pretending you are. 

Dan is well-versed in your coping mechanisms. Approaching you before lunch, hand on your elbow—not noticing the pair of brown eyes which burned into the two of you through the blinds. You hadn’t meant to meet them, but it’s natural. A pull, a magnetism. A soft smile etched poorly across your lips as you allowed your friend to drag you away. 

The warm Colombian air clung to you both as you leaned against the marble embassy wall, the words washing over you as you dug your shoulder blades into the wall—pushing your feet into the ground. 

“You gonna be alright? Cause you look like you’re about to murder someone—“ “I’ll murder you if you ask me that again.”  Dan rolls his eyes, moving next to you, leaning. “No one would blame you for not being okay. That’s all I’m saying.”  Sighing, you stare at the ground. 

Time moves too quickly. That’s what you think when you’re pulling into the spot outside the coffee shop. The radio on low, barely smothering the thick and jarring tension caused by you taking them both to the airport. 

Dan is the first to escape, opening the passenger side door before you can even murmur a request. Chris remains behind awkwardly, sitting in it—letting it thicken and boil as you continue to grip the wheel. The leather under your fingers warming, the veins and tendons in your hand rippling under your skin as you sigh before stepping out.

You don’t follow when he steps out from behind you—even if you want to.

Instead, you lean against your car, sliding your sunglasses on—not for sight, but for cover. Big, dark lenses that are large enough to cover the bags under them and the tops of your cheeks. 

It’s easier, means you don’t need to hide whatever emotion rises, comes, and crashes. You can let it drench you, stop it from festering and instead hide it, discreetly behind the shields covering your eyes. 

It was Chris who told you that you showed everything with your eyes. 

The anger—the one which has become a part of you. The worries, which have been bubbling to the surface since you’d learnt it was them who were going. It all sits on your chest. Furious, like a dragon which can’t be tamed, all set to burn anyone in its wake in thick, boiling flames.

You let your fingers slide against your thumb, digging your heels into the pavement. 

Flickers of Cali come to mind.

The sun, the warmth—the yellow-walled apartment. The laughter, the flowy fabrics around your skin. Then it shifts, night falling in the edges of your memories, burning and twisting—tightening your chest as you remember scarlet stained hands, graffiti letters against yellow— 

“Hey,” Dan exclaims, his hand on your forearm.  You steady your breath, filling your lungs, placing your palm against the cool marble. Letting it thrum through your skin, and slide into your blood. Pushing into the floor with your heels, rooting yourself, grounding down.  “If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll have to hug you,” Dan says, cutting through your panic. “And that’ll be painful for both of us.”  “I’m…” you meet his eyes, watching the rest of his face look as it usually did.  Stern. Difficult to read.  But his eyes were kind, swimming in concern.  “Please be safe.”  Snorting, he slowly releases your forearm. “If I had my way—“ “You wouldn’t even be going. You’d stick behind your desk, blah blah blah,” you tease, his elbow nudging you.  Dipping his head, he sighs. “But, ‘course I will. He will too.” 

It grows, the lump—the one which forms whenever you think about that place too much. When you let yourself think of late-night talks and ears pressed against sunshine yellow, allowing them to twist, morph and shift into a nightmare you survived—

Graffiti-covered walls; scarlet clinging to matted curls. 

Your hand shakes, flattening it to your thigh, staring into the shop—watching the two of them talk to the owner. The odd word making its way to your ears, not enough to know what they’re ordering.

You are cracking. Thick lines appear through your exterior, leaving holes for more things to seep in, to ruin, steal breath and pull you back under. 

There’s still pain under your nails from how hard you had to claw your way back to your desk. To the DEA. To stand straight and not quiver under the stares, hearing their thoughts: failure, failure, failure— 

“Got you a coffee.”

He’s holding it out, Chris. 

Blinking behind your shades, unsure when he’d returned, or how long he’d been standing there with his arm outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You’re thankful they don’t tremble when you reach out—your fingers brushing his as they do. Glancing past him, needing a focus, you watch the small vendor excitedly speaking to a less-than-impressed Dan, something which provides more entertainment than it should. 

It’s still there, the torment—the past which likes to torture. It makes your throat dry, making standing seem near impossible, especially as you stare at him. At Chris. 

Smirking, you shake your head. “How’re you getting to the airport?”  “How’d you know I’m not driving myself there and leaving my car.”  Arching your brow, you softly laugh. “Dan. The second time meeting you, you ranted about the ridiculous airport car parking prices. So, let’s say it’s a hunch.”  Shrugging, he fights with a smile. You can tell. He has tells—just like everyone. His being that one side of his lip slides up, just a fraction.  “I’ll take you.”  He arches his brow. “I was gonna taxi with Chris.”  Swallowing, you sigh. “Then tell him I’ll pick him up second.”

You say nothing—even if you think you should. So much history pulsing between the two of you as the sun slowly spreads its glow across the street. Chris just watches, staring through your lenses—trying to unmask what it is you’re hiding. 

As if he doesn’t know. As if he hasn’t seen it all before—far worse than this. Seen you at the lowest, seen you on your knees, scraped and bruised. So, you watch him, until he tears his eyes away, staring down the quiet street as he sips his drink. 

“Thank you. By the way.”

“No problem. I know Dan’s feelings on airport car parks.”

Chris snorts, dragging his eyes towards you, but not quite landing. “No. For... whatever you said to Peña. To consider this—to consider me.”

Rolling your lips, you hold the cup tighter. Looking over his shoulder at Dan, dread filling the space left inside of you. It expands, pressing against the nervousness—making something more disruptive, more uncomfortable.

“I’m also… I’m sorry—for how I’ve been. And before you lie, to protect my feelings, like you always do—don’t. Because it isn’t.” 

You lift your chin, letting your glasses slide down your nose. It allows him a glimpse, lets him see your eyes, lets you see that familiar look in his own, an expression filtering across the face your fingers had once known so well. Slowly, just as your shoulders unknot from your ears, you watch him etch himself into someone you used to know. Someone you used to love, care for... want.

He sighs, smiling. “I’m sorry. I know why you ended things… and I get it. It made—makes—sense I just—I missed you. And…”

“I pushed you away.”

“If I hear from Stoddard that the two of you became friends—” “I will not be becoming friends with fucking Stoddard, Dan. I barely wanted you.” He smirks, nudging you. “You’re gonna miss me.” “I think you’ll miss me more.” Scrunching his face, he sighs heavily. “Maybe. You’ve got Peña, though.” Hands dropping from the wall, you frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Dan says, shrugging. “Just seems like a good boss, you get on with him.” 

You take a sip from the cup, the caffeine exploding into your mouth—the rich, herbs and fruit smothering your tongue. It silences your mind, and allows it to settle. Returns to a low-simmer than an overboiling mess as you stare at your ex. 

The ex who used to be your friend. 

Rubbing the back of his head, Chris snorts.“Yeah, you did. But, I know… I know you, Lun. You were dealing with a lot. You were so strong, and yet so broken, and then we ended. And you, just...” 

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the ground, as his tongue sweeps over his lip. And you know.

You know, because you thought the same. 

It sat like an uninvited guest the moment you got back. Its presence had been more noticeable the moment you found yourself able to breathe, to stop yourself from shaking.

It grew larger when you flinched under his touch—when you purposefully curled away from him. It whispered in poisonous prose that it had been there before you left, but had worsened so much more because of who you were when you returned. It lay between you both as he snored, dreaming, and you lay, paralysed by nightmares that didn’t just play when you closed your eyes. 

Clearing his throat, Chris kicks a pebble, it bouncing down the pavement in the noiseless. “You just looked like you were doing better without me—and it hurt. And, I—I kept lashing out.” 

Nodding, you bite your lip. “I wasn’t…” you admit. “It hurt me too, to be without you.”

“Oh.”

It escapes a laugh. Short, but sweet—and very much genuine. It falls from your lips so surprisingly, his head snaps up, the moment growing, maturing as his lips rise at the edges as you add, “Oh? Really?”

Chris sips his drink, shrugging. “What do you want me to say?”

As you shake your head, you’re still sniggering, lighter, less obvious. “I don’t know, but I do know this is the first time we’ve been honest with one another in months.” 

“Yeah. I’ve missed you—not like that, but just…”

Nodding, you swallow. “I know.” 

His eyes meet yours, and all the unspoken words sound louder. 

They flutter like broken butterflies, flapping their damaged wings as you bite the inside of your cheek. Feeling the evidence of day-old teeth marks, the phantom twinges of panic that threaten to wrap their hands around you.

“Please be safe... I’d,” you stare at him, seeing—for the briefest moment—the person you lay in bed with, the person you made breakfast with and stole the sunglasses of. “I’d hate it if something happened to you.”

He nods, short but full of understanding.

And you think about it, curling into him. Letting your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close. Your feet are almost moving, closing the distance to do so.

But he’s quicker.

The two of you falling into the old ways, your head finding the space along his shoulder, something sliding into place, something healing—one less crack somewhere deep inside of you. You let him hold you, let yourself be held—feeling the sting behind your eyes, the fear rising, before you glance over—finding, if anything, the most uncharacteristic smile on Dan’s face. 

You’ve always been good at remembering things.

Dates. Numbers. Faces—

They’re drilled into you—because you’re used to dialling them or because you have them banked somewhere in your mind. You knew Chris’s because the two of you had dated, you knew Van Ness’s because of lunch orders and after-work drinks; you knew Stoddard’s because he was who you reported to, and you knew the Ambassador’s because his clearance meant something.

But, Peña’s… 

You didn’t know it because you called him a lot. Didn’t know it because you’d rang him copious times—if anything, the two of you rarely spoke on the phone. But, you’d chosen to memorise it. Just in case. 

The same one you’d been dialling furiously for the last hour—eyes glancing to his desk, the one he’s been away from for hours. 

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs, carmine-stained palms…

Digging your elbow into the desk, you grit your teeth. Fixing, staring at a spot on the carpet—old, dried gum that’s worsened over time. Something—anything. Taking a breath, banishing yellow—trying to rid the feeling that the walls are coming in as you place the phone back into the hook. 

Peña has been gone for hours. 

Something he doesn’t do without telling someone. Not when he had plans, ones you heard from Stoddard. 

Since the file room, the two of you had been swirling around one another, but not colliding. He told you things, but things you already knew. The way it had to be, you assumed. A line the two of you had drawn because he was your boss—and both felt you should. 

But, you couldn’t turn off your worries. The niggling anxiousness that something was wrong. 

It had nestled somewhere deep, spreading and merging with the worries Cali had dragged up. Your nails tap in rhythmic patterns on your desk, trying to concentrate on your screen, the names, the numbers—

Stoddard isn’t concerned. 

Doesn’t think anything of it when Peña doesn’t answer. When the phone rings out. 

Even if the man worships the ground he walks on. The hero he couldn’t wait to meet, to shake his hand—ask him all things Escobar like the two of them would be best buds. 

Now, though, when something does feel off, it’s a shrug, it’s a shake of the head. ‘He’s likely following a different lead.’ The annoying part… Stoddard could be right. Something which annoys you more. 

That able to smother your worries, your intrusive thoughts for a moment. A sense of peace begins to mist over you, until it thrums inside of you again. Like it has since the airport drop off this morning. It all untwisting, slowly oozing out until it collects other things, creating more anxiety in a lab of your own making.

The list ever-growing, collating— 

Van Ness. Fiestl. Javi.

It worsens when you call the number from earlier. The one for the plane he’d asked for, after you’d handed Peña the blue folder. You’d studied his features and committed each expression as he read the contents of it. 

If you blink, you still see the way his face lit up, the realisation that dawned over him—it was like magic. Like perfect sunsets and those mornings there isn’t a cloud in the sky, making your cheeks warm, especially with the way he’d stared at you after.  

“You okay, sir?”  Your heart quickens in your throat as he stands, tapping the blue folder against his palm.  “You got plans tonight?”  “What?”  “I owe you food.”  Shaking your head, you lick your lips. “No, you—“ “You bought me lunch yesterday, I’ll buy you dinner. Tonight. Here.” Stepping around your desk, you feel his eyes on you. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.” 

You know you’re rattled. Sensitive.

Split open at the poorly sewn seams, panic seeping out of every orifice imaginable as you bounced your heel into the embassy carpet. But, something told you to be—something outside of anxiousness and concern. Something not easily stifled by reassuring thoughts and hopeful thinking as you stared into the dirty, bathroom mirror. 

It’s heavy in your hand—your phone. Slowly placing it back into its position as you process what you’d heard. 

“Stoddard…” you mumble, swallowing the forming lump in your throat. “Neil?”

“Yeah.”

You can feel it, the ground shifting. Your vision sliding, blurring just at the edges as your pulse quickens. “He didn’t—um. He didn’t get on the plane. Peña”

He doesn’t say anything—barely even a frown. Just leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk—as though Peña disappearing is something which happens regularly. 

As though he’s someone who would vanish on the day he sent two agents to Cali. 

The silence should unnerve you—usually, it does. 

It normally allows everything to breed, to worsen—double and multiply. It allows that string to stretch again, it always so close to snapping, as its plucked and plucked, shivers through you. 

Night has come and snatched the day. The office having slowly emptied over the last two hours, Stoddard having left fifteen minutes ago at best. You should go too, leave—try and sleep and reset. 

But, you slide into Peña’s chair, staring over the contents of a file that you’re not taking in. Instead, it’s for show. A pretence as you chew the inside of your cheek, spreading your fingers out over the small patch of his desk not covered in paper. Just feeling the wood, the smoothness of it. How cold it is. The chill stretching and weaving up your wrist—

“Oh, cariño…I didn’t know anyone was still here.“

You’re on your feet instantly, palms pressed against the desk. Eyes having landed on brown eyes and a figure that makes your heart stop. And then, relief. He’s okay. Pe—Javi. Alive. Well. Whatever bit of you you’d been gnawing, releases, freeing you. All the thoughts, ones of him being taken, of him lying in a pool of his—

“Yeah, I’m… I’m here,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

Barely able to say it any louder. 

Swallowing, finding yourself quickly smothered and wrapped in something you’d forgotten could exist in the last few hours. The sight of him almost forces you to cross the room, to wrap your arms around him. You stop yourself. Just. 

Dropping your chin, you watch through your brows as he throws his jacket and tie over the chair opposite you, blinking back thankful-tears as your fingers halt from drawing against the swirls in the wood of his desk.

He’s watching you, and as soon as you notice it, it’s all you focus on. They’re warming you, tracing you. Like he’s unable to tear himself away, staring stares at you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes you almost believe you are.

“Surprised to find you still here. It’s late—even for you.” 

Snorting, you feel warmth slide up your cheeks. “Well, you did promise me dinner...”

He traces his jaw with his finger, a puzzled look on his face as he straightens, and your eyes take in the way his top two buttons are undone, that his hair is tousled—that he looks good. Alive, safe, breathing, and so good. 

Him all golden skin and a pair of eyes that made you want to see every expression flutter across them. Just like normal. A normal you try to camouflage, dress it up in disdain and faux-annoyance. 

Clearing your throat, you stand, stepping around his desk, not letting a finger fall from it. Suddenly needing it to ground you, to focus on—stop the shakes from your early worrying when everything felt like it was on fire.

It’s at the last moment you watch it bloom over his face—the realisation. 

“Shit… I’m so—cariño…” 

Shrugging, you lift your head. “It’s fine, I was just teasing—“

“I had—fuck, I had no signal. I’m—“

“Peña. It’s fine. I was messing with you. Where were you—to not have a signal?”  

His jaw tightens, dropping his eyes as he runs a hand over his face. “Stechner took me to a jungle.”

“Course he did,” you snort, taking some of the discomfort. “Lemme guess, because of our visitors? I know I shouldn’t say this, but—“

“He’s an asshole?”

“Such a fucking asshole.”

You laugh, merging with his. Both of them escape, puffing out of you both as you feel a thread loosen around your throat.

He’s looking at you again, differently than before. The silence from the rest of the building, the late hour providing nothing but quiet.

You’re sure your blood has ignited, simmering in your ears, head and chest. Something fluttering, wings brushing your ribs as you swallow it all. Needing a distraction, scrambling for one, remembering—

“Fiestl and Van Ness—“

“I know. Managed... I called them in the car. They’re staying there, they have…” His voice trails off, head tilting. 

You knew that. 

Had spoken to Dan. Almost wanting to tell him that—a flicker of annoyance stemming through the earlier worry—bite that you’ve been here, taking calls for him. 

But, Javi’s eyes are narrowing in the way he does when he’s figured something out. You can’t stop it, a mere passenger to the way your body warms under his sight—ears burning as you watch the corners of his lips twitch. 

“Why are you in my office, cariño?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you straighten your spine. “Stoddard isn’t great at answering your phone.”

You find yourself swallowing when Javi takes a step closer, eyes burning into his, the same as his are burning into yours. His screaming Liar. Noticing him swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. 

“I spoke to Stoddard—before he left for the night.” 

You swallow. 

Don’t push, you silently plead. 

“Come on. You can tell me the truth.”  

It’s fragile, easily able to shatter—the thin wall the two of you have built since the file room. The professionalism, the decency he was intent on giving you. You’ll tear it down yourself single-handedly if he keeps looking at you how he is, observing as he stops in front of you, drinking you in with his deep, velvety eyes. 

Licking your lips, you take a deep breath. “Stop hunting for—”

“Were you worried about me, cariño…?”

It pulses—the truth. Even if he says it with that tone, the one which is always accompanied by a smirk. The one which makes your skin flush with warmth. 

It mixes with the rattling around inside of you, the one born from actually worrying about him. It's all thrumming, vibrating. Making it hard to swallow as you lift your chin, almost defiantly. 

Then he says your name. 

Not Luna. Not your surname. Your first given name. 

It’s too much. The proximity, the scent of Earth, smoke and something so distinctly him. The silence made it crumble, blending with his smirk. You watch how it unfilters from his cheeks as he swallows. Being replaced by something far more annoying—concern.

Smiling, you hold his gaze. Realising you have little energy to fight. 

“And, what if I was, Javi?” 

It’s subtle, the shift in his eyes. The change to the way his lips had been turned upwards. All minimal. Barely much at all. His face only half-illuminated by the lamp on his desk, but it’s enough to see the effect his name has on him. It’s enough to make the air difficult, like it’s being squeezed from the room, his lips parting before closing. No words left to say.

He’s surprised. So much so, Javier Peña has been rendered silent. 

You consider leaving, taking your embarrassment with you, dipping your eyes as you fumble for an excuse—

And then he whispers your name. All breathy, almost like he did that night after the bar. As though he doesn’t want you to leave—it makes your eyes snap up. 

They shrivel, the thoughts of leaving. Vanishing as if they never existed, to begin with. 

His fingers, cautious and calloused, brush themselves over your forearm and the last piece of restraint crumbling and settling alight—as if it was made of paper, and he was the match. 

It’s instant the way your lungs ache—burning—when you crash your lips to his. Your fist is full of his collar as your heart thumps, over and over—hammering and knocking, banging and smashing. 

It’s messy. Far too desperate and uncoordinated. But it’s also bliss.

It’s freeing. It’s worry, and relief, and a sea of other things.

Your palm places flush with his neck, fingers clutching at his jaw as you feel his pulse thump against you. Alive, he’s alive. Repose settles over you, calming you as you taste cigarettes on his tongue and coffee on his lips. 

A taste you’ve come to crave more than your own bag of beans in your bottom desk drawer.

His hands grip you, fix you against him—little, to no space being left. Not that you want there to be. If anything, you want to remove the barrier of clothes between you. Have him press you against his desk, create a new reason to blush in his presence—

Wrenching your lips from his, you lean back in his palms, finding bewilderment and confusion flashing across in a storm. Swallowing, you size him up, how his eyes are darker and his lips are parted.

“You fucked anyone in your office, sir?”

It hits him, the question—an array of emotions fluttering across his features. “Fuck me...”

Smirking, you take a step back. Hands sliding down his arms until you release his fingers, and your lower back meets his desk. 

It allows him a moment—one to make a choice. A moment which stretches on far too long, your already frayed endings becoming frazzled with anxiousness. Then, you watch your daydreams play out into reality. It’s beautiful, and fascinating—and fucking everything. Studying the way his micro-expressions bleed into major ones, feeling his eyes rise, so inky and full of swirling lust, pulling you in like a siren song. It makes your throat dry—he makes your throat dry. 

“You becoming an exhibitionist, baby?”

Baby.

The word curls around you, dripping into your ear as your hands come down to rest on the edge of the desk. Watching him shift his jaw from side to side.

“Surprised you know that word, Peña. It’s quite long.”

He snorts. Nodding, eyes dropping to the floor. His fingers twitch at his side, thumb brushing over his index and middle, before he looks up. 

Banished is the doubt, the attempt at decency. His frame closes the gap quickly—quicker than you count on. Doing so in a number of strides, you don’t have a chance to count, before he’s on you. Lips crashing against yours, tongue licking past your teeth as you grasp fingers full of his hair.

It’s intoxicating, being kissed by him. 

He’s like fire in your bones and air in your lungs. Losing yourself in him until you run your lips across his jaw, enjoying running your prints up and along his neck, feeling his pulse again—before sliding back up into the soft curls of his hair as you take him in. 

The two of you drink one another in, lost in a moment that’s all your own. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes from him. Thankful when he reconnects his lips to yours, all desperate to kiss you. 

So much so, you’re sure he does it with the sole intention of ruining you—of taking everything from you, leaving you with nothing.

You’d let him. You are letting him. Allowing his touch to consume you, to render you useless and breathless. 

If you were younger, less scarred—less fearful of getting hurt—there’s more you’d hand him. More parts of you that you’d let him into. Likely spill your secrets, worries and deepest desires—and not hide behind smirks and flirtations.

Instead, you offer him mild submissiveness. 

Hands falling from his neck to your trousers, undoing them—the metal grating against metal sounding, making him groan. It vibrates against you, feeling it in your chest as you let them fall to your ankles with a thud. They’re followed by your underwear, a simple pile, one he helps you step out as he helps slide the bare back of your thighs over his wooden desk.

His hand is quick to sweep files, notes and post-its into a messier pile than before. 

You don’t focus on it. Try not to. Choosing instead to busy your hands with undoing his buttons—reuniting your lips with his. Craving him, not needing him. A solid difference—a considerable one. Because you can admit you want the feel of him—whether it’s the way he stretches you or his fingers across the inside of your knees.

To need him means something else. Something under lust and fucking on a desk. It means letting him in, enough that you could tumble, fall—risk scarring your heart, soul and sense more than they already are. 

He knows it. Must do. You can tell from the way he kisses you—like he’s trying to knock down your walls and paper over old pain. His fingers hunt for the switch, the one which slides the imaginary door to your secrets. And his tongue, he tries to carve it into a key to unlock everything about you—discover the reason you protect yourself, hide, conceal. 

For now, he takes this. Having you in his office, his groan as you palm him over his trousers—as he hisses into your mouth. You equally take each sound you can have, like the sound of his belt undoing, and trousers falling to his ankles. Working him slowly up and down. How he’s trying to push you over the edge by curling two of his fingers inside you, finding the spot that made you coo his name. 

He stops, and so do you.

Both of you panting, watching his forehead meet yours as he tugs your hips closer. 

He’s beautiful. Something you had known before, something you had witnessed and accepted. But, this is different, the lighting, the intimacy—the earlier worries. 

Your hand curls against his cheek as he slides the head of his cock through your slick walls. Body aflame with arousal, with want. 

I’m glad you’re okay, Javi. Glad you’re here. 

It’s easy, the way he steals your gasp with his lips. Your hand clutches his side as he stretches you, making you feel so full—eyes clenching shut as you forget how to breathe. But your lips—oh, your lips don’t forget how to kiss him. They remember how to take as much of him as they can get. 

The same way you begrudgingly take how slow he rocks himself into you, that his forehead finds yours, and cariño rolls in soft murmurs from his perfect, kissable lips.

It’s worse when it’s slower, impossible to deny how perfect he feels—how good he makes you feel. 

“Thought of—fuck—nothing else.” 

He talks more when he’s sober, you're not the same.

Thankful you hadn’t helped yourself to his liquor, afraid you’ll be telling him how thankful you are he’s okay, that he’s back in his office. Alive. Well. Breathing. That he’s kissing you, that he’s fucking you. 

Instead, you find yourself unable to stop yourself from clutching him close. From smiling as he captures your lips, to smothering any moans and whimpers as you whisper his name. 

He grasps your hip, ghosting his mouth over yours, “I like the taste of my name on your lips, cariño.”

“Shit, Javi.” 

He peers down, a glint, a smirk—eyes speckled with the reflection of the lamp. Your head falls back as he helps you lift your leg. Just enough—until your heel meets the edge of the desk.

The groan he emits fills the air, and stains it. Feeling him so much deeper, creating so much pressure as he slides in and out. Your own moans stifled, buried, drowned in your throat with sheer fucking will— because he’s so impossibly, perfectly fucking deep.

“Anyone fucked you like this?”

Your eyes are already closed, the pleasure quivering, building. If your eyes open, if you meet his, you’ll lose—let him in, let him see you, all of you. He’ll undress your mind, peer in and see the broken mess behind the well-put-together woman he’s been thinking about fucking again.

That you cannot lose. Not him. Never him, but also not this—this perfectly matched game that could go on and on until one of you ruins it.

He breathes your name. Gruff. Peppered with pleasure and bliss as he snaps his hips against yours. It’s easier to shake your head as his pace quickens, as his grunts punch into the air.

“Need to—fuck, cariño—need to hear you—“

“No, Javi. Just you. Only y-you.”

One of your hands grips the desk, digging into the wood—enough to leave a mark. The other grabs him, the back of his neck, fingers digging into skin and hair. 

You arch your back, feeling only then his palm on your spine—having balled up enough of your blouse to keep it from being in the way. His hand slides under, fingers spreading, curling you closer, rooting you to him.

As if his cock isn’t doing that. As though it isn’t dragging through your walls, stroking parts of you which makes you almost see stars, light and fucking heaven—

“Give it to me, cariño.”

His hip presses against your lower calf, hitting that spot over and over. The sound of your arousal growing, the slick noises as he pounds into you, drowned only by his grunts and your whimpers. 

Tilting your head back, you take him in. The hair which is in strands, jaw tight, sweat building on his neck as he looks down at you like you’re everything. 

It almost pushes you to let go—let it wash over you, and then you hear the softest whisper from his lips.

“Please.”

Your eyes open, basking under his gaze—and it rips through you. Tears you into pieces as his name carves into the air, and he fucks you through it. His hand grips you tighter, keeping you as close as he can. For as long as he can.

Your focus is on feeling it—from head to toe. How it ripples, travelling to every nerve as it sets you alight. The rest only comes back to you slowly, the way your lips are already meeting his as he groans your name as he coats you in his release. 

It’s only when he slows, does the dull ache in your nails greets you, splinters carved into your skin. 

Javi waits a moment, drawing a shape on your lower back with his fingers before he slides himself free from you, leaving you empty. The low light casts shadows that make him appear softer. 

You almost are able to convince yourself it’s the lighting, but then he bends down to retrieve your clothes. Sliding your leg through the fabrics, seeing a gentler part of him showing through. You have to close your eyes, hiding from it.

Knowing you’re falling, descending. Still hearing the sound of him coming with your name on your lips—understanding what he meant when he said he liked the taste of his name on your tongue. 

You liked the taste of yours too. More so when it graced the air in a chorus.

Please. 

Please, he had whispered. 

You feel his thumb sliding up your thigh, garnering your attention again, flicking your eyes open as fabric follows his fingers. You smile, mirroring his, slowly realising that you’re losing the battle of keeping him out—greeted by kinder brown and flecks of softness.

“Javi…” He blinks, forehead smoothing out—no lines, no frown. “I was worried. I was worried about you.” 

Swallowing, he lifts his hand, thumb brushing the side of your lip as he parts his lips, all set to say something or another. But the phone rings. 

Another interruption—a yank back to reality. Standing, flinging yourself from his desk as he moves to  take it, trying not to listen, but listening all the same. 

His eyes meet yours—and you realise in an instant the call is important. His tells showing, unable to be masked from how you’d cracked him open only moments ago, staring until he mouths Fiestl.

Your heart hammering, pounding, waiting and waiting until he places the phone down. 

“They… they’ve found Gilberto Rodríguez.”

chapter five ->

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 19: Rules Change - Javier Pena

Day 19: Rules Change- Javier Pena 

November Writing Challenge Masterlist 

Day 18: Her Husband - Marcus Pike 

“You do understand that by getting yourself into this situation...we are going to have to send you back stateside?” 

You nod. 

“Do you have anything you would like to say before we finish today? After this meeting you will need to go to your apartment and pack your bags, your flight leaves out of Columbia at 9 AM.” The ambassador glared at you from his high back leather chair. 

“No...I have nothing to say to you. Only this, I don’t regret a damn thing.” 

“You’re excused. Now get out of my office and go pack your bags.” He dismisses you with a wave of his hand and promptly ignores you. 

You slam the door behind you on the way out and walk over towards your desk. You can feel the eyes of your co-workers on you as you pack your small box of personal belongings from your desk. You reach toward your cactus plant on the corner of your desk and it falls to the ground, shattering. 

“Fuck,” you bend down to begin picking it up when a pair of dark sun-kissed skin move into your line of sight, you look up at Javier Pena, your boss. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. Picking up the remaining shards and placing them in the trash. You notice he has a small white paper cup in his hands and he carefully places the cactus in the cup. 

His arm grips your elbow gently, pulling you to your feet. You feel braver with him near and you take a moment to look into his eyes. A storm of emotion is boiling in them and it takes your breath away, “this is fucked up,” he whispers harshly, “I should be the one sent home, not you. I’m your boss...I’m supposed to protect you.” 

You chuckle darkly, “well maybe if we both used protection we wouldn’t be in this situation,” you rest your hand over your slightly protruding belly, “I have to go pack...will you come over tonight?” 

He hands you the plant and you place it gently in the box. “Do you really have to ask?” he whispers. You go to lift the box before it is quickly removed from your hands. 

“Daniel...I can lift a damn box,” Van Ness smiles at you before shrugging. 

“I can also lift a box, isn’t that funny? Let’s go, mama, time to get you home.” 

You cringe, avoiding the eye contact of the office gossips. Only a select few knew why you were leaving and those that didn’t could guess. It was the watercooler gossip of the week. Javier Pena had knocked up one of the Embassy secretaries. She was being fired and sent home in disgrace while Pena stayed in Columbia to take down the Cali cartel.

You didn’t blame Javier though. He wanted to leave with you and threatened to quit. But after the chance to take down Escobar was ripped away from him you knew he had to finish the work with Cali. It had caused many an argument between you but it was a fight he wasn’t going to win. Your one concession to Javi was that you were going to Texas to live with his father. 

You had no family left of your own and when you both sat down and called his father he was ecstatic about becoming a grandpa. Your shook from your thoughts when Daniel nudges you toward the door and Javier’s hand slips from your elbow watching you leave. 

At your apartment, you’re surprised to find Chris Fiestl there and packing your books into boxes with the label already written out. Tears spring to your eyes and you reach out for both of them as they engulf you in hugs, “Don’t cry y/n, you don’t wanna upset the baby.” Daniel reaches forward and gently rubs your stomach. 

“I’m just really happy to have such good friends,” you tell them both pulling away to wipe at your eyes. Daniel and Chris came around the same time you did and you instantly clicked. The three of you would go out drinking and dancing. 

When you started sleeping with Javi, the boys were there for you as you navigated the waters from casual hookup to a full-blown relationship. 

“I’m really going to miss you guys,” you hug them both tightly. From behind you the door unlocks and Javier comes in. Seeing you all embracing he sighs before walking to the small kitchen for a drink. 

The boys give you one final hug before they go, letting you and Javier be alone. You walk to the kitchen and see Javi nursing a whiskey and cooking some dinner. He wasn’t the greatest cook but since you found out you were pregnant and got sick at random smells he’s taken over cooking for you both. You hug him from behind and he leans back onto your shoulder, kissing your cheek. Putting down the spatula he turns and holds you tight. 

“I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be away from you...I love you so fucking much,” he nuzzles your neck placing soft open mouth kisses. 

You pull away and scratch your nails through his scalp he groans at the feeling. “It’s not forever, just until you put those Cali bastards away. Then you can come home to your dads and we can raise our daughter and have a life together.” 

“...Daughter?” his voice is hoarse as he looks at you with glassy eyes. 

You can only nod, your own filled with unshed tears. “I found out a few days ago at that last appointment. We’re gonna have a baby girl Javi.” 

He drops to his knees before your belly and lifts your shift. His hands rough and calloused trace patterns over the small bump. He kisses your stomach lightly “I love you mija, I will always be there for you,” he gazes up at you, “for your both.”  

5 Years Later 

“You have got to be kidding me! That’s a BULLSHIT CALL!” 

“JAVIER!” you shoot up from your lawn chair and pull your husband back down, “SIT THE HELL DOWN! You are embarrassing us!” 

Your father in law is cracking up beside you in his own chair, watching his granddaughter run unsteadily across the field. 

“But baby, she was clear and he called her foul! That’s my little girl out there and you better believe I will kick any honky white ass referee who tries to stop her!” Javier shoots up from his chair again pacing. 

You snort watching the man who helped take down Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel down get mad at a children’s soccer game. But that was Javier as a father. 

After that night he promised he would always be there for her he meant it. Every doctor appointment, hair cut, toddler tumble class, story time at the library, and recently soccer game he was there. His office walls covered in her artwork and always wearing a bracelet she made him at preschool out of macaroni and string; like it came from Tiffany’s. 

“Honey you need to calm down, she is doing great! Those are just the rules of the game, the ref didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Rules change baby, and that guy needs to change his damn rules so he doesn’t foul my daughter,” Javi huffs and you rise pulling him towards you for a kiss. 

“She is so lucky to have you as a daddy Javi. We all are…” you rest his hand over your stomach and his eyes nearly fall out of his head.

“Baby?...” 

You nod and he shouts before kissing you. The whistle blows and your daughter who is the spitting image of her father comes running up. Javi picks her up, blowing raspberries against her cheek as she giggles, pulling you both into a tight hug. Despite the rocky start, you wouldn’t change your family for the world. 

[hopelikethemoon]

Proof (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Proof  Rating: PG-13 Length: 1600 Warnings: Fluff. Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set May 4th 1998. Summary: The final article comes out. 

@grapemama​​ @seawhisperer​​ @huliabitch​​ @pedropascalito​​ @rogrsnbarnes​​ @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​​ @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow​​ @plexflexico​​ @readsalot73​ @hdlynn​​ @lokiaddicted​​ @randomness501​ @fioccodineveautunnale​  @roxypeanut​​ @snivellusim​​ @lukesrighthand​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​ @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie​​ @swhiskeys​​ @lady-tano​​ @beskar-droids​​ @space-floozy​ @cable-kenobi​​ @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes​​ @findhimfives​​ @pedrosdoll​​ @frietiemeloen​​ @arrowswithwifi​​ @random066​ @uncomicalhumour​​ @heather-lynn​​ @domino-oh-damn​ @cyarikaaa​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx​ @punkass-potato​ @coredrive​​​ @pascalesque​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​ @queenquazar​ @sabinemorans​ @buckstaposition​​ @holkaskrosnou​ @yespolkadotkitty​​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​​ @seeking-a-great–perhaps

IRREFUTABLE PROOF — DEA BRIBED COLLEGE STUDENT TO RUIN FORMER AGENT’S CREDIBILITY 

The DEA has maintained that Annette Morley’s termination was related to her perfidious actions, concerning her relationship with Javier Peña. The couple sat down with The Post to clarify why they chose to conceal their relationship.

“It wasn’t an ideal situation,” said Peña when questioned about why he and Morley kept their relationship quiet while working for the DEA. “We were working to take down dangerous organizations, we couldn’t risk something happening to our daughter. We suffered to keep it a secret. Annie gave birth alone, while I filed paperwork at the office. We couldn’t risk anyone knowing that two DEA agents had a child together — our daughter would’ve become a target.”

Could they not trust the DEA with that secret? Morley was quick to clarify why she chose to lie about her daughter’s paternity, “It was hard enough to be a woman working for the government. I was subjected to sexist comments regularly and I feared how I would be treated if they knew that Javier and I were together.”

It should be noted that both Peña and Morley denied that Peña was the father of Morley’s daughter, yet only Morley was disciplined. Documents collected via the Freedom of Information Act suggest that this was an intentional decision meant to minimize Morley’s participation within the agency. Correspondence between high-level authorities, conclude a pattern of suppression targeting women throughout the agency.  

The DEA ardently denies claims of sexual harassment, citing that their agents undergo a seminar about harassment in the workplace during their on boarding. Sources within the DEA have confirmed numerous reports of sexual harassment claims made against all levels of management. 

Evidence provided to The Post by a source close to Peña and Morley, and verified by the University of Miami, concluded that the DEA had orchestrated a scheme to pressure one of Javier Peña’s students to falsely claim that they had been having an affair. The source showed receipts of a sizeable money transfer in return for making the claims to the University. 

Following The Post’s reporting that DEA agent Chris Fiestle had numerous disciplinary claims against him, the DEA has placed him on paid leave. An anonymous source has provided The Post with information and confidently identified Fiestle as the individual who facilitated the DEA’s bribery scheme. A second source, within the agency, provided documentation of the bribery which had been signed off on by two high-level figures. 

Due to the investigative journalism of The Post we are pleased to report that The Office of the Inspector General released a report that a full audit of the DEA’s inter-agency procedures, practices, and correspondences. The Post is working with the OIG to corroborate the reports made in the paper. The Federal Bureau of Investigation has opened a secondary review of misconduct. 

 ———

 It was done. Finally. With today’s issue of The Post, you no longer had to dread the next front page story you’d read. Vickers had exceeded your expectations — not just by addressing what you had endured, but uncovering a whole culture of misconduct. 

“I don’t want to speak to the press,” You told Javier as you sat across from him at the kitchen table. The phone was ringing for the fifth time since you had gotten out of bed and you were certain it was the same type of call you’d already put up with. 

MSNBC, Fox News, and CNN had been hounding you since the first article — but now it seemed to have ramped up. They were all desperate for a sit down interview.

“Not even Barbara Walters or Diane Sawyer?” Javier teased, trying to play off the obvious distress you were in. You were appreciative. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I’m not sitting down for 20/20. I’m humbled, but no. I’ve done what I intended to do.”

Monica sighed heavily as she folded the newspaper in half and sat it on the table beside her coffee. “I’m so glad he respected my request.”

“I told him all along that the article wouldn’t run with your name in it.” You assured her. Monica had spent the night — too anxious about the forthcoming article to spend the night at her own place. “I can’t help if the DEA brings you into it, however.”

She smiled grimly, “I know. I just don’t want my parents…” Monica shook her head, “And what about work? How am I going to work for the government if my name gets black balled?”

Javier cleared his throat, “I won’t let that happen. No daughter of mine is going to be harassed by those fuc—“

You shot him a look.

“Freaks.”

“Mommy, did daddy say a bad word?” Josie questioned as she licked the butter off her toast. 

“Freaks isn’t a bad word.” You shook your head, “Josie, eat your toast right. Please?”

Josie scrunched up her nose as she folded her bread in half and ate the center out of the toast. “But fuck is bad?”

“Josie!” Javier snapped his fingers, “What have we talked about?”

She tried to look as sheepish and adorable as possible, “I sassy daddy.”

Monica stifled a laugh.

“That’s an interesting way to say you’re sorry, Josie.” His brows rose upwards as he stared at Josie. “Josefína Selina Peña—“

“I’m sorry, daddy.” Josie stuck out her bottom lip as she slid herself off her chair and walked around the table to grab at you, pressing her face against your stomach and pretending to cry. 

“Are you hiding with me?” You laughed. “Do I get to play good cop?”

Monica leaned down to Josie’s height, poking her in the side, “What have we talked about bad words?”

“That they’re bad.” Josie offered quietly, before she squirmed out of your hold and dropped onto the floor as she crawled under the table.

Javier rubbed at the back of his neck, giving you a look. “We’ve created a monster.”

“We’ve created a little girl who isn’t acting like she just turned five.” 

Stevie barked, padding through the kitchen and ducking under the table to join Josie. 

“I a baby again!” Josie announced, remaining beneath the table.

Sofía leaned over the side of her high chair, trying to look for Josie. “Sissss!” She made grabby hands, wiggling as she tried to get out.

“Josefína.” Javier said warningly, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

She popped her head out from under the table, “Daddy are you mad?”

“No.”

“You sound mad.”

“He’s not mad, Josie.” Monica told her with a gentle smile. “But you can’t be saying grown up words.”

“But daddy says them.” Josie said as she crawled out, “I wanna be like daddy.”

“Good lord,” Javier chuckled, grinning at you. “Be like your mother, she’s a far better example.”

“Only because I mind my p’s and q’s.” You teased, nudging Javier’s foot under the table. “Good cop says to go easy.”

“Bad cop is going to eat Miss Josie’s pancakes if she doesn’t get back in her seat and eat them.” He warned and that prompted her to scramble back into her seat. 

Monica started laughing again, “Is this what I miss out on every morning?”

“Every. Morning.” You shook your head. “Josie’s always getting into mischief.”

Javier fixed Monica with a droll expression. “Yesterday she ate Stevie’s kibble.”

Josie clambered back into her seat, picking up her fork and shoveling a mouthful of pancake into her mouth. 

“Josie, please don’t choke.” 

Javier nudged her in the ribs, “Small bites.”

“I’m stress eating.” Josie announced, making dramatic gobbling noises as she mimed eating another bite as she chewed her first. 

“What are you stressed about?” Monica questioned.

“Life.”

The three of you started laughing. Josie had a hell of a sense of humor. You weren’t sure which one of you she got it from, but she could not kill with her dramatics. 

“You know,” You started, looking from Monica to Javier. “That was exactly what I needed.” You rolled your eyes. “From the mouths of babes.”

“Who, me?” Josie questioned, giggling like a mad woman. 

“Yes, you, goober.” You laughed. 

Javier leaned over and kissed the top of her head, “No more bad words, JoJo.”

She tilted her head up towards him, grinning broadly. “But it made mommy laugh.”

He pursed his lips, “Then it’s fine. Just this once.” Javier stood up then, moving around the table to you. He rested his hands on your shoulders, squeezing both of them tightly. “Want more coffee?”

You nodded your head, “I think I may just work for a half a day today.” 

“Do you still want me to stick around?” Monica questioned. 

“If I get home early, you’re welcome to leave.” You assured her as you watched Javier take your cup and head for the coffee pot. “Get a jump start on your weekend.”

“Honestly, I think we may just stay in.” She shrugged, “You guys still on for dinner tomorrow?”

You nodded, moving your pancakes around your plate, dabbing up more syrup. “Javier’s cooking.”

“I hope he’s not grilling.”

“What am I cooking?”

“I don’t know,” You hummed. “What are you cooking for dinner tomorrow?”

Javier sat your coffee cup in front of you, “Wanna help make enchiladas?”

You shrugged, “Sounds good to me.”

“My favorite.” Monica smiled. “I can’t believe the semester’s almost over.”

“I can.” Javier sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “It’s still awkward.”

“We’re not bringing that up.” She offered with a shake of her head. 

“You mean I shouldn’t invite Elena for dinner?”

Monica and Javier both glared at you and offered in unison a firm, “No.” 

“Neither of you are any fun.” You laughed, grinning at them. 

The situation with DEA was finally put behind you and now you could just savor this little family of five you’d created despite everything.