#i dont wanna be a bother cause i already sent an ask and then reblogged that with feral noises

[groovylittleclown]

After I think two months of not drawing, I return.

✨ Her ✨ She's consumed my thoughts /silly

Gray background and transparent

I forgot to sign it but I have been doodling and neglecting my responsibilities for far too long to go back and edit.

Do I know how to draw hats and hair? No. That's why my persona is a frog. But I tried my darndest!

And a version of my silly little doodles!

I definitely wanna draw her again sometime, after I have a proper warm up and don't just wing it, but for how, here I am, hehe!!

Miss Fiona belongs to @dreammeiser

[thebuttsmcgee]

The genuine relief and accomplished feeling of sending a kinda detailed ask to someone and they start their answer with "thank you for giving me a reason to finally talk about this" and they go into a passionate answer is just. Subliiiiiime.

[danniburgh]

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 23

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +6.4k

Chapter warnings: lmao angst and then fluff, a brief mention of food, and drugs and a dog.

A/N: This chapter is set after season three. // aAAAAAA this is so long i dont even why but it took me like ALL day FUCK FUCK FUCK anyway thanks to all my babies that got me through the desperation of wanting this to write itself lmao, also two chapters and we are DONE with the main story holy shit

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

←previous // next→

gifs: @pascalsky

Javier groaned when he sat up and moved his legs to get them out of the bed and looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand; three forty-eight in the morning. He turned on the lamp, reached at his nape and scratched with blunt nails and reached for the pack of smokes that he left on the nightstand before laying down to try to sleep with the other hand.

He pulled the last one out of the pack and stood up to throw the empty carton in the trashcan near the door; he eyed the empty pack from the day before in the bottom of the can with the cigarette clinging to his lips thanks to near dry spit making them sticky and let out a deep sigh.

It wasn’t working.

His tongue moved to shift the cigarette from his lips and he let it fall inside the trashcan, knowing it wouldn’t be the last one he put between his lips, but at least he didn’t light it.

Javier thought of getting out of the room and raiding his dad’s bar again, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good.

It wasn’t working.

He knew it, and it couldn't be denied any longer. He wasn’t getting any younger and his old ways weren’t helping him forget as they used to ten or fifteen years before.

Javier walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, letting his half naked body fall backwards on the mattress and looking at the ceiling, he felt his hand twitch and he felt it empty without a nicotine stick firmly pressed between his index and his thumb but did nothing to calm it down.

Ten or fifteen years before: had it really been that long? Javier huffed at nothing and scratched his chest, leaving his hand there, uselessly wondering what would it be of him if he did something different; incidentally working through years and years of missteps, mishappens, mistakes, and shaping them in some other way that would have saved him from five months of poor sleep and constant drunkenness, five months of chain-smoking and lack of sharpness, five months of only remembering the bad things he had done and the bad things he deserved.

He huffed again because of course his retirement wouldn’t be him sitting on a porch to enjoy the evening Texas breeze and a glass of scotch; even if he had tried it.

It was having nightmares every third night he wanted nothing but to shove deep inside his head, but that then, reluctantly, he had to tell his new therapist his dad had forced him to go to.

It was having to remember all the men he saw dying every time he heard the words war or coke or shooting. Having to remember them changing and fighting and dying for a cause he wasn’t sure if he still believed in. Having to remember Carrillo every time he and Steve talked on the phone.

It was remembering you each time someone sent him a letter congratulating his work or asking for consultation or asking for an interview; because he had an idea of what you had been through and he was sure he didn’t deserve all that claptrap. He did nothing but cause chaos and destruction and death and even though his therapist said it wasn’t his fault he knew it was because he aided for it to happen.

But you? You did everything you could to find yourself a way to recover what was yours, and you still lost it.

Javier sat up again and after six exact seconds of consideration, he leaned forward and opened his nightstand drawer. He took the black tape he had been clinging to for five months and held it in front of him for a couple of minutes.

He chuckled at himself and gripped the small cassette, took from the drawer his tape player, pressed the red button for it to open, let the tape fall in the slit and closed it, turned it on and rewinded the tape, trying to make the calculations in his head of how many times he had repeated that process as the tape ran to the beginning.

He put the headphones on, laid down back on the bed and pressed play.

“Hi, Javi, uhm…”

God, how he missed you.

The phone rang again, fuck the phone, you thought, and hid your face under a pillow, trying to fall asleep again despite the clear signal that you were no longer sleepy.

And the phone rang again, you lifted your head from the cocoon of pillows and eyed the clock on your nightstand, who was calling you at five seventeen in the morning?

Grunting, you got out of the bed and walked out of the bedroom to the small space that made your living room, dining room and kitchen and got to the phone.

“Hello?” your voice was a deep groan, and you cleared your throat.

“Another letter came for you, when are you gonna change your address?” your dad’s voice broke through the receiver and you closed your eyes, breathing in and out the stress it was already provoking in you.

“I’ll get to it, dad,” you replied “are you gonna send it to me or can I go to the house?” you questioned, feeling already your lower lip tremble.

“I’ll send it, your mom doesn’t wanna see you yet,” he let out in a stern voice “sorry, pumpkin.” he whispered and hung up the phone.

You sat on the armrest of the loveseat next to the phone and let your tears fall from your eyes, not even bothering about cleaning them anymore.

You sighed and nodded to yourself, letting your tired gaze roam around your tiny living space and you missed the openness of your family house, the one you had come back to and were expelled from by an angry mother that felt ashamed of the truth you told them.

But you had to give it to her, she didn’t even know you went down to Colombia, or that you’d been having drug issues, or that they fired you.

She had told you she didn’t know who you were anymore.

Neither did you.

So you left, they couldn’t be more disappointed in you than you were in yourself, so you walked out as your mom wanted and tried to find a home for yourself as you still wondered what the hell were you supposed to do. There wasn’t a handbook or a protocol that taught people how to stop being a DEA agent, the government didn’t train people to go back to civility or even offered a program to forget all the shit you had lived in the places they had sent you.

You stayed in your hometown, unknowingly to your old friends and twenty minutes away from your parent’s home and didn’t leave your house unless absolutely necessary; Albuquerque wasn’t a small town, but it wasn’t big, and you were dreading walking past someone who knew you before you had lost yourself and tried to explain all your baggage, you didn’t have the time, or the energy. And you didn’t want people feeling sorry for yourself, with the woman in the mirror you had enough.

Everything seemed pointless, and you felt heavy all the time, as if you were carrying a chain ball in each foot and shackles in your hands while being dragged down by quicksand.

In the kitchen's corner you saw the last two boxes you still didn’t have energy to unpack after moving them across the continent and let out a teary sight as you stood from the armrest and walked to them.

You opened the first box and saw it filled with office clutter; pencils, markers, some notebooks and notepads, the brown journal you had been looking for to burn on your stove; a set of keys you weren’t sure what they opened and in the bottom, folded pieces of paper.

“Oh, no.” you muttered to the air of the warm kitchen and you doubted reaching in for it… The hesitation lasted two minutes but for you it was like two hours, you knew what it was, you knew why it was in that box and when you took it it felt hot and heavy. You were holding feelings in that letter, you were holding hours of shed tears and memories you didn’t want to have anymore. Memories that still haunted you whenever you smelled roasted colombian coffee and saw an ad of Malduros on tv.

You didn’t open it. You knew what was written there. And for a few seconds you thought of burning it on the stove instead.

“Well, I don’t want this, might as well send it.” you muttered under your breath, recognizing it would do you some good to stop holding to it, acknowledging it would do you some good to know he had it. If he wanted to rip it into millions of pieces or burn it or toss it in the trash or eat it, it was his problem.

You bit your lip as you walked to the phone; you hadn’t thought of him in a while. But as you sat on the loveseat all the shit you wanted to bury if not get rid of came back to your mind like a high wave of a rough sea; sharp, cold, gritty.

“Shit.” you gasped, trying to breathe in and out several times because you didn’t want to cry. It was too early for crying.

You grabbed the phone and thought who could have Javier’s address. God, even thinking of his name made your chest flutter and your stomach churn. You had fooled yourself into thinking he didn’t have an effect on you anymore, into even assuring five months was enough to forget him. What a fool.

You dialed the number of the only person you knew for sure knew the address by heart; the phone rang three times before it was answered.

“Hello?” a sleepy nasal voice greeted, and you smiled through the few tears that had accumulated in your eyes, grateful that he still had his embassy issued cell phone.

“Stod!” your smile was making your cheeks hurt, and you wondered in the back of your head when was the last time you had smiled.

“Who’s this? Flor?” he asked and you let out a stiff chuckle. You decided not to be a huge asshole and dump something heavy as your actual name that early in the morning, so you went with it.

“Yeah, sorry to call at this hour, did I wake you?” you played with the edge of the loveseat’s armrest.

“Kinda,” a noise of shuffle was heard “but it’s almost seven here, so I’m not that mad,” he teased, making you chuckle again “how are you? to what do I owe the honor?”

“Uhm, I–‌I’m calling to take advantage of you,” you said, hearing his chuckle through the line and a whisper of of course you did, “by any chance do you know Peña’s address in Texas?” you asked, closing your eyes and crossing your fingers, wishing for him to not ask:

“Why?”

“I–‌I have something of his...” you mumbled under your breath “I just found it and I wanna send it.” you said, which wasn’t technically a lie.

“Uh…” Stoddard hesitated, and you heard a faint of a pouring noise in the back that made you sigh, a cup of coffee would do you wonders, “well I do–I don't know if I’m allowed to just say it, y’know?” you frowned.

“Oh, come on, please?” you pleaded, your leg started bouncing because of the anxiety that was growing in your chest.

“What is it? is something important?” he asked.

“Super important,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see, “he needs it.”

“How do you know?” he questioned again, and you whined under your breath.

“Uhm, I ju–‌I just know, uhm…” since when were you a twitchy, nervous mess? “can’t you just tell me?”

“Not really, no.” he muttered in that voice that made you want to punch him and hug him at the same time.

You let out the air of your lungs and controlled your body.

You had promised yourself to tell the truth when it was necessary. So you were going to.

“Look, Stod, this is long to explain, okay?” you began, and he hummed affirmatively in response, “the only thing you need to know is that the thing I have here is very important that he gets because he needs to know that I kept it for him.” you said, closing your eyes again.

“Flor you just told me nothing.” he let out, his voice was being muffled and it sounded like he had something in his mouth.

“Fuck, Stoddard, I love him, okay?” you let out “and this thing I have is a letter that I need him to have so he knows I love him!” you panted and bit your lip when he didn’t answer.

You just had said out loud you loved someone, you just had said to someone you loved Javier Peña for the first time. Shit.

“Oh,” Stoddard said after a moment and you held your breath, “you have where to write?”

“You’re a fucking king!”

Six hours later, you wanted nothing else but to turn the fucking car around.

“This is a mistake, this is a fucking mistake!” you yelled inside your car, opening the glove box to toss there your sunglasses. The highway 285 was eternal, and you hated driving through it; it was empty, there was nothing but desert landscapes and the occasional tree, but you were halfway, just crossing the state border and there was nothing in the everlasting earth that would make you drive back home, not even your fucking hesitation, not even your self-doubt.

“What the fuck am I gonna say?” you asked yourself again, chewing on your lower lip and gripping the steering wheel, “am I just pulling on his driveway and knocking on his door and saying hi I’m sorry I broke your heart I have a letter for you? Fuck!” you saw the beginning of yet another town and you drove slowly looking for a gas station, “or better yet, I read this shit to him to complete the humiliation!” you turned your head for a second at the letter resting easily in the co-pilot’s seat and you groaned, finding a gas station. You were also hungry.

With the car’s tank full and a plastic bag filled with snacks for the remaining six hours, you sighed to yourself and started driving again.

“You’re doing this because you need closure,” you told yourself, shoving your hand into a bag of salted chips and bringing three to your mouth “if he doesn’t wanna see you, too bad, he’s gonna miss your haircut,” you mumbled, chewing at the same time “you leave the letter and let him decide what to do with it.”

With the highway 285 long behind you and the sky just beginning to turn orange, you had convinced yourself of your own reasons and you even had a plan to go back home as soon as you were done in Laredo. You also had promised yourself and all your Muertos, you wouldn’t react to Javier Peña if he didn’t react to you and as you had learned in your three-year station in México, you can’t break a promise you made to dead people.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you said when the marked map told you you were a block away from the Peña’s ranch house, you were chewing the last bit of a nearly melted chocolate bar you had bought hours ago as your nervousness betrayed you and you started chuckling at your impulses, “holy fuck, I wanna go home!”

But you were already there. The gate was open and there were two trucks parked on the driveway. So you sucked everything you were feeling, and you turned off the ignition. Fuck. It.

You breathed in and out several times before you unbuckled your seatbelt, grabbed the letter and opened the door. You did it again as you walked the gravel path to the house and were grateful it was already dark, so at least the night could help you hide until the last second.

You stopped walking, rationality coming back to you.

“What the fuck am I doing?” you whispered to yourself and turned around, shaking your head as you walked back to the car.

“Mija!” you heard behind you, you froze in place and stiffened at the sound of a thick accent in a rough and warm voice.

“Oh, no.” you said under your breath.

“It’s you!” you turned around, and you saw the face of the man you had only met through an old picture Javier carried with him at all times. “viniste.” (you came) behind him walked a black, large dog that ignored the man and huffed at you.

“I’m sorry?” your voice went out thin and high, and you wanted to chastise yourself for it. You had given yourself a seven-hour pep talk on the way, and you were already breaking.

“I told him,” the man rolled his eyes behind the glasses he was wearing and gestured for you to walk closer “Jesús Peña, nice to finally meet you,” he extended his hand to you and you took it and shook it, the dog got closer to you and smelled your legs, you tried to smile at him and at the dog but tears were already gathering inside your eyes “le dije que ibas a venir a buscarlo.” (I told him you’ll come looking for him)

“I’m sorry, Mr. Peña, I–‌I do–‌”

“Mr. Peña nada,” he interrupted, “call me Chucho,” you nodded and sniffed slightly “ven,” (come) he gestured again and started walking towards the house, “Pepe, métete.” (get inside) he called, and the dog trotted to his side.

“Wait, Chucho, wait!” you called him under your breath as you followed him, he didn’t stop.

“Come on in,” he opened the house door and waited for you to get inside. He nodded his head for you to walk in and you frowned.

“You don’t even know who I am, what ar–‌”

“I know enough,” he said solemnly, walked inside and you and the dog did too and he pointed to an armchair “siéntate, mija, he’s on the back.” he turned around and walked through an archway to what it looked like the kitchen and disappeared through a door, Pepe behind him.

“What the fuck.” you sobbed out, knowing you had little time to leave the letter you were clutching in your hands on the coffee table in front of you and walk out and leave for good. But you couldn’t move, you were in Javier’s house and you wanted to stop being there, but your body was frozen in place and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to scream at yourself, at your fucking impulses; you had all the opportunities to turn around and go back home, why didn’t you listen to your logical, rational, always right brain?

“Hi.” you heard behind your back and you covered your mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding the fucking letter.

You turned around and blinked the first two tears of what you already knew was going to be a sea of them.

He was wearing the red shirt. And God, it was his color.

Javier wanted to run away and hide.

He had just made peace with never seeing you again; he had just accepted that the only part he would have of you was that voice mail you had left him months before. But there you were, teary and gorgeous in front of him. Shaking and with your hands holding a piece of paper as if it were your lifeline.

His head was a contradiction, because he wanted to grab you and hug you all the same he wanted to grab you and shove you out of his house and his life.

“What are you doing here?” Javier asked, knowing deep inside him he wanted to tell you how good you looked and how much he liked your new hair. You let out a shaky breath at his deep voice. You had missed it.

It was the first time you saw him in five months, and the weight of your feelings for him fell again on your shoulders like a recently broken off boulder, heavy, rough edged and shapeless.

“I don’t know.” you answered truthfully, he sighed and deviated his eyes from you, you breathed in heavily and the only thing that got into your lungs was his essence. You cursed under your breath and he huffed, putting his hands on his hips and leaning to the side.

“How d'you found me?” he questioned, and you huffed through the tears.

“I have my resources.” you let out on a whisper. Trying to find his eyes, you needed to see his eyes.

“What do you want?” Javier asked again, and you deflated at the tone of his voice. The rational part of your brain yelled I told you so at your feelings and you knew it was right, you were expecting too much of yourself and of him.

“See you,” you bit your lower lip and Javier saw from the corner of his eyes how you scrunched up your nose, and he felt something inside his chest flutter, hating and loving all the same how much of you he still had stored inside his memory, “I have something for you.”

“Keep it.” he let out. You shook your head and raised your hand with the letter on it.

“Read it.” you half ordered, half pleaded, Javier chuckled and then shook his head, mimicking you.

“I don’t want it.” he knew he was lying to himself, he wanted to know what it was, he wanted to grip it and smell the paper and read it over and over but his body wasn’t responding to what his feelings were telling him and only responded, almost in automatic, to his prideful side, to that side of him that still resented you and himself.

“Alright then,” you said, standing straight after realizing you had regained the ability to read him even through your tears, and understanding there was something he was struggling with, “I’ll read it.”

“Stop.” Javier frowned and looked at you, his eyes pleading for you to do something you couldn’t decipher.

“I know, okay?” you said, trying to reassure him and yourself “I know I’m in no position to ask for shit,” Javier dropped his hands to the sides “but I just want ten minutes, just ten of your life, and you’ll never have to see me again if that’s what you want.”

You knew it was a risky thing to say, but you needed him to know, you needed him to understand you because you knew and he knew you did understand him. And he needed to know you. You and your version.

He said nothing, you took it as his queue to start so you breathed in deeply and unfolded the letter.

“Stop.” Javier said under his breath.

“No,” you wiped a tear off your cheek “I wrote this when I went back to Colombia after I got fired,” Javier looked at you and you saw his face quirk in something close to pain “uhm, before I wrote this I drove around Bogotá,” you recalled that last day in the city and how much it pained you to be there, “I went–‌I went to some of the places you told me you liked” you tried to smile and dropped your eyes to your shoes, trying to find something to cling to and compose yourself “even that little cafe you told me about, near the palace of justice, remember?” you sobbed out. And he called your name. Making you gasp.

“Stop,” you looked up at him and saw him frowning, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “we don’t need this.”

“I do!” you let out, Javier brushed his lips with his thumb and felt his hand twitch in need of nicotine again “I need to tell you all this!” you wiped your tears away again “I need closure!” you cried out.

Javier felt his stomach turn around and all the blood of his body went to his feet. Fuck. 

How could he had been so stupid? he got into his own feelings too much and he forgot that you had cried your eyes out to him all those months ago when you handed him everything you were in a couple of manila folders. He had gotten wrapped by his own feelings and the hurricane your declaration had created in his life that he had forgotten just how much you were suffering as well. Because he might have thought about you; all the time, every day; he thought about your past and your reasons and motivations. He even thought of you naked on his bed in Colombia, under his body, moaning and gasping when he needed some release, but he forgot to think about your feelings.

“I didn’t come here to ask for forgiveness because I know I don’t deserve it,” you said and Javier felt the wetness of a tear escaping his eye and making its way through his cheek, “I’m trying to get closure, Javier, please let me try.”

Javier nodded.

You cried more when you saw him brush a tear off with his thumb and chew the inside of his mouth. You wanted to run away; you were sure he was better before you came to his house and disrupted his peace; you were hurting him again, and you wanted to kneel in front of him and ask him for what you said you weren’t seeking. He made you want so much.

You sniffed and dropped your eyes to the open letter in your hand, Javier didn’t move from where he was standing.

“No amount of guilt will or can change the past,” you began, Javier crossed his arms on his chest and saw movement to his side, “that much I know. I kno–‌know that it doesn’t matter,” you sniffed again and Javier turned his head to watch the dog casually walking towards him and sitting next to his boots. You saw it too, and you let out a sad chuckle.

“Ignore him.” he just said. You nodded.

“Uhm, it doesn’t matter how much I apologize, or how many I’m sorry’s I mouth, forgiveness doesn’t come for free.” you didn’t want to lift your eyes to see him, so you continued.

Javier only saw you reading him something he was sure you had poured your heart into, and he wanted nothing but to hear what you wanted to say to him, but he couldn’t focus into listening, because there you were, again in front of him doing what he never dared to do.

Opening your fucking chest, taking your heart out and giving it raw to him.

“...knowing and realizing and acknowledging just how much I love you.”

Javier drowned a gasp, as he fell in love with you all over again, you were doing what he didn’t have the balls to do, because in his sleepless sleep he wanted to look for you, in the middle of his idle nights, just after waking up after a nightmare, he wanted to find you and go to you and tell you whatever the fuck he could to be back with you. But he never did, he never did because he was a coward, because he feared his own feelings so fucking much.

He couldn't hear anything of it after your declaration of love. God, how much he loved you. You were standing there, with your eternally hopeful eyes filled with crystalline tears and several pages of written feelings. And he realized, there, with you in the middle of his living room, shifting to the next page, that even though you were extremely similar, you were also very different.

“...with you I found a reason to give up after all the shit I've lived in…” you muttered and he found the differences inside him; you were braver than him, you were smarter and more connected with what you felt; you weren’t scared of your feelings as he was. You went for what you wanted and even though it had been five months of that dreadful day when he saw his heart squeezed out of his body by your hesitant hand, that day he still replayed inside his head when the day was just over and his brain was floating between sleep and awakeness, he still wondered why you were bothering.

“There were so many things I thought…” you kept reading as he wondered if it was possible for the two of you to connect with each other outside of shared trauma and sympathy for each other’s experiences. But he answered to himself that even if you two weren’t as emotionally available as you needed to be to build a relationship or if you both were having a hard time adapting to be and live out of the system, maybe the love was real.

You stopped reading after noticing he was just standing there with his arms crossed and his eyes on you but not seeing you; you wiped the last of your tears and chuckled bitterly to yourself. Making him blink a few times.

“Fuck this,” you crumpled the pages in your hands and dropped them on the coffee table, shaking your head. Javier frowned, “it doesn’t matter what I read, I shouldn’t have come.” you said, drowning your sobs and gasping for air. He wasn’t paying attention, and nothing about it was making you feel any better about anything.

“What?” Javier whispered, dropping his hands to his sides.

“A’right, then…” you didn’t look at him and tried to control your breathing again “I guess that’s what I wanted to do,” you walked to the door and opened it, Javier wanted to ask what the fuck was happening, he wanted to grab your arm and stop you as he didn’t do it when you were leaving his office back in Colombia “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Javier,” he winced slightly involuntarily at the way you sobbed out his name “I’ll go.”

You walked out of the house covering your mouth with your hand to muffle your sobs, your rational brain was right, it was a mistake; it was a complete and utter mistake, and you were so ashamed of yourself for even thinking it would change anything. You walked to your car feeling the sharp, stinging sensation of a migraine settling in your head. You heard steps behind you and you turned around slowly, not wanting to put hope on the source being Javier.

“Mija,” you look at Chucho trying to catch up with you, “¿a dónde vas?” (where are you going?)

“I’m going home.” you said, shrugging at the man when he stopped in front of you.

“Why?” he asked, frowning.

“Because he said nothing, Chucho,” you bit your lip and looked at the Texan night sky and huffed at yourself, “he said nothing.”

“But he wants you, mija!” he assured you, and you shook your head several times.

“If he wants me as you say,” you pointed towards the house behind him, “then how come I’m not with him?” you reasoned, “he doesn’t want me.”

You dropped your eyes to the gravel path as Chucho sighed and raised his hand to squeeze your shoulder just enough for you to feel less sad. Just how a father would do.

Chucho glared at the house, the door open and Pepe standing in the threshold; his son had been back for months, he had been living next to him, eating next to him, working next to him and breathing next to him just as he did before he went away but he knew, just like a father could, he was not the same man that left.

He reminisced over the muchacho his son was before he left Laredo, so eager to get out of the small town he grew up in and that harbored his family home, so anxious to meet new horizons, so keen to find and explore new places and learn new things; he sometimes found himself missing that boy, he sometimes missed his Javi; the one that helped him build a paddock for his own horse, the one that washed his truck without asking and without failing each friday evening, the one that took care of his Mamá’s funeral at sixteen when himself was too sad to think about coffins or tombstones; because the man that came back to him after almost two decades too far away from home wasn’t the same.

He had seen and done things that Chucho never wanted to to ask about but he imagined, his Javier wasn’t the same. And Chucho knew why, but he also knew about you. Javi had talked about you way too much for his own good, as he did everything. And Chucho also knew why, he wasn’t letting the woman that made his son come back home run away.

“He does want you,” he said, slowly, with a low voice, as if it were a secret, “mijo… es un idiota a veces, but he loves you.” (he’s an idiot sometimes)

“You don’t know that.” you refuted.

“I do,” he gave you a smile that was barely visible under the white mustache “el te ama, y yo…” (he loves you, and I…) “I’m so grateful.” you shook your head as two thick tears left your eyes.

“I broke his heart.” you sobbed out.

“Y me lo trajiste a casa, Florecita” (and you brought him home to me, little flower) you sobbed harder, not able to control it anymore, and he brought you to him, and held you.

“He told you my fake name?” you asked between sobs.

“He told me what you look like.” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry.” you let yourself be wrapped by him and you hid your face on his shoulder.

“Don’t be, without you I would’ve lost my only child.” you held him tighter.

“Please.” you pleaded for nothing and everything at the same time.

“You gotta fight for him, mija.” he muttered to your ear, and you shook your head, still leaning into him.

“I’m fighting for him!” you almost yelled “I’m here, aren’t I?” you lifted your head to look at the man and you gasped for air, dropping your hands to your sides “I drove almost thirteen hours non-stop all the way from Albuquerque just to be here!” you told him and the man stiffened as you lost your shit in front of him, you gripped your head between your hands “thirteen hours to read him that stupid letter and he didn’t say shit!”

“You did what?” you heard and lifted your head to see Javier standing behind his dad.

Chucho looked at Javier and then at you with your cheeks dampened with tears. He squeezed your shoulder again and turned to walk to the house.

“You were in Albuquerque all this time?” he said, and you nodded, noticing he was holding the letter in his hand “when you said you’d go you meant back there?” he frowned in confusion.

“Well, yeah, I have nowhere to stay so I might as well drive home.” you muttered, Javier’s frown deepened, and he stepped towards you.

“Stay here,” he said, “if you wanna leave you leave in the morning.” his voice was thin and low. You looked at his eyes and saw them reddened and wet.

“Did you read it?” you whispered out. He stepped towards you again, nodding.

“Stay.” he whispered back.

“You don’t want me.” you said under your breath as shook your head and he stepped closer.

“Who says that?” he asked, and you looked at the gravel path again.

“I won’t stay.” you felt Javier’s warm fingers graze under your chin and lift your head to him slowly.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” he chastised you with half a smirk forming on his lips “stay with us.” you shook your head again.

“You don’t want me here but you want me to stay,” you said, frowning at him “Javier you can’t have it bo–‌”

“I want you to stay,” he interrupted you “I want you to stay with me,” he whispered as his fingers moved to your cheek and wiped away a tear. “please.”

Javier had read your letter after you walked out and realized, at the prospect of you leaving for what it seemed like forever, at the possibility of you leaving him for good and he never getting to see you or your gorgeous face or your hypnotizing eyes or hearing your voice that did so many things on him, that the balance of his other losses leaned upwards when he weighed the probability of losing you.

Did he care about what you did? of course he did, it still stung sometimes deep inside his chest, it still filled him with something close to grief.

Was he willing to work it out and let it aside because he didn’t want to feel the agony and deep sorrow of not having you by his side he had been feeling for the last five months again? yes.

And the answer to that question inside his head startled him and shook him deeply.

You were there. God, you were there, there was no way he was going to let you leave.

Javier decided you could work it out later, he loved you way too much not to try. He didn’t even plan to love you the way he did, the way he discovered by reading that letter or remembering the man he was without you. He didn’t even plan to love you at all, but he did. He was madly, insanely, deeply in love with you.

Javier moved his hand to your shoulder and let the one holding the letter find its way to your waist. Find its way home.

“Don’t go.” he whispered again. He moved the last step to wrap his hands around you. You let out a low yelp at the feeling of his body so close to you, for a second you froze in place, your eyes closed and his warmth invaded your entire body as he hid his head in the crook of your neck. He inhaled your essence as you hugged him back and gripped him tightly against you.

Javier felt as if all his parts were being glued back together.

“Stay with me.” he whispered against the skin of your neck.

So you stayed.

←previous // next→

*THE LETTER*

Pepe:

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[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Upcoming Requests

As I promised, I’m popping on to post a list of all my requests I’m doing. I know I have asks and messages, but I’m not going to go through them right now, but I appreciate all your support everyone. I’m not tagging people who requested until it’s posted because most of these are anons. Please like and reblog this, just so others are aware of what I’m doing, and comment which pieces you’re looking forward to the most! It’s a LONG list, so I’m adding a read more option. I’m not posting these in any order, that’s just how they’re listed. 

Also check out my writing challenge in my bio!

Requests: 

Bellamy Blake: 

Can you do a Bellamy x reader? which takes place in season 3 with the chips that take away their pain. The reader is going through something and wants to take it but Bellamy stops them? Love your writing and don’t care about the haters! 

Hi! It’s me again. I’ve got this BellamyxReader idea where the reader has become more and more reckless, and when she kills someone she doesn’t even flinch. Everyone’s worried, especially Bellamy. When they get to restrain chipped-Raven and they’re taking shifts to check on her. While it’s the reader’s turn, Raven says something that makes her snap. I have 2 ideas for the end: either the readers goes out and points a gun to her head or she points it to Raven. Either way, Bellamy stops her. (I was thinking that maybe no one knows about it and that the reader’s been keeping it under control with the meds Kane managed to give her before she was sent to earth with the 100 (maybe she could be Kane’s daughter).Then, when Jaha started chipping everyone, ALIE ordered someone to steal her meds and she didn’t really want to tell anyone about the missing meds. She started to go through the maniac phase of it, and people around her (Bellamy, Clarke) started to notice that something was off Then, coming back to my original request lol, Raven told her that they stole their meds to mess with her and you can connect it with the rest of my other request)

Hi there, I was wondering if i could request an angsty/fluffy S5 Bellamy fic based on the song “Hesitate” by the Jonas Brothers? Thank you ☺❤

Is it possible to get a bellamy one-shot or something based on the song “I hate you, I love you” by gnash and olivia o’brien? I’m not really picky (at all) by what the plot is, but I feel like it’s a good song to write a fic about, thanks girlie 💜 ~ Posted!

Okay soooo I have this on my mind for aawhile!Are you able to do a Bellamy Blake x plus size (if you want) reader imagine based on the song “Don’t wanna fall in love” by KYLE… if you want though!

Hi! I have a request What about a Bellamy x Reader based on the song Happy Pills by Weathers?

Would you be willing to do a Bell x Reader based on the song ALARM by Anne-Marie? Maybe something in season 1, but you can decide a different season if it’s easier☺

Your song fics are so goooddddd! Can you PLEASE do one based on If the World was Ending? Its by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels. Can it be a lot of angst and maybe a cute ending if it works? Thank you!!!!!

Hi!! I love your work! I was wondering if you could write a Bellamy x reader based on the song Hot Girl Bummer by blackbear! Thank you ❤️ have a nice day!

Could you maybe do something Season 1 Bellamy where he's tough and lets everybody "do whatever the hell they want" but he's bossier to you and you're a rebellious spirit but he's actually being hard on you because he really really likes you and he doesn't want anything to happen to you (he's bossy in a roundabout way so he makes sure you get dinner and are safe and stuff) and maybe something happens and she gets hurt cause she's mad at him and he admits his feelings for her? Sassy and sweet?

Sirius Black: 

hello! can i request an imagine in which reader is Lucius’ little sister, so she has a bad reputation among the marauders, but on their last year, her and Sirius are supposed to work on a project together so they start spending more time together and he realises that she’s not like her family at all, so they start developing feelings for each other? maybe they even kiss in the end? hehe. thanks!

Hey sweets! I was wondering if I could request a oneshot with young!Sirius please? Something with a lot of mutual pining? Also if the reader could be in Ravenclaw that would be really nice :) Thanks anyways 💓

can i request an extremely fluffy (floof upon floof) and wholesome fic with sirius? :’) thank you

Could you please write a Sirius x reader where the reader is a Gryffindor but is very quiet and cold and Sirius tries to get closer to her?

Hey! I saw that your requests for the marauders were open. I would like to request a Sirius oneshot where he has a crush on reader who is super sassy and will not give him time of the day. He is a bit sad and so maybe James takes it upon himself to get them together? Maybe as a bonus they help July get together too? Thankyou 😍

Hey! How are you? Thanks to Seira I discovered you were writing for the marauders! So I was thinking could you right something on the marauders (Sirius x reader) were it’s full moon and they’re in the muggle world. Moony is stuck in the middle of a village, there is a lot of muggle around him so the reader (who is an animagus too since she’s a marauder) save him but finish hurt by a villager so Sirius protect her and carry her away? I hope it’s understandable and sorry if my English is bad :) 

Barry Allen: 

Hiii! One last request before you close them! Maybe a Barry Allen x reader where the reader has got “dark” powers? I picture her like Billie Eilish in her music video “Bury a Friend”. I don’t know if I explained it clearly 😂

James Potter: 

I really love your works on Harry Potter (basically marauders) Can I request 14, 16, 18, 23, 28 for James Potter. Can reader be Remus' twin sister, a Gryffindor? I I would be really happy to read it. Also if possible can you make a happy ending for it? I trust you can write a perfect fic! Thank you:) (are you still open to this kind of requests?)~ Posted! 

could u maybe work on a lil james potter fic (cus ur reqs for him are open)? one where he's trying so hard to get a girl in the quidditch team (but she's bolder than he is so she tells him she'll only join if he goes on a date w her) i thought it'd be pretty cool... thank u 

I don't know if you are taking one shot requests but if you are, I would like to request a James Potter x reader (different houses, not specified) where they enter a Hogwarts Couples Baking Challenge and they're just having fun. Thanks!

Remus Lupin: 

Hi!!! Could I get a gender neutral!reader x Remus?? Something with mutual pining maybe?? Also I would love if the reader is in hufflepuff!! Thank you!!!

Hey! Can I request a oneshot with Remus where he likes reader who is Lily's best friend and us smarter than her too and is also a prefect? He asks for her help to study and accidentally confesses his feelings at the same time/or confesses during one of their prefect rounds? Thankyou!

can i request some angst for younger remus where it's a couple days after the full moon and he looks for the reader so they can cuddle (they're already dating) and he finds them kissing another guy, and he asks reader why and the readers like "i dont want you anymore, i love this guy, blah blah blah" and he's heart broken but later somehow reader's friend finds out the guy gave them a love potion and fixes it, and reader has to try to explain to Remus that it's what happened but he doesn't (1/2) believe her, and it's all angsty because he's mad at her but in the end he understands or something like that, and i am SO sorry that this is so long, and i love love love your writing~ Posted!

John Murphy: 

 I think 18 by 1D would be such a cute song for Murphy! I saw your requests were open for him (THANK GOD because your writing is incredible!) and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind? Thanks love!

John Murphy with a reader that got her arm or leg or both taken on earth and it’s about her recovering and John helping her. If you can’t do John then sorry for bothering!!

Undecided: 

I wasn't going to ask this because I already requested something (believe me when I say I read the moment I knew lots of times already), but just trying it won't hurt me, right? (right? 😭) I need something based on lover of mine by 5sos it can be bellamy, sirius, james, remus or bucky, whoever you think would fit better. thank you for putting up with my shit 🤧 love you tons - 🍑 (Undecided because I haven’t figured out who to write for yet, I think it might be Bucky)

So this is hella randombut can u do a eli goree x reader ship. Eli played wells on the 100 and mad dog on riverdale btw. Anyway can it be were your also famous actor and played in the 100 and riverdale ect and u guys are playing a game on the jimy falon show and your picking random QUITIONS from a dec of cards abd most of them are things having to fo with ur friend ship (u guys are like bestfriends and everybody ships u2) reader picks random card that says I asked you out would you say yes? (Undecided because my requests aren’t open for Eli and I’ve never written for an actor before, but I kinda wanna write this despite my requests not for him. So idk yet. Question: If I do write this, do you Eli to say yes? and do you want them together? No promises on writing it, but send me an ask and let me know please.)

[monotype-on-phantom]

i didnt want to say this before but man.. Danny kind of.. sucks, at least in the heart of canon. i get that he's young and learns "Those Valuable Lessons" and but people dont acknowledge most of this douchebag's shitty antics cause he's a cute boy or whatever. although Danny has a very excellent premise for a character, he is sincere sometimes, but overall its not executed well. he falls into too many awful high school tropes

i guess im glad people are making use of his character premise by reading too closely than the show intended, or by making content of their own interpretations. but we cant ignore that he is quite a goddamned piece of hell shit who i fucking hate in the real show sometimes. i feel there’s just too much emphasis on a character and show that wasn’t well crafted and well managed to begin with. its kinda sad when all the hate is somehow directed towards other characters like Sam.

it feels like most people are praising him and the overall show for what they imagine it to be instead of what it actually is. srsly this awful goddamned fuckboy sells stuff garage lab items he aint supposed to just to buy some fucking clothes??? uses ghost powers to spy girls in their locker room?? he fuckin destroys ghost writer’s writing and then doesnt feel sorry about it just cause it’s christmas-related and he’s so pissy about it.

so.. yeah. i dont get why people think he’s literal kid Jesus and always wants to protect this little fucker. he puts himself in alot of mess. the “D” on his suit stands for “dick”, bc that’s what he is.  i want to beat him up sometimes

Okay.

Normally, I delete all character hate on sight, because the point of my blog is to focus on the show’s strengths and how the weaknesses could’ve been done better. I get critical sometimes, but I like focusing on a characters’ strengths rather than their poor writing and garbage like that.

This was so long, detailed, and harsh that it’s really hard to ignore. Maybe I should. Stick to my guns and not let some anonymous rant change how I work. You came to me, though, so if you want to debate this, then alright. I’ll bite.

First off, who in the fandom is portraying Danny as a kid Jesus? Maybe it’s just the circles I’m familiar with, but one of the most reblogged posts that pops up in my notifications is one with a ton of additions arguing why Danny totally deserves to suffer. The majority of the fandom loves tormenting this kid. Even those that do say he needs to be protected never claim he has no flaws. Far from it. They just acknowledge he has it hard for a kid and he deserves a break sometimes.

Second, have you ever…met a 14 year old? As someone who spent most of his career life working with kids and who is the oldest of 5 (with one brother who’s turning 14 this November), lemme tell you that the main trio are saints for their age.

People talk about the terrible twos, but 14 year olds are so much worse. I’m not slamming them, because it makes sense. They’re in a tough transition period between childhood and adulthood. Adults tell them to act more mature, but refuse to acknowledge their voices in serious situations. Middle school and high school are cutthroat places, and one mistake can ruin the entirety of the four-six years you spend there. They’re pressured to get good grades or they’ll fail, they have to be part of the cool crowd or they’ll fail, and people are more likely to blame them for whatever goes wrong in their lives than anything that goes on around them.

Doesn’t change the fact that they can be little demons sometimes. With all the hormones and drama, young teenagers can be really emotional and make problems bigger than they seem. They can be harsh and judgmental, because that’s the environment they’re being exposed to. They need guidance, but they don’t want it. They argue with adults and to some, it seems like they want to make their own lives miserable. They can be tough to work with unless you’re willing to take them as seriously as they take themselves, and most people don’t want to bother.

There are shitty things Danny does in canon, but that’s true for literally every fourteen year old. And heck, are you telling me you didn’t do some ridiculously stupid stuff at that age? I actually stole money from my folks to buy something I wanted. My group of friends frequently set stuff on fire in their backyards. And fuck, nobody can prove Danny was spying on girls in the locker room. While I think the scene is shit and refuse to accept it as canon, all we see is Danny coming out of the locker room. He could’ve been just looking to see what it was like in there. Nothing says there were actually girls in there. But I’m so sick of talking about that shit scene, so I’m gonna leave it at that.

Danny has flaws. He can be selfish and petty and inconsiderate. But really? You wanna beat him up for that?

Are you forgetting that he canonically already does get beaten up every single episode? Whether it’s by ghosts, bullies, his own goddam parents, or whatever, getting beat up is something he’s familiar with.

The reason some fans cut him some slack is because, hey, yeah. He is a kid, and you know what? He’s entitled to be a dick sometimes. He loses sleep every night, almost dies on a daily basis, has his dreams ripped away from him often, and is picked on at school. Despite all of that, he still fights ghosts to keep his town safe, and he’s under no obligation to do that. He saves lives, even when people hate him for it. He puts himself in danger, even for those who are cruel to him. He tries to use his powers for the right reason more often than not, and he’ll take the high road against his bully because he feels like he shouldn’t stoop to his level.

We acknowledge that canon can be shit. We acknowledge that sometimes, Danny’s writing makes him out to be a dick. At the “heart of canon,” though, as you so eloquently put it, he’s the kid who risked his life for a little girl he barely knew that nobody else would miss. He’s the one who saves the lives of his own bully, the teacher who used to be so hard on him, and the parents he fully believes would cut him open if they knew what he was. He’s the one who could so easily be Vlad, but instead he tries his best to be a hero.

You’re under no obligation to like him, and you don’t have to ignore the shitty parts of canon like some of us do. I do it just because I enjoy thinking about what the show could’ve been, not what it was. You don’t have to do that, though.

But really, are you going to march into your nearest high school and beat the shit out of the first kid you see messing up? Seriously? You honestly think that the mistakes Danny makes outweigh the good he’s constantly trying to do enough that he deserves that? Even when he already gets beat up in every single episode already?

Well, fine. That’s your pessimistic opinion. It’s not fact, though. How many cartoons do you watch? You gonna beat up Timmy Turner and Jimmy Neutron, too? They can be right assholes. What about Jake Long? He’s a shallow, obnoxious, irresponsible kid a lot of the time. Sure, he’s just 13, but why should we show mercy to kids who mess up? Serena/Usagi from Sailor Moon? Yeah, let’s ignore all the people defending her and just focus on the fact that the show makes her a dumb kid who doesn’t have enough backbone to immediately become the savior of the galaxy. Come to think of it, where’s your rant about Dash Baxter? Or is he not popular enough for you to rag on?

Perfect characters aren’t the ones who are the most upstanding. They’re the ones who are realistic and flawed. So Danny sells his parents stuff. So he sneaked into the girls’ locker room. So he took out his anger on an innocent person.

I’m not saying any of those things weren’t wrong, what I’m saying is that kids make fucking mistakes. And sometimes, they’re huge ones. Sometimes, kids get curious and break into a house. Sometimes they get hungry at the store and shoplift. Sometimes they lie and cheat and make fun of each other. Sometimes they can be perverted little leaches.

So fucking what? We’ve all been there. We all need to learn and grow.

And seriously, if you’re going to be one of those people who gives Sam a break, don’t turn around and start criticizing Danny for the same shitty writing he sometimes gets. That hypocrisy is exactly why I so adamantly defend Sam.

I don’t know what you wanted to accomplish with these asks. Maybe you just wanted to vent. Maybe you were looking to stir up drama. Maybe you don’t know what you wanted and you just sent these asks randomly without any real reason.

Regardless of what you think, I’m still gonna enjoy my fucking fictional character, even if I don’t always agree with how he’s written. I relate to him, his struggles, and even his mistakes. You have fun ripping on characters people like because you don’t think they should be allowed to make mistakes, but let the rest of us have our fun, too. You’re not helping anyone with this, so maybe just fuck off, m’kay?

Being stupidly nice is kind of my thing, but I’m tired of putting up with this self righteous crap. Let characters fuck up. Let fans rewrite things they don’t like. Let people enjoy their fucking cartoon, because they aren’t hurting anyone. I’ve yet to find a single phan who considers the DP cartoon to be completely canon anyway. They enjoy it for the fan content or the few really spot on episodes. We’re already aware that there’s shitty stuff in there, and we don’t need you to tell us.

If I ever get any asks like this that rip on characters for stupid, petty reasons again, I’m deleting them on sight. That was my initial plan anyway, but I really needed to say my piece here.

Tumblr, maybe stop being such judgmental pieces of fucking shit, okay? You’ll accomplish nothing good by being so harsh toward anything that doesn’t fit your standard of “perfect.”