#pickled-Peña

[jolalibrary]

pickles, peppers and photos

javier peña x f!reader

summary: cleaning out the cupboards for the new year reveals more than just a cluttered kitchen.

wordcount: 2k warnings: brief and tiny mention of you struggling with new year, but pure fluff. reader has a hatred for pickles (sorry pickle lovers), no descriptions are used (banner shadows not representative. no use of y/n but javi calls you esposa and mi pimienta (hehehe). flirting. established relationship/married!javi.

an: this is my contribution to the @pickled-pena resolutions challenge! pls check out the pinned post on the pickled-pena page for more details.

When he enters the kitchen it’s a mess.

A grand explosion of things spread out over all the available surfaces.

He should have known when his outstretched hand found only cold sheets, when his eyes glanced at the clock and realised it was barely past sunrise.

Javi had considered playing ignorant, remaining in bed until you fetched him, but the sound of shattered glass, a shriek and an abundance of curses forced his legs from under the bedding.

By the time he'd dressed and come downstairs, whatever chaos had happened had been cleaned up, but the sight that still met him still made him pinch the bridge of his nose.

Every single item, from every single cupboard, had been laid out on the counter. Each item doing its best to hide the marble counter, with each kitchen cupboard flung open, revealing the carcass of the empty wooden cupboards.

Javi could argue whether it was necessary. Whether there was a point in emptying everything, to removing a handful of things before placing the rest back.

Could is the optimum word in the sentence, his hand wiping across his forehead, brushing past loose strands, as he tried to find something more optimistic to say than why?

Because he knows why.

And why is the only reason you’re on this side of the bedroom door: traditions.

Your way of getting rid of the clutter to usher in tidiness—provides a sense of renewal. Or, that's what you told others. You'd let him in on the real reason, your secret. How you struggle, how a new year feels big, overwhelming, difficult—but this helps. It keeps your mind occupied, focused, and feeling good.

Mostly, it keeps you busy—and is the only reason you’re dressed in clothes that don’t have food cartoons on them.

Not that he minds your array of comfy-and-cosy-only-for-home PJs.

Each set, some overly worn, some now mismatched, just gives him more reason to tease you that you are good enough to eat. To get close, whisper those words into your ear, either trace his fingers under your pants leg or splay his fingers up your spine, and remind you (with a roll of his hips) that he desires you whether you’re naked or dressed up, in his clothes or in colourful PJs.

You either really hate these PJs or you must really love me, Peña.

Most of the time, it's the latter. Depending on the pair, it could be both. His fingers slotting between yours as he moves you on the couch, watching your face shift into one of lust, that smile adorning your lips—the one he first fell in love with. Want me to take these off, baby, he'll reply, before he'd begin whispering (in plenty), how perfect you are, how pretty.

While you do right now look as pretty as ever, he's not sure he could say the moment was perfect.

"Do I ask?"

Peering your head out from around an open cupboard, the scent of fresh lemon and disinfectant brushes his nose. Your eyes slide over his face, before your lips twist into a smirk, head motioning to the freshly brewed pot, informing him you'd left him a cup out.

"Seems like all the mugs are out, mi pimienta."

"Funny," you snort, shaking your head.

Leaning on the counter he stares, admires. Eyes lingering on the way your jeans hug your ass, how you're hand cleaning the back of the cupboard has forced your top to rise. Swiping his thumb over his bottom lip, just continuing to watch, teeth nipping at the skin...

Because how did he get so lucky?

Him. Javier Peña. A man with a decorated and successful past, but has felt the most victorious when he's freed you out of your pickle PJs and laid you down in the sheets he helped pick out with you.

You don’t even like pickles, something he knows well.

A thing you remind him with a disgusted look and a high-pitched whisper whenever he orders burgers for the two of you.

Javi does know you like peppers, though.

His pimienta. A joke one night that stuck, a mishap, a bumble of words when you’d been trying to tell him those three words. Hands around his, candle flickering on the table:

‘Porque eres la sal de my pimienta.

If he hadn’t already known he loved you before then, he knew it at that moment. His heart burst, mirroring the way a smile slid over his face, and a laugh cracked through his chest. The sound filled the air as he watched you join him, heard it, the way your laughs merged together when you were happy.

While you never call him your salt, he has taken it upon himself to call you his pepper. Whispers it, speaks it, shouts it, grunts it when you’re nothing but fire and temptation.

"How long you been up?"

"A while," you reply, back still to him, eyes studying something in front of you. “You think you're going to eat these, Javi?”

Blinking, he stares at you as you spin to face him—spotting the two very different tins in your hand. Fruit, all canned.

He can’t even remember when you both had gotten them. Not ever recalling wanting them, never mind purchasing them with the groceries.

“Your Pops must have given them to us,” you add, adding a shrug, likely seeing the pinched expression, the evidence of his confusion. “I’ll take that as a no.”

You bend over, placing it in a box which is slowly filling.

But his eyes are only focused on your form. Over the slither of skin exposed at your back. Somehow, after all this time, the sight of you still makes him warm; the way you fit him, made things better, easier. Make him feel worthy of a slither of happiness and peace.

Plus, the way you look at him makes his mind less focused on the food he wishes to keep, and more on what he could devour if he made enough space for you on the counter.

Adjusting himself, and clearing his throat, he glances at the counter, fingers sliding over his lower jaw as he stares at the half-open boxes of pasta, the spices, and then—

Saying your name, you look at him, all wide-eyed, slowly rising to full height. “Why do we have a jar of pickles?”

Pulling a face, you shrug. “Must have been something we were given.”

“You hate pickles.”

“Very astute, Peña. Are you sure they’re not your pickles?

Tilting his head, he slides his jaw, offering it to you—the jar. Watching as your fingers twitch, not willing to take it. Your eyes don't move from him, not wanting to bow, to bend. Mostly likely, not even wishing to take the jar from him—even if the contents were safely behind thick glass and swimming in their own green-tinged juice.

“You need to get better at saying no, mi pimienta.”

“Oh, do I? Well, no las compré, which means we were gifted them. Which then means—actually, wait. You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time, ay?” Your hands move to your hips, and while your eyes have grown sharp, he can tell the teasing tone in your voice, the smirk which threatens to expose how hard you’re trying to be serious. “Where were you when the pickle jar found its way into our home? Because you know I wouldn't take it—”

He shouldn’t smile, but he does.

The smirk cracks through—sliding past your forced serious expression. Cutting through, blooming light and warmth across the rest of your face, making your eyes glint, twinkle, fucking sparkle.

Javi shouldn’t want to grab the camera from the table behind him. Shouldn’t want to snap a photo of you like this—capture it, wait to develop it and then keep it for himself to smile at another time.

In all honesty, he knows he probably doesn’t even need another photo of you. Should save the shot for the next time the two of you head out on a hike—but, fuck does he want this one. Your hands on your hips, head tilted, a smirk desperate to glide over your mouth.

He's not sure if you still love the gift you’d given him for his birthday, a sweet note attached to it: a way for you to keep capturing the now. Because he doubts you expected the now to be mainly you.

But, he liked having the moments. Them piling up in the coffee table drawer—one, in particular, inside his wallet. You all shy, hands posed where he’d said—I’d only do this for you, Javi.

He doesn’t confess that there are lots of things he has found he’d only do for you. Many of them never thought possible before you fell into his life. Just like how he’d never been one for memories.

Now, since you, he likes the reminder. Enjoys building the collection of how real this is—a full-on album of just pointless things. Soft mornings, tipsy evenings and you in the green apron his Pop bought you as you tried your hand at baking; then there were the many walks, you feeding animals and lots of snaps of the home the two of you are building.

He just wants to collect them all. Have them for himself. The evidence of this peaceful domesticity, this happiness—this present he never thought would be his future.

“I love you,” he interrupts, all soft, practically falling from him—tumbling out past his sly smile.

It cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. Him just watching your eyes widen a fraction more than before—lips remaining parted, hands sliding from your hips to hang easily at your sides.

A calmness settles over him, a dryness growing in his throat, as he moves around the counter, fingers nudging one of the cupboard doors to close. Unsure how he can articulate how happy you make him, more today than yesterday, and likely even more tomorrow than now.

Reaching out, he pulls you by the loop of your jeans, body meeting his—all willing, suddenly flush with his.

“How about…” he begins, the slope of his nose brushing against your cheek, feeling your fingers slide around his waist, dig a little more purposefully into his side, holding him, present, rooted. “We stop accepting food from people out of politeness—start just saying no?”

He peers at you. Watching as you think over it, assess it. “What, like a New Year’s resolution?”

Moving his hands, he cups your cheeks in his palms, guiding your eyes up to him. Just like every time before, since the first moment they landed on him—found him, buried deep into his soul, they pulled a smile. One pair of eyes undoing him, an array of shades swirling, individual paint strokes that made up the eyes he chose to have burned into him forever. The metal on his finger is evident of it, pressing it against your skin as you stare, waiting.

Swallowing, he smiles. “Yeah.”

Nodding, you trace your lower lip with your tongue—wetting it, likely knowing you’ve captured his attention. “I can do that.”

“You sure, baby?”

His hand slid down your cheek, and jaw, landing on your neck—the fabric of your clothes brushing against his wrist and forearm.

“You’re very nice, too nice sometimes.”

Laughing, it brushes over him. All soft, warm, It fluttering over him as you take him in, and as he studies you. “I can try to be less nice.”

Humming, he slides two fingers under your chin, positioning you there, the gap between the two of you closing, and closing—

“Could leave you wanting, for example,” you say. Adding an emphasis to the -ting, making it pop.

"That would be cruel."

Ghosting his lips over yours, the hand on your side clutches you a little tighter. “I know you want me on the counter, Javi. Saw it in your eyes when I was bent over in front of you. And, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you—mi esposo.”

Groaning, he kisses you—a test, soft, quick. Eyes focused on the way yours briefly chased his.

“But,” you say, pulling your face back from his touch, “I have to say no, out of politeness—can’t fuck a man who would accuse me of willingly accepting pickles.”

“Pimienta…”

And you grin, wickedly.

And fuck does he want a photo of that too.

visit @pickled-pena to read the full masterlist of entries.

[trulybetty]

Pickled Peña | Resolutions

Prompts: pickles, resolutions & "You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?" Pairing: Javi P. x gn!reader Word Count: 1,041 Warnings: alcohol, hangovers, smoking, resolutions & maybe some angst? oh, and pickles if you hadn't worked that one out 😋 - oh, and author has watched like four episodes of Narcos and copious amounts of gifs! Summary: you had one resolution for the new year, yet somehow you managed break it before the new year could even really start AO3: Linked Masterlist: check out @pickled-pena for the full masterlist of entries 🥒

A/N: this is my entry for the first @pickled-pena challenge. The rules were simple, use all of the three prompts, a minimum of 500 words and have fun with it. If you want to join in on the fun, you have the month of January to post your entries. Head over to @pickled-pena for more information or feel free to reach out!

You blinked against the harsh sunlight streaming through the window, the remnants of last night's celebrations lingering like the dust in the air that could be seen in the streaks of light. You'd ended up in Javi's bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, a testament to the chaos of the evening before. 

You groaned, you couldn’t remember much of what happened once you’d made it back to to his place. You tried to focus enough to look at the hands of your watch, but at that moment it was proving difficult without inciting a further pounding to your head.

What you could remember though was that it was January 1st, 1999, because last night you’d attended a New Year's party hosted by Javi’s cousin.

The house was silent and still, as if it were taking in a deep breath after the milestone of another year gone by.

With two failed attempts at getting out of bed, on the third you successfully swung your legs over the side, your feet sinking into the artificial shag of the carpet. You scrunched your feet, feeling the fibres tickle between your toes. The dark cherry hardwood panelling lined all four walls, only broken up by the sun-faded buttercup yellow curtains that framed the small window across the room.

The room, and the house encompassing it, were frozen in the fifties, the last time the home’s decor had received any attention. 

Managing to pull yourself up you found the woollen sweater you’d had on the night before and after some searching managed to find your leggings on the other side of the room. The rest of your belongings had been strewn about the house in a pathway that led from the front door to the door of Javi’s room.

Stepping out of the bedroom to the living room, you were grateful the curtains were still pulled. The smell of coffee had you shuffling to the kitchen, pausing only momentarily to pull the crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa around your shoulders. The patchwork of colours was almost too bright in the light of the headache that had moved behind your eyes. You just hoped it’d stave off the cold that had settled in the house. 

The kitchen tiles were cool under your feet, and had you bouncing on the balls of your feet. The cold too much coming off of the carpeted living room. You poured yourself a steaming cup of coffee. It was strong and black, the bitter aroma wrapped around you like a familiar embrace.

With the chipped mug cupped between your hands, you slipped on your boots and stepped outside. The air was chilly and the blanket wasn’t enough to stave off the cold, but it felt refreshing in your hungover state. Though very much a stark contrast to the warmth of Javi’s bed you’d left behind.

Shielding your eyes from the morning sun there he was at the edge of the property, where the land stretched out to rolling hills. He was leant against the fence, the one he and his father had built the week before, a cigarette dangling from his lips. There was an aura of peace about him that you couldn’t help but gravitate towards.

If he knew you were there, he didn’t make it known. Only acknowledging you with a brief nod when you handed him your coffee to hop up onto the fence before taking it back to fill your hands with the warmth it held.

Exchanging a look between the two of you, you accepted the silent offer of a drag from his cigarette. The smoke filled your lungs, a familiar burn that didn’t quite hide the taste of last night's mistakes.

“I broke my resolution already,” you said, the words floating out with the smoke from your lips.

Javi turned to you, a question in his eyes. “What was that?”

“That I wouldn't sleep with you again.”

You don’t know when he’d gotten that much closer, the heat of his body was in contrast to the chill of the morning. He nuzzled your jaw with his nose, a gesture so typical of him that it tightened something in your chest. “Why's that?” he asks, his voice a gentle rumble.

“You know why, Javi,” you reply, the reminder bitter on your tongue.

He smiled, a flash of teeth and mischief. “That was last year.”

“We got back here at 2 am, Javi. Hardly a new leaf turned.”

His chuckle was soft, almost lost to the wind that rustled through the trees. “Things got fuzzy after those shots.”

You both fall silent, the ridiculousness of last night's concoction making you grimace. “Who told Leslie-Ann that mixing pickle juice with tequila was a good thing?”

Javi just laughed, the sound echoing in the crisp morning air, as if the absurdity of the concoction was a fitting tribute to the absurdity of resolutions—and maybe, to the unpredictable nature of the relationship between the two of you.

He moved closer, the look in his eyes a mix of warmth and something a little more earnest. His hand found yours, fingers entwining as if they always belonged together. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that held the soft promise of the new year. It was a kiss that spoke of the years gone by, of the turbulent history shared, and the magnetic pull that kept drawing the two of you back to each other.

The kiss broke, leaving you both slightly breathless. You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his as you steadied your voice, “You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?”

Javi's eyes softened, the playful edge giving way to sincerity, “I was right by your side sweetheart, making the same foolish decision as you to drink that shit.”

The intensity of his gaze held you captive, his words holding a deeper meaning tethering you to the spot. You felt the weight of the unspoken feelings between you, the years of near-misses and what-ifs crystallizing into a single, fragile moment under that New Year's sky.

[lady-bess]

Getting In A Pickle

My entry for the @pickled-pena Writing Challenge!

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Mature/18+ (swearing, drinking, sex referenced). Minors DNI.

Words: 4k

"The making of your new year's resolution takes a turn when Javier agrees to accept the one you made for him. There is one condition though...".

Notable tags: New Year's Resolution, First Kiss, Drinking, Fluff, Soft Javier Peña.

A03 Link: Getting In A Pickle - LadyBess - Narcos (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

New Year’s Eve, 1992.

Steve sighed, and with a grunt he stood from his chair and went over to the corner of the office. You and Javi looked up from the stack of papers in front of you, desperate to take any form of distraction right now. Paperwork was never fun, but on new year’s eve? It was bullshit.

“What are you doing?” Javi asked Steve, who by now was delving into a metal filing cabinet. The strap of his watch banged against the aluminium drawer as he reached right to the back, muttering some curse words under his breath. By now you had set your pen and reading glasses down on the table, far more intrigued as to the happenings of the corner of the office than whatever report you were currently working on.

“Tryna find something to make this evening a little less painful, Javi. That good with you?” Steve said, his arm still bent into the back of the drawer. The room was dim under the orange desk lamps, and as Steve and Javi conversed you looked over at the younger of your colleagues. His dark brown hair looked almost black in the low lighting, and the warm hue emanating from the desks made the colour of his eyes look like the most rich and warming glass of rum. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harbouring a huge crush on Javier by now, having worked in such close proximity to him for years. You had hoped that tonight, on new year’s eve, that the two of you would be working together alone.

But no. Steve, as always, worked himself just as hard as everyone else in the department, and decided to help take off some of the pressure from Javi and yourself. It was a kind gesture, and you were forever grateful for Murphy, but just this once you really wanted him to leave.

“Sure, Steve. But is the answer in the back of that filing cabinet?” Javi asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. His forearm muscles flexed as he shifted in his seat, and the material of his black shirt pulled slightly across his chest in the new position. You hated how fucking attractive that was, just seeing how taut his clothing got from how he was built, shaped by years working in this job.

Javier turned his head and grinned at you as a giggle left your lips at his sarcastic remark, enjoying how your smile lit up the room instantly – just as it always did. Your eyes locked with his and lingered just a few seconds, verging on the edge of staring, before both of you turned to look at whatever Steve was wrestling with. Any outsider would be able to see that the both of you were wrestling with how you felt for one another, but neither of you quite had the balls to face up to that just yet. In a way Steve inadvertently became quite the useful distraction.

“Very funny, Javi- aha!” he exclaimed, smiling wide as he caught hold of whatever he was looking for. A moment later he pulled his arm out the back of the drawer, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, half full and with the label on the front beginning to peel – evidence of the bottle’s secret existence and overuse as plain as can be. “This might help!” he said, heading back over to the desk.

“Certainly better than working the entire evening. Wasn’t how I expected to spend new year’s eve, but hey, it’s the nature of the beast I suppose,” you shrugged, welcoming the alcoholic intervention for this evening. Javi chuckled at you before sitting back up, leaning forward in his seat to lean onto the desk.

“You can say that twice,” he agreed, “Steve, have we got any glasses?” he asked, but Steve shook his head.

“Afraid not, just dirty coffee cups. We’ll be swigging from the same bottle, but it’s better than being sober, right?” he offered, sitting back down at the desk and unscrewing the cap on the bottle. It was cheap whiskey, the kind you kept in an office drawer because it didn’t matter if your supervisor found it and threw it away. It wouldn’t be too strong, it probably tasted like piss, but Steve had a point. It beat being sober.

He handed the bottle to you first, and you took a gulp of it. The whiskey burnt on the way down, and it was not a pleasant burning either. You were used to whiskey since befriending Javier, it being his drink of choice whenever you all went out for drinks, but he had far better taste than this. Warmth was what you had been associating whiskey with up to now, but this was not that. You grimaced, and just about held back a cough as you handed the bottle to Javier, who was doing his best to stifle a laugh at you.

Yeah, it tasted like piss.

Javier took the bottle from you, his fingers delicately grazing the back of your hand as you passed it over. Your eyes caught his, again, and he gave you a small smirk as you looked at him. Butterflies swirled in your stomach as you saw a look on Javier that you’d never recognised before, one which was not becoming of the confident womanizer that you’d come to know; bashful, coy, and, perhaps, nervous?

“Thanks,” Javier said, snapping you out of the little spiral your mind had sent you down, wondering why he looked at you like that. Had you said something to upset him? Was he just tired?

You nodded, withdrawing your hand and smiling at him. You certainly weren’t in a rush to have another sip of the whiskey, so you settled back into your seat, allowing the men to pass the bottle between themselves for a couple of moments.

“So, you got any new year’s resolutions?” Steve asked, loosening his tie as he relaxed with the two of you.

“What kind of fucking hillbilly you take me for?” Javi chuckled, taking another sip of the whiskey. “No, I don’t have any resolutions. Does anyone even bother with them nowadays?”.

“Hey, I have one!” you said, playfully slapping Javi’s arm in mock anger. His eyes widened as he looked at where your hand hit his arm, and then he leant back in his seat again, resuming his arms-crossed position. The expression on his face had again changed, but this time to utter disbelief.

“Go on, what is it?” Steve asked, a grin forming on his face. You winked at Javier, then turned to Steve.

“I want to get Javi to try pickles,” you giggled. He scoffed, rolling his eyes, and you turned back to look at him.

“Oh, you and those fucking pickles. It’s like a love affair you’ve got for the damn things!” Javi said.

He wasn’t wrong. You weren’t sure when you developed such a taste for them, but at some point you did, and it was like a switch flicked in you. Now a midday snack could consist of half a jar of them, easily. It disgusted most people you knew, which you expected, but Javier seemed to hate them the most.

“Yeah, I ain’t trying them!” he said. You pouted, leaning forward to grab the whiskey and take a second sip. You’d tricked yourself into thinking it wasn’t as bad as you remembered.

You were wrong.

The liquid burnt on the way down, again, and you winced. Both men laughed softly under their breath at you, but neither mocked you really. You were still handling the drink, and even they could admit that this was cheap stuff that certainly wasn’t to everyone’s taste. Javi kept his eyes fixed on you, awaiting a response he was almost certain to be a sassy little remark. He loved teasing you, and the two of you would verbally taunt one another in ways he had never experienced with other women. You sat back in your seat and looked over at him, your stomach flipping slightly when you saw Javier already staring at you.

“Come on, just once? You never try new things! Javi, you’re so stuck in your ways I doubt you’ve tried anything new for years!” you said, chuckling slightly as his eyes went wider and his mouth dropped open a little. Steve laughed at your comment, fully agreeing with you - Javier was nothing if not stubborn and set in his ways.

“I do – you’re just never there to witness it! Like last month, when I tried a different kind of coffee but you couldn’t even be bothered to come with me to the canteen. You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?” he remarked, and you rolled your eyes. This was so Javier.

“You’re so dramatic, Javi!” you laughed, and at the sound of you laughing Javier smiled wide. His eyes crinkled up as he listened to you, loving the beautiful sound that filled the room. Steve clocked the way his friend was looking at you and shook his head softly, chuckling to himself.

Why could neither of you see it?

“Can you guys not have a fucking domestic here?” Steve commented, taunting you both. You turned your head to look at Steve, furrowing your brow slightly.

“How could we have a domestic, Murphy?” you laughed.

“Look, you’re not together, I’m aware of that. But you act like an old married couple eighty percent of the time. It’s exhausting. Just kiss, for the love of God,” Steve chuckled, swigging another mouthful of whiskey.

You felt a little taken aback by his comment, not realising that this is what other people thought of when they saw you and Javi interact with one another. Sure, there’d been flirting here and there, but for a long time now you’d brushed it off as just being something Javier did with all women. You certainly were not naïve to the tales of his ways with women, how he had a reputation for having his fair share of sexual partners. But that didn’t seem enough to stop you developing the most painful crush on him, even if deep down you knew he’d never feel the same way about you.

Until…

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be against a kiss,” Javier said, winking at you when your head snapped back round to look at him. You were wondering if you’d misheard him, or vastly misinterpreted his idea of a sick joke.  

“Absolutely not!” you laughed, nervously, trying to play down your obvious bewilderment.

“Oh, come off it. You know you want to,” Steve teased, smirking over at the two of you. He’d watched this surface level crush develop in you both right from the start of working together, and had expected by now one of you to have made a move. You and Javi might have been too stupid to notice how the other one felt, but Steve seemed to see everything. You sighed.

“Alright, maybe curiosity has gotten the better of me once or twice. Can’t blame me for being a little curious, given what I hear about you and your ways with women,” you giggled, trying to use laughter to hide your immediately crimson red cheeks which burnt at the admission. You might have only had a couple sips, but clearly a small tipple and Steve’s provoking was all you needed to be a little bold.

Javier smirked at you, and in that moment his mind raced as to how he could actually get a kiss from you without being so bold to just simply ask. But then, you threw him a lifeline. Feeling a little bold, and now that the cat was out the back, you gave him an offer.

“Okay, how about this. You try a pickle, and I’ll give you a kiss,” you offered, biting your lip softly as a momentary silence filled the room. It might have only been present for a second, but it felt like a lifetime.  

“The damn pickles? Are you serious?” he scoffed, chuckling under his breath, “You know I hate them!”.

“Yeah, even I’m with Javi, I don’t know how you get through a jar of them a week as a snack. Rancid things,” Steve laughed. You laughed with them both, although in that moment you felt a little stupid to have suggested such an offer. Maybe you’d got things twisted, perhaps he was making a joke; maybe you were naïve. But the whiskey in your system gave you just enough confidence that you weren’t going to let those thoughts win just yet. Maybe he was all of those things, and if you were sober you’d have shut the fuck up already. But you weren’t, and something was niggling at you, telling you that you weren’t being crazy here. Like deep down, you somehow knew, he wanted the same.

“Shut up, both of you. Look, Javi, it’s a sweet deal. You get a kiss for just eating something. Hey, it could even go towards your trying something new things!” you joked.

“I want the record to show that was you who implied I don’t try new shit,” Javier chuckled. “But alright. You got a deal,” he said, smiling at you.

Your heart felt like it skipped a beat. Sure, this was just some silly little bet, a very bizarre take on new year’s resolutions. But you’d had this crush on Javier for so long, you’d take any excuse to try and get a kiss out of him.

For Javier, it was the easiest ‘yes’ of his life. But, like you, he’d never known how to bring up the idea of being intimate with you. You were his closest friend, and he loved the banter that the two of you had developed since working together – he’d hate for anything to ruin that. But as he watched you rise from your seat to head to the small fridge in the opposite corner in the room, all those thoughts were quelled. He sat up in his seat, nervously anticipating the next series of events. He wasn’t lying, he really did hate pickles. But if this was his ‘in’ with you, he’d take it.

Steve smiled to himself at Javier’s change in disposition. Neither of you were paying any attention to him anymore, you’d fallen into your own little bubble. Like both of you were so wrapped up in what would happen over the next few minutes that the whole world fell apart around you, and the only thing you could focus on was each other.

You pulled out your jar of pickles from the communal fridge. They were the only item you felt safe leaving in there, and genuinely nobody other than yourself (and one colleague who’d been pregnant recently) ate them. Javier had shifted in his seat by the time you got back, and as you sat next to him he outstretched his hand to take the jar from you.

Watching him open the jar felt like you were watching someone disarm a bomb. Neither you nor Steve moved, both of you intently watching as the cap of the jar clicked, and he unscrewed it.

“Just one?” he asked, and you nodded. He smiled, nodding himself at the confirmation (a little relieved you didn’t want him to eat any more than that), and then set the jar down so he could pull a single pickle out from the juice in which they sat.

Javier grimaced slightly as he watched the pickle juice roll off the side of the pickle, dripping back into the jar. He waited for it to lose some more of its juice before pulling it away from the jar, deciding to himself that if he was putting himself through this, he’d do it on his terms.

The pickle itself wasn’t all that large, and as Javier looked at it through baited breath he decided that the best way to do this was to get it over with as fast as possible. Once it was slightly dryer, he ripped the pickle in half to make it a more manageable size, and then put both halves in his mouth at once. He closed his eyes as he bit down on the pickle, the juices inside of it exploding in his mouth in the most unpleasant way possible. He really did not understand how you did this daily.

Steve was almost beside himself laughing at Javier’s face as he watched his fellow colleague struggle through chewing the pickle. He clearly hated every second of it, but not once did he gag, wretch, or threaten to spit it out (something Steve knew he’d do if he’d been given this ultimatum).

Javier kept chewing, getting the pieces small enough to comfortably swallow without overdoing it and actually tasting the pickle for more than what was absolutely necessary. You giggled as you watched him grimace one last time, his eyes screwed up at the taste, and then he gulped. He shuddered once his mouth was empty of the wretched thing, opened his eyes to look at you and then dropped his mouth open for you to see it had all gone.

“Oh my god you actually did it,” Steve said. Javi grinned at his friend, then turned back to you.

“What can I say? I want that kiss,” he chuckled. Your stomach did a little backflip at his words, not quite believing he really could want that from you, even in spite of the pickle eating performance you’d just witnessed from him. You felt nerves rise within you, a slight shake in your hand making itself known to you (but fortunately not obvious to anyone else).

It was now or never.  

“I won’t lie, I’m impressed at your dedication,” you said, then turned to Murphy, “Steve, respectfully, get out”, you chuckled.

“Yes ma’am!” he said, hopping out his seat and heading to the door, a grin on his face as he gave you both a mock salute before leaving. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, and in a way that helped ease the nerves. Turning to Javier, he was already fixed on you, a soft smile on his face as he leaned forward in his chair towards you.  

“You know we don’t have to do this, you know? I was only pulling your leg,” Javi said, gently patting your thigh with his hand. The contact on your leg made you shudder, his hand coming down with absurd strength even for such a gentle movement. You smiled at him, his warm expression making you realise he wasn’t trying to back out of this, he just wanted you to be happy with this agreement.  

“I know,” you said, edging closer towards Javi, your hands resting on your lap. ��But I want to. If you do?”.

“Oh, I’m so down,” he chuckled, placing a hand over yours. You smiled to yourself, looking down at how gently he caressed your soft skin, the warmth from his hands seeping through and comforting your nerves more than he perhaps realised he was doing.

“Good,” you said, leaning forward and catching his lips in a soft kiss, not wanting to waste any more time. Javier kissed you back softly, his free hand traversing up to cradle your jaw gently, making sure he got to keep you locked to him a little longer than just a peck. Everything he’d ever wanted was right here in the palm of his hands, and he didn’t want to let go of it anytime soon.

It was Javier who deepened the kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a little more force, the tips of his fingers pressing down slightly harder to keep you in place. Not that you were going anywhere.

You held the hand he had rested on your lap a little harder as you opened your mouth for him, letting him kiss you however he wanted. You’d take anything, and were happy to receive whatever he wanted to give. His mustache tickled your upper lip slightly as he took the access you’d granted, dipping his tongue into your mouth.

You let out a soft hum at the feeling of Javier exploring your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours, the taste of whiskey and pickles mixing together in a delightfully disgusting combination. You didn’t mind one iota, but you figured Javier was probably not the biggest fan, and would be reaching for a swig of that awful whiskey as soon as he could to wash away the taste of pickles.

A small chuckle vibrated in your chest at the thought, but not once did you let up on this kiss. You got bold, your hands reaching forward to touch him more, to let him know that this was everything you wanted and more. Javier never broke contact with your lips, maintaining his assault on your mouth as he shifted out of his seat. His arm dropped to your waist, grabbing you and hoisting you out your chair so that your body was flush with his. You giggled in between kisses, not stopping him at any point, instead pressing yourself to him even more. Your hands traversed his broad chest, landing around his neck, and Javier smiled against your lips at the feeling of need he sensed in you.

He knew he should stop soon, or else he swore he’d probably end up putting you on the desk and fucking your brains out. He’d wanted that privilege for so long, but right here and now wasn’t the place. Besides, you weren’t someone he wanted to treat how he did so many other women – you weren’t a quick, easy, hookup. You were his friend, a woman he respected so much, and never wanted to see hurt. It wouldn’t be right to do this any other way than to try and date you, instead.

He broke the kiss softly, his movements becoming less aggressive until eventually he detached himself from you. Your heated breathe mixed between the narrow space between your lips, and both of you laughed to yourselves, slightly in disbelief that you’d really finally taken that step. Javier rested his forehead against yours, still keeping you close to him, even if you were no longer tongue tied with one another.

“Your breath stinks of pickles,” you teased, grinning at Javier who chuckled at your comment.

“Yeah? And who’s to blame for that then?” he said, not letting you get away with teasing him like that.

“Hey, I didn’t force you to eat the pickle,” you winked. Javier laughed louder, moving to pull you in for a proper hug. You held him in your arms as both of his wrapped around your waist, holding you tight, and his head rested in the crook of your neck.

“No, but you sure did make the terms of this resolution appealing,” he smiled. “Say, have I got to eat a pickle every time I want a kiss?” he joked, making you laugh.

“No, Javi, you don’t,” you said, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. “Consider that payment for any future kisses you may want,” you said.

“Good,” he said, smiling at you as he leant back in to kiss you anew.

It wasn’t the stereotypical midnight kiss you used to hope you’d get at least once in your life, having never bothered with the tradition before now, but in a way this was so much more special than that could have ever been. Even if he did taste like a goddamn pickle, which was less appealing than you thought it would be given your love for them.

Happy New Year!

[pickled-pena]

🥒The Pickled-Peña Masterlist in all it's salty brine glory!🥒

Thank you to everyone who took part in this super fun challenge! You're all amazing!

☝️If you missed the January 1st deadline, not to worry, you can still submit your story until 31st Jan. Please use the tag #PickleTrickle so we can find those coming in at a later date so we can add your work to this masterlist.

☝🏻Please be sure to show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work.

⚠️ Please check out all warnings/triggers on the individual stories themselves.

Happy reading Pickled-Peña Friends! 🥒💛

💛 In no particular order, please enjoy the wide selection of pickles...

🥒Landslide - @frenchiereading

🥒Pickles, Peppers & Photos - @undercoverpena

🥒Toast - @secretelephanttattoo

🥒Pickled Interruptions - @avastrasposts

🥒In A Pickle - @inept-the-magnificent

🥒These Foolish Things Remind Me Of You - @maggiemayhemnj

🥒Chucho's Magic Pickles - @nerdieforpedro

🥒Javier Peña The Pickle Thief - @connectioneverywhere

🥒Good Impression - @pedroshotwifey

🥒More - @toomanystoriessolittletime

🥒A Cup Of Kindness Yet - @ladamedusoif

🥒Resolutions - @trulybetty

🥒A Bear Of A Night - @rhoorl

🥒Old Acquaintance - @alwaysbethewest

🥒Aisle Seven - @goodwithcheese

🥒Save The Last Dance - @linzels-blog

🥒Getting In A Pickle - @ladybess-a03

🥒Close Up The Hole In My Vein - @imalrightllama

🥒For The Record - @drabbles-mc

🥒Happy New Year - @djarinmuse

🥒Holsters, Lies & Videotape - @sin-djarin

🥒Break My Heart - @megamindsecretlair

🥒Prepping For Parents - @musings-of-a-rose

🥒Bailando - @lwfics

🥒More fics to be added as they trickle in! If yours is missing, please let us know!

🥒All Roads Lead To A Jar Of Pickles - @mrsjavierpena

Special thanks to @trulybetty & @musings-of-a-rose for the banners/graphics. 💛

[jolalibrary]

OMFG! this was amazing. I loved that she basically called him a slut without calling it him— AND BY USING THE PROMPT. that’s amazing, ingenious. I love it.

AND THEN THE ENDING 🌝😏😏😏 I loveee

Break My Heart

Pairing: Javier Pena x Black!Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is smut! PWP, PIV, size kink, kinda toxic, spanking, pet names. Non-inclusive language. Somes sentences are intentional AAVE. Apologies if I missed some.

Summary: You intended to spend New Year's Eve alone, per usual. But Javi's pestering convinced you to have a few drinks with the team. You want to remain strong and resist him but you aren't sure for how long.

Word Count: 3,421k

A/N: Ahhh, my first Pedro fic. This was intimidating! Even after watching more of the show. Be gentle, I'm sensitive 'bout it LOL. This was still fun and so hot and lordt, I need him so badly. Likes are always awesome. Please considering commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz

“You’re coming to the bar with us, right?” 

You looked up from your desk to see Javi hovering over you, entirely too close. He knows you hate that. He’s always crowding into your space. Leaning too close, leaning that sinful ass on your desk, or bending down to turn those puppy brown eyes on you. 

He smelled like cigarettes and sweat. A combination that shouldn’t be so hot, but here you were. 

“No,” you said with a smile. 

“Come on, you’re hurting my feelings,” he said. He had a sleepy way of talking that immediately turned your thoughts dirty. Thinking of what he must sound like first thing in the morning. But that line of thinking was dangerous. You just hadn’t had a good fucking in a while. 

“Aww, you don’t have any feelings, Javi,” you said. You gave him an extra sugary smile and he huffed a laugh and looked around the office. He leaned his ass against your desk and you sighed loudly for his benefit. 

The office was noisy, filled with agents running around chasing down leads. With your complexion, you were relegated to the office. You were an agent in name only and it pissed you off. The higher ups thought that they could stick you in the ass end of South America and you’d quit.

Joke was on them. You loved the food here and there wasn’t a person alive that could get you to quit being an agent. 

“Maybe I’d have some feelings if you finally agreed to go out with me,” Javi said. 

You wrinkled your nose. You’d happily climb on Peña if he wasn’t such a slut. Not that you were in the market for commitment. The last thing you needed was to get caught up with someone, especially at work, when you were still trying to prove yourself to the agency. 

“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, Javi,” you said.

Javier only licked his lips and smiled. His fingers played with a cigarette but all of his attention was on you. “So, what, I need to find an eleven foot pole?” 

You rolled your eyes and fought off your smirk. You didn’t need to encourage him. “What favor do you want this time, Javi?” You asked. 

“I want you to finally say yes! We’ve been working together for years and you won’t even give me the time of day,” he said. 

“Why would I do that?” You asked. Fuck it, the numbers were starting to swim in your head anyway. If Javi was good for anything, it was a distraction. You sat back in your seat and prepared yourself for the Javi show. 

He smirked and turned those puppy eyes up to a thousand. “You know we’d be good together,” he said. His voice even got deeper. 

You weren’t entirely immune to Javier Peña. There were more than a few times that you caught yourself staring at his ass. Or that damn black shirt that clung to him in all the right places. Your favorite time was when he got back to the office from chasing a lead all day. The way he got so flustered and sweaty. The way his hair would plaster to his head and he’d settle into the office with a deep sigh and a soft curse. 

You looked away from him so he wouldn’t see the downright lust in your eyes. No, you were not immune to Javier Peña but everyone knew his vices. You were not trying to be another notch on his belt. 

Your eyes roamed to the desk in front of you. In their infinite wisdom, the higher ups also put you in front of Javi and Murphy’s office. They thought it was real hilarious to wave the lonely Black woman in front of Javi the slut. They were itchin’ to ditch you. That also meant that no one else sat around here. The empty desk in front of you was a dumping ground for random files, donuts, or supplies.

There were times when people left random food there for anyone to snack on. Like now, there was a jar of pickles on the desk abandoned and swimming in pickle juice. You smirked and looked at Javi. 

“Javi, there is no way on the green earth that I would entertain this,” you said.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” He asked. 

“Because you’re a pickle,” you said and smirked. 

He laughed and shook his head. “What?” 

“A pickle! You’re like…community pickle,” you said. You waved your hand for him to catch your drift. He just stared at you, patient, focused. It was unnerving to be on the other side of that look. 

Your throat dried and you had the sudden urge to disappear. To leave that sight line. But you forged on. Maybe he’d get insulted and move on. “See that jar? You’re like those pickles. You’re on every burger, every sandwich, readily available,” you said.

Javier tilted his head. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Your word, not mine,” you said.

“I didn’t take you for someone who listens to rumors,” Javi said. 

You laughed. “Rumors? Javi, you scream it loud and clear for anyone to hear,” you said. 

Javi waved your comment off. He looked around the office and then slid closer. You leaned back, scooting your chair back. He wore a denim shirt, open at the collar, and his tanned skin showed through. You brought your eyes back to his, though that wasn’t any better. He was a danger to your sanity.

“Come on. Have a drink with me,” he said. 

You sighed and rubbed your head. “We already tried this, Javi,” you said. 

“When?” He asked, sounding offended. 

“Hmm, ‘bout six months after I got here. You asked me out, I said not on your life. We did that surveillance job together and you wore me down. Said let’s meet up and we never did,” you said.

Javi held his hand to his heart. “You’re killing me, princesa. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said. 

A shiver ran through you and you hated it. You had to be strong around this man, though you really, really didn’t want to. “I’m not mad, Javi, it’s just in your nature.” You stood up and placed your hand on his shoulder. It was a huge mistake, but you pretended to be nonchalant. You tapped his shoulder and walked around him. 

You went to the wall of file cabinets and dug through for the next set of numbers you needed anyway. Javi followed you, getting even closer. He leaned against a cabinet and smiled. 

“I think you’re just scared,” he said.

“Scared of what?” You asked.

“Getting close to us. To me,” he said. His eyes dropped to your mouth. You almost couldn’t believe his audacity. 

You couldn’t help licking your lips and his eyes flicked up to yours. “If I go…”

“Yes!” 

“If I go, you’re buying all of my drinks and you’re keeping your hands to yourself. Got it?” You asked. 

“Scout’s honor,” he said.

“You’ve never been a fuckin’ Boy Scout,” you said.

Javi shrugged and smirked. “You never asked,” he said. He walked backwards, looking at you with that satisfied, smug smile on his face. “See you tonight!” 

Why not, it was New Year’s after all. 

Later that night, you were nervously walking up to the bar. It was a bar friendly enough to Americans. The air was balmy but comfortable and you opted for a short purple dress and short heels. Your purse swung on your shoulder and you mentally prepared yourself to see Javi off the clock.

You knew that other people would be there and you weren’t expecting any funny business, but it was still nerve wracking. You made a career of being ice cold because that was all anyone expected of you. The minute you laughed or - goodness forbid - showed a personality, the guys suddenly remembered that you were a woman. 

You walked inside to a raucous mix of Spanish and English. The words hit you even over the loud music, drinks clinking, and general rowdiness of the bar. You found your group easy enough. They took up an entire corner of the bar. Murphy saw you first. The huge white boy stuck out even more than you did but he seemed to make it work, despite not knowing a lick of Spanish.

He waved you over and you approached the table. Some of the other guys looked you over. Look it over, boys. You inwardly smiled. You knew that you had a great figure that you hid under ugly and boring business suits. It was rare that you got to go out in something pretty for once, so you might have spruced things up more than usual. 

Javi turned to see you, his eyes roaming over your outfit, and you felt the tips of your ears burn. You sat down, immediately swiping Javi’s beer and taking a sip. He let you, still not having said a word.

“Find this place okay?” Murphy asked.

You nodded. “Surprised to see you out too!” You had to yell over the noise but he heard you. 

“Only to show my face. Gonna head home and celebrate with the missus,” he said.

You nodded. You turned your attention to Javi who still hadn’t said anything. “Mad I stole your drink, Javi?” 

Like waking from a stupor, Javi shook his head. “Who knew there was a girl under there,” he said.

You shoved him and rolled your eyes but laughed along with the table. “I’m surprised you can recognize one with her clothes on,” you said.

The guys at the table erupted into laughter. Javi’s personal activities were a well-known fact by this point. Javi waved everyone off.

“Since we’re laughing, we might as well laugh about the prank on poor Murphy,” Javi said.

Your eyes rounded as Javi betrayed you to Murphy. Murphy’s jaw dropped as he looked at you. “That was you?”

“That was all Javi’s idea!” 

“You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?” Oh, he sounded so innocent and wounded.

You tried to kick him under the table but he moved his leg at the last moment. “I was…” You tried to think of a good excuse for your whereabouts as you hid Murphy’s things while Javi kept him distracted. It was an innocent prank, but it had Murphy in a panic.

Everyone snickered and laughed while Murphy hunted and stalked around the office. It was a team effort and you tried to convey that without words while you looked at Javi.

“Wow, real nice,” Murphy said with a smile.

At least he was a sport about it. You glared at Javi but he only smirked. Ass. But it was the icebreaker you needed. The other guys warmed up to you and began to tell you wild stories about their hunt for the elusive Pablo Escobar. It seemed like no matter what they tried, Pablo already bought his way several steps ahead. 

You listened as they told you the sanitized version of some of the skirmishes they got into. How they found people connected to Pablo but each one was too scared to speak. How they were trying to work with the local police but Pablo had more than half of them on the payroll. 

It made you sick that someone could just pay their way to the top like that. It wasn’t lost on any of you that one wrong move and it was your ass. 

True to his word, Javi kept his hands to himself for the most part. He bought you drink after drink, until you finally had to stop and drink some water before you ended up stumbling home. No thank you. You did not need the hangover in the morning, celebrating the new year or not. 

Javi did other things. He shifted in his seat and always managed to brush against your bare leg. He would turn his whole body towards you when you were speaking and then turn completely around when you weren’t. He was driving you nuts and you wanted to smack him.

“What is your deal?” You whispered to him while the other guys were preoccupied with Murphy leaving. 

“You!” He said.

“Me?!” You smacked his arm. He rubbed his legs and took a deep swig of his beer. 

“Wearing that!” He hissed.

“What are you talking about?” Murphy was making his way around the table, saying goodbye individually. Any minute, he would make it to your side. 

“I just want to…rip that damn dress off. You tell me to keep my hands to myself and you come in wearing that,” he said. 

You reared back as if he’d slapped you. Javi had dabbled in harmless flirting since you met him. It was just how he interacted with women. Truly, you didn’t hold it against him. But the way he was acting right now…it was a mistake coming here.

Because of the drinks you had, the atmosphere, the celebratory mood…you suddenly couldn’t remember why you were fighting this man so hard. 

“It’s just a dress, Javi,” you breathed. Your heartbeat sped up in your chest, thumping in your chest painfully. Your hands shook and you rubbed the tips of your fingers together. 

“Like hell…” Javi started. Murphy made his way to the end of the table, shaking Javi’s hand and giving you a hug. 

“See you in the office.”

You smiled at Murphy but you had no way of remembering what you said. Your eyes were on Javi. His eyes were on you. 

“I’ll be back, bathroom,” you said. You scooped up your purse from the table and disappeared down the short hallway towards the bathrooms. The dim lights were actually a blessing.

You didn’t want to think about how you looked at the moment. You didn’t want to see if you looked as needy as you felt. You didn’t want your dirty thoughts projected all over your face for anyone to pick up on. 

You were careful. You were smart. You avoided Peña like the plague and you didn’t need to be here right now. 

A knocking on the door tore you from your spirling thoughts. “A second!” 

The knocking continued obnoxiously and you finally had to approach the door and open it a crack. “I said–” 

Javi pushed into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. “Javi!” 

Javi slammed his lips against yours, groaning once you made contact. You melted instantly, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and molding your body against his. He groaned low in his throat and pulled up your dress. His fingers dragged along your thighs and you sighed.

You were chasing relief. Your skin was feverish. The wet heat of the night did not mix well with the cheap beer you consumed. You felt like you were crawling out of your skin with a red hot need. Need for Javier fucking Peña of all people. 

“Tell me to stop, princesa,” he groaned against your lips.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” you moaned. His thick fingers were working magic on you, dagging along your skin and igniting a fire in your veins. His fingers found your panties and he yanked them down, nearly snapping the flimsy fabric. You kicked them off to the side, not caring where they ended up.  

Your hands worked furiously to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jeans, and slide that zipper down. Your hands reached in eagerly, palming him, and he groaned. His lips descended on your neck, biting and licking away the gathering sweat.

You shoved his pants down low enough to free that dangerous dick you heard so much about. He was long and thick, easily backing up his claims. You see why he had so much sex. He was practically built for it. Sculpted for it. He was forged by the gods to hand deliver pleasure.

His hands squeezed your hips, slipping down to your ass to grab and pinch and yank closer to his body. He lifted your leg  and placed it over his hip. He rubbed the tip of his dick through your slick folds. He moaned and bit your neck.

“Fuck, princesa. Have you been sitting there wet for me?” His voice was so deep and dark and filthy in this dim bathroom. 

“Whole time,” you said, licking his lips and pulling him by the hair for another kiss. For a taste of those lips soaked in beer and cigarettes and something uniquely spicy and all Javi.

He groaned and finally shoved in roughly. Your head fell back against the wall as you cried out. He was so big and it had been so long and fuck, he felt so good. Why did you deny yourself this? Why would you do that? 

You panted in his ear as he slid out and then shoved back in. He was fucking you. There was nothing sweet about how hard he gripped your thighs, how roughly he fucked into you, or how loudly he groaned against your chest. He licked the top of your breasts, the part exposed from the cleavage of your dress. 

Javi sped up as if he couldn’t help himself. As if he needed to keep going, needed to stake his claim. He lifted your leg higher, spreading you wider, as he continued to pound into your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, Javi,” you moaned.

“Say it again, princesa. Again,” he moaned. 

“Javi, Javi,” you moaned as he pounded into you so fiercely, you were seeing stars as you came. Flooding his dick with your arousal. Filling up the tiny room with shrieks and screams. It was drowned out by the ruckus of the bar. Noise exploded as you assumed it finally turned midnight. 

This was a hell of a way to ring in the new year. 

“Love feelin’ this pussy, princesa,” Javi moaned. He slipped out and you cried out, needing him back inside. He kissed your cheek and smirked. “I wanna see that ass.” 

He flipped you over. He shoved you against the low sink to your right. Your hands gripped the porcelain as he thrust back inside. You bit your lip and moaned lewdly. You didn’t give a fuck who heard. 

Javi smacked your ass once, twice, three times as he continued to rut inside of you. You looked up at the dirty mirror and looked at his gorgeous, focused face as he pounded you into oblivion. 

“Fuck, fuck, right there, Javi,” you moaned. You brought your hand back to dig into his hair. You gripped his fine brown hair and pulled. Javi groaned and licked the shell of your ear, nibbling on it while his hips slapped into yours. 

“Javi, I’m–”

“Shh, shh, let me feel it,” he whispered in your ear. You finally exploded once more, cumming with a sharp vengeance that robbed you of all breath. Javi thrusted two more times before joining you, moaning as he unloaded inside of you. 

His cum stuffed you and he thrusted at least once more time with a groan. He dropped against you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulder. Your legs were noodles. Your thighs shook as you calmed down from such a rough fucking.

Screwing Javi was absolutely everything you imagined and it sucked. It was like tasting paradise knowing you’ll never return. It was cruel and you hung your head thinking about what everyone was going to say.

Something like this? Office fodder. And once they got a hold of it, they were not going to let you live it down. They would give him hi-fives and they would judge the hell out of you. Although with his dick still inside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care too much.

Javi softened and slipped out of you. You cleaned yourselves up in silence. It was like that wild, crazy and burning need was finally sated. You could think straight for once, see more clearly and breathe easier. 

Javi zipped himself back up and you retrieved your panties, stuffing them into your purse. Javi sidled up to you, pulling your hips until you were too close. 

“You don’t have to do this, Javi,” you said. 

Javi nuzzled your neck and placed a soft kiss there. “Maybe I want to do it,” he said.

“You know this was the first and only time, right?” There was enough light to see him smirk. 

“We just gettin’ started, princesa,” he said with a wink.

The Secret Javier Pena Files - not sure if there will be more, but never say never.

[survivingandenduring]

There are so many great Pickled Peña stories today!! 💚💚💚💚

Check the # to find them

[nerdieforpedro]

Pickles with your Peña

Notes: There was a discussion of how seriously some of us took our pickle challenge. As always, I, (Nerdie - the resident Hornado Hooligan) wrote a poem about it. I added some more to the original poem, it needed to have a more full bodied pickle.

We got possible pickle sex, magic pickles, catalyst pickles, main pickles, sour pickles and likely side pickles. 🥒

Where else might the pickles be?

Tune in on New Year’s Day for a deluge of pickles in many ways, shapes and forms.

Beware the pickle.

Embrace the pickle.

Side-eye the pickle.

Pet the pickle.

Serenade the pickle.

Maybe the pickle will be dry.

You might need to wet the pickle.

Give the pickle a light nudge.

Maybe tease the pickle.

Jerk that gherkin ‘till you move the skin a little.

Make that pickle dribble a little.

Careful if the pickle trickles too long after.

Might need a cornichon doctor for that.

Especially if that pickle is too hot and burns a little.

The plot thickens, just like that dill.

All pickles. All night. That brine is sometimes salty, sometimes sweet but always hits your taste buds and occasionally your nose. Make sure to swallow all you’re given. 😘

Have those jars, coin rolls and dollars ready with some mustard on the side! 😎

Enter the Pickled Peña Bonanza of the New Year!

The Pickle Posse: @maggiemayhemnj @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @for-a-longlongtime @trulybetty @goodwithcheese @morallyinept @undercoverpena @avastrasposts @megamindsecretlair @rhoorl @laurfilijames @ladybess-a03 @linzels-blog @fhatbhabie @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @yorksgirl @frenchiereading @theywhowriteandknowthings @pedroshotwifey @legendary-pink-dot

[jolalibrary]

this was soooo sweeet 🥹🥹 I love that he just panic bought — a man after my own heart

Prepping for Parents

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 680+

Rating: This is fluffy and for everyone, but my blog is rated Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: This was for the @pickled-pena writing challenge! Check it out here, but the specs are in the moodboard.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

“Ok..I think I have everything for the natilla. We’ll have to stop at the bakery to grab the buñuelos on the way back home…” I scan my grocery list, making sure to check items off with the pencil I have stuck behind my ear. In the corner of my eye, I see Javier nervously shifting from foot to foot, his hands on his hips as he chews at his lip. “Are you ok, Jav?”

“Hhmm?” His dark eyes meet mine and I swear I melt a little every time he looks at me. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“You’re about to chew a hole through your lip.”

He puffs his lips out, putting his hands up as if to say “Better?” I lean in and kiss his puffy lips, feeling him relax slightly. I pull back and look up at him. “Really. What’s up?”

He shakes his head but isn’t able to contain his thoughts anymore. “Your parents are coming in tonight, our first meeting, and you’ve done all of the cleaning, made sure the hotel is taken care of, made a menu of what we’re having, and you’re picking out all of the food. I just-” he sighs “-can’t I do something?”

“Jav, you don’t have to do anything. You’re here with me and that means so much, especially with all of the work you’ve been doing lately.”

He nods. “Yeah, but I would like to contribute something.”

I can see this is important to him, that he wants to do something for my parents and it makes my heart swell. 

“Do you know what a relish dish is?”

He thinks a moment. “Pickles and olives and shit?”

I chuckle slightly. “Yeah, basically. It’s a big staple at all of our dinners. Mom and dad are pretty particular. Can you go pick out some things for it?”

His eyebrows raise, nearly disappearing into his hairline. “You would trust me with it?”

“Just don’t put actual shit on the plate and I think you’ll be fine.”

He nods and takes off while I finish out my list. About 10 minutes later, he finds me picking up a bag of milk, which I nearly drop when I see that he’s carrying at least 12 jars of things. “What…what’s all this, Jav?”

He’s struggling slightly, trying not to drop them as he attempts to gently set them in the cart. “Well, I couldn’t settle on just a few things. These?” He holds up a jar of pickles. “Are dill. But maybe they like sweet so..” He holds up another jar. Jar after jar of pickles and olives and peppers, a slew of varieties, some I’d never seen before as he puts them in the cart. When he’s done, he brushes his hands together and looks at me, his eyes big like a puppy.

“Do you think it will be enough?”

I laugh then, my whole chest bouncing with it. “Jav, you got way too much. It’s just the 4 of us.”

"You stand there and accuse me of getting too much but where were you at the time? I don't know what everyone likes and..." he mumbles something, but I can’t quite hear him, my eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What?”

He crosses his arms, his eyes not quite meeting mine as he leans in, speaking quietly. “I just want them to like me.”

“Oh, Javier. They’re coming all the way to Colombia for Christmas just to meet you. Trust me, they wouldn’t have made all of this effort if they didn’t like you. And besides-” I put a finger under his chin and tilt him to look at me “- I love you. There’s no way they won’t.”

His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth twitch slightly with a smile. “I love you too, querida.” He kisses me, soft lips and bristly mustache tickling at my skin before pulling back. “But this is stressing me out.” He kisses the top of my head before patting down his pockets and sliding out a pack of cigarettes. I let out a huff of disapproval when he fishes out his lighter.

“I thought you said you were quitting?”

He puts a cigarette in his mouth as he turns to walk to towards the door. “It will be my resolution, I promise querida.”

Author’s Notes: Natilla is a sweet custard that’s traditionally served during Christmas in Colombia. There’s many variations on it, but here’s one with coconut. Buñuelos are like a sweetish bread made with cheese, corn starch, and yuca flower that’s typically round/ball shaped and are pictured with the link I added with natilla. I could eat my weight in buñuelos. And yes, they have bagged milk in Colombia, I’ve seen it with my own eyes!

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21@gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry

[ladamedusoif]

Tomorrow I'm going to read and re-read all the lovely comments and reblogs on my @pickled-pena offering, and respond to everyone.

I can't thank the organisers enough for putting together the event. It was a really wonderful way to start 2024 in the fandom: introducing us to new writers and offering a fresh perspective on how the same prompts, character(s), and themes can produce such beautifully diverse responses. It's a great example of a creative writing exercise, and one that has not only produced gorgeous work but also brought people together.

(And boy, did I need that.)

I'm going to keep catching up with the submissions I've missed and the final masterlist is going to be the most delicious potluck in fic history.

Yours in pickling,

Rose.

[pedroshotwifey]

Y’all’s comments/reblogs on my Pickled Peña fic are killing me 😭 Thank you for the love!

[avastrasposts]

(last minute) WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @trulybetty !

I have a new WIP this week, part of the pickled Peña challenge that a bunch of us are doing. Check out @goodwithcheese post if you want to know more and join!

So this is a little snippet from my pickled Peña

“Daniels!” she yelled, making him startle and almost drop the five hundred dollar bottle of whisked he’d just grabbed. “We do not put JD Gold Medal in a fucking Jack and Coke,” she hissed at him as she took the bottle from his hand, “get a fucking grip, regular JD is just fine.”  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, grabbing the right bottle this time, pouring a much too generous measure into the glass as Eve rolled her eyes.  “Put this back on the shelf when you’re done,” she snapped, “Considering your name, I really thought you’d know more about Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels," she scoffed at him and went back to her section of the bar.  

I'm too tired to think of people to tag so consider yourself tagged and give me your WIP's!

(no side eyes 😪 I went to the ER today and got my hand stitched up with no anesthesia. It was only the one stitch but my body seems to think I went through major trauma and wants to fall asleep at 9 pm...)

[javierpena-inatacvest]

It's Never Too Late Masterlist

Summary: You are an elementary school teacher who just moved to Texas for a fresh start when you meet a very handsome man from the Laredo Sheriff's Department coming to give your class a presentation.

After your co-workers pull some strings for you to meet again, you and Javier Peña find yourselves falling head over heels for each other.

Story takes place post Narcos Season 3 in Laredo, Texas, starting May 1997.

Paring: Javier Peña x OFC (Reader is an elementary school teacher whose nickname is Osita, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+ chapters containing marked with * and each chapter will also have its own warnings), language, fluff, romantic comedy, reader has physical descriptions, Javi being so soft and getting all the love and affection he deserves, you two being the biggest weirdos so in love

Status: Ongoing

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list for new chapters as they come out! :)

Main Story:

Chapter 1: I D.A.R.E. You

Chapter 2: What's Cookin', Good Lookin'?

Chapter 3: I Wanna Be With You Everywhere*

Chapter 4: Add You To My List*

Chapter 5: You're The One That I Want*

Chapter 6: Dinosaurs, Dates and Diners, Oh My!*

Chapter 7: School's Out for Summer*

Chapter 8: My Favorite Cowboy*

Chapter 8.5: 007- Peña, Agent Peña*

Chapter 9: I Promise*

Chapter 10: Happy Birthday, Javi*

Pt. 1*

Pt. 2*

Chapter 11: Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago *

Chapter 12: I Love You. I Know. *

Chapter 13: There's No Place Like Home*

Chapter 14: Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas*

Chapter 15: She Shoots, She Scores*

Chapter 16: The Lone Star State*

Chapter 17: No Ifs, Ands, Or Butts*

Chapter 18: Hole in None*

Chapter 19: Good Luck, and Goodnight*

Chapter 20: I Do

Pt. 1*

Pt. 2*

Chapter 21: Paradise* (New 11/7!)

Spin-Off Series:

Forever and Always*: Slices of life following the Peña family after their first child

One Shots (In chronological order of the main storyline):

Movie Night*

Dirty Laundry*

Again*

You're My Home*

Not Yet*

Happy Valentine's Day, Javier Peña*

The Mouse and the Motorcycle

You Make Life Worth It

Take Me Home

Plaid Pajama Morning

Agent Peña*

Every Inch*

Soup for Breakfast

Whatever My Wife Wants*

Fever*

Oh, Baby

Insatiable*

Peanut Butter and Pickles

Sail Away

You Make Lovin' Fun*

Asks/Headcannons:

Javi and Osita before work

Javi's DEA Jacket

Javi's Tac Vest

Javi and Osita when they argue

Javi being distractingly cute

Javi when he's sick

Javi helping with Osita's pregnancy cravings

Osita when she's pregnant

Osita after a bad day at work

Javi coming home after work to his kids

Javi and Osita deciding how many kids they want

Javi and his daughters at the Eras Tour

Extras:

NSFW Alphabet- Javi and Osita*

1K Followers Celebration Asks and Answers

Never Too Late Playlist

Mood board

Timeline of NTL

[almostfoxglove]

AN END TO DROUGHT

written for @perotovar's offering of Frith

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Javier Peña x f!Reader GOD: Freyr God of fertility, harvests, and peace WORD COUNT: 5.4k CW: Smut (f!oral, m!oral, unprotected piv, creampie).

SUMMARY: The future of your family's homestead hangs in the balance as Javier Peña comes home in the middle of a drought.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

For two fortnights you’ve seen no rainfall. Not a single, silver drop. The orchard, rich with the stunted globes of pale apples not yet fully formed, withers browner every day. Leaves crisp and folded in prayer, the last-ditch desperation of dying fronds. You spend hours hauling well water to the rows of cropland on which your livelihood relies, but it isn’t enough. Each morning you wake to the sun rising phoenix-like on the horizon, hotter and more accusing than the day before.

You speak to the trees, the fledgling stone fruit, apologizing when there is no more water your body can carry, when the well runs dry. 

Six generations your family has raised apples like they raised their kin. 

Now it will die in this drought with you as its shepherd.

Hopeless in your waking, back throbbing, shoulders sore, you rise from your bed at the crack of a new dawn to the fragrance coaxed every Sunday by your mother’s slender hands. She is fragile now in that child-like way, skin thin and veins sapphire blue, hearing going, but sturdy, still, for you. Doesn’t matter that you’ve been grown for decades now, solely responsible for the farm and her mounting care—your mother bakes a pair of her grain-kissed boules every week without fail.

“There you are,” she says, when you are just two steps away. These days she cannot hear your footsteps on the stairs.

“Sit, now,” you say softly, slipping your hand over hers to take the bread knife, and with a soft tsk your mother surrenders before settling at the breakfast table.

You break bread together: salted butter swept glistening over the delicate crumb and sturdy crust, spoons of preserves canned the year before. Cinnamon and cloves, honey and stewed apples, wild pickled blueberries. It takes so long to notice the change in the air, but when you do it’s obvious—you aren’t sweating in the way you have for weeks. The house, once sweltering, has cooled ever so slightly. When you gaze out the windows into the orchard, the sky is no longer the blue you’ve come to resent, but a wash of cotton batting. 

Clouds. 

Your mother, thin wire glasses low on her nose, grins at your expression. 

“He’s home,” she says.

“Who?”

Her smirk is the same as you remember it being when you were a girl. “The Peña boy,” she says, lifting her bread slice to her mouth. “Weather always fixes itself when he comes ‘round.”

You hum beneath your breath. You can picture him only vaguely—lean and liquid, little more than a silhouette in the distance on the other side of the fence that cages your family’s property from his. His father you know better, see often. Spiced apple cider traded for horse manure or Chucho’s brawn. Twice this past winter he fixed your fence after a furious storm and asked for nothing but a loaf of your mother’s bread in return.

Javier you’ve not glimpsed in a decade give or take, if you’re remembering right. Moved somewhere south for duty’s dauntless call.

In the lullaby of easy silence, you finish your meal, rinse the dishes, and walk out into the fields with the second loaf in hand where overhead the sky is performing a miracle befitting the gods: letting out the first tender, forgiving drops of rain. Your body brightens as you watch it freckle and darken the starving, yellowed earth. 

A caw, something of a laugh, shocks loose from your chest—delight, pure in its relief.

Tracing the aisles of death-bed apple trees, you sweep your fingertips along their trunks. Water pools in the green spades turned to spoons for liquid crystal. The precipitation for which you’ve longed and begged and prayed: here, at last, to save the grange.

The rain picks up. Forceful in its abundance, peppering the sandy earth. Soon your boots stick as you walk between trees, dirt becoming mud, so you shield the boule beneath the leaf of your buttoned shirt.

At the end of the orchard, the log fence stands and the grass grows tall and clover-riddled, purple thistles starved yellow in the heat. You stride towards the fence, far beyond which the Peña house stands white and shingled, framed by the umbrellas of old oak trees that border the meadows in which their herd of equines laze back and forth, grateful as you for the merciful change in weather. It is beautiful here, though it’s easy to forget when all the season brings is wilting. 

You hear him before you see him: a quiet, clicking tongue. 

Then a mare picks up her cantor, spurred forth by Javier—indeed returned, wide in the shoulders and dark hair slicked by rain, out forty feet or so—tanned skin made gold around his eyes by yellow aviators, periwinkle shirt undone a button too low. More handsome than you remember, but it’s been a long time. 

Your mother was right: it seems he brought the rain home with him.

As you come to a stop near the fence, tall grass clinging to your calves, his head turns slowly in your direction. Jaw working over something—gum, if you had to guess. You lift your free hand, show him your open palm, and he takes a last look at the horse before sauntering your way.

Like you, he’s undisturbed by the rain. No shelter-seekers here; you’re grateful enough to bathe in any storm. Come hell or high water—isn’t that how the saying goes? You’d swim any flash flood after all this unending dearth, drink any tidal wave.

“Heard you were home,” you call out over the pebbling downpour, watching his broad hand rake through his hair. 

Much more handsome than you remember, the nearer he strides. Unhurried, Javier lifts his sunglasses off to slip into his shirt pocket and even from some way off you don’t miss the path of his brown eyes as he takes you in. Against your better judgment, the hungry stripe of his gaze flips something low in your stomach, something needy. 

He stops just shy of his side of the fence, no more than an arm’s length away, as the splatter of kind weather kicks up the earth’s perfume. 

“This morning,” he admits, his voice all gravel and mead. Low and heady, a little sweet. Not shy—his eyes drop again, this time to your stomach where you’re holding the bread beneath your shirt. Sort of useless now—the rain’s too strong to save it—so you draw it out, flashing him by accident a glimpse of your bare stomach where his gaze stays pinned. 

Then, bread rising in your hand, seeded crust glistening as it speckles wet, his eyes at last leave you to follow it. “Ma thinks you brought the rain,” you say, not bothering to hide your smirk.

The corner of his mouth pulls into his cheek. “That so?”

You shrug, loaf held like a waitress’ tray not yet offered. “Accordin’ to her.”

To your surprise you see in his eyes what appears to be timidity—perhaps bashful to be given credit for the sudden end to the wrecking drought he’s no doubt heard about. With a sweep of your arm, you present the bread in your outstretched hand and one dark brow rises high on his head. 

“Before it’s drenched,” you insist, and Javier takes it, smile lopsided and pretty. 

Above the chuffing sound of a horse grazing on the trampled grass, the sky splits like a seam and sunlight cuts through the cloud’s white cover, throwing down a ribbon of yellow that licks the stables. 

Javier tilts the bread in his hands, inspecting the ear, the crust. Flashes those dark eyes back at you, exacting and tender at the same time.

“Our way of saying thanks,” you say, already stepping backward, toward the apple trees. “Neighbor.”

The rain doesn’t stop for three days—just long enough to wash the ash of long-snuffed forest fires from the orchard’s leaves. When the sun returns whole and yolk-gold to the sky, it brings heat of a kinder type. Warm for the growing things but barbless in its licking flame. You swear in just three nights the orchard lifts itself from its stupor—broadens, stretches, unfurls new leaves. 

Your mother bakes like she’s got an army to feed and doesn’t wait till Sunday to do it. 

“Take them, take them,” she insists, as fragile in stature as she is adamant in tone. Such a small, hunched little thing. “Least we can do.”

“Ma,” you sigh, powerless to her persistence, how she rests the arched handle of a basket in your hand for you to take. “You don’t seriously think he—”

She tuts softly, shoos you with one pallid hand before re-knotting the bow of her apron behind her back. “Just be grateful,” she says. “S’only right.”

Might as well be a girl again because here you are, obedient. Carrying the basket of seeded bread across the grass, between reborn apple trees, the fragrant orchard rows that days ago seemed doomed to die. Your heart thuds, surrendering itself to gratitude. Suppose it doesn’t hurt anything to take the Peñas bread.

Javier’s out in the pasture cleaving a rotten log from a sunken fence panel with an axe. White t-shirt translucent and clinging to the muscle that banks his back, he heaves the blade down with a biting crack and a grunt. Your footsteps give you away—he straightens as you hop the fence between your properties and land on his side, halting his rhythmic swinging.

As he turns, face halved by the shadow of an oak looming overhead, eyes squinting to make you out in the light, Javier cocks an eyebrow, dimple winking in his cheek.

“Neighbor,” he says, unabashed, now, in his lingering gaze. Dark curls cling to his temples and forehead, licked by sweat, across which he wipes the back of his forearm before setting the axe down against the fence.

Growing up on adjoining farms never sowed friendship between you—you’d estimate you’ve exchanged no more than a couple hundred words in damn near four decades—but there is in Javier a certain familiarity. A sense of him fitting into the landscape, reliable as an oak always looming in the distance. As constant as these valleys and hills, as the house beyond his muscled shoulder. Never something to acquaint yourself with, but something to rely upon.

Peculiar to stand before him now—twice in the same week—exchanging words.

You hold out the basket, linen cloth folded neatly over the boules. Javier, eyeing you suspiciously, takes one cautious step toward you with his hands on his narrow hips, peering down at your offering. His eyes flicker beyond you to your house and though you don’t look back you’d bet the whole season’s harvest that your mother is standing on the porch, watching. Guaranteeing you hand off the gift as she’s asked, like you aren’t well past grown.

Amused, he hums low and quiet. “For me?” he muses, knowing the answer, and when you roll your eyes he only smirks. Pleased, maybe teasing you.

You squint at him—glistening, all sinew and bated breath. Your mother’s mind may be failing in that drawn out, terrible way—hearing fading, her logic a little swimmy—but standing this close to Javier you can’t blame the woman for mistaking him for a god. 

“Just take it,” you say, betrayed by the curl of your lips. “She won’t let me back in the house ‘till you do.”

This time as he slips the gift from your hand to his, Javier sweeps his fingertips against your open palm, sending a sparkle of heat up the length of your arm. You watch him peel the frond of cloth back, unveiling the golden tithe as you drop your arm at your side. When he inhales slow and deep you can smell it too, that redolent unfurling of warmth. Hypnotic, despite its familiarity. Hypnotic, too, is the breadth of his chest as he takes that long, indulgent breath, thin fabric slick to his damp, lithe form. 

“She really think I brought the rain?” he asks, frowning a little. Watching you like he knows you’re watching him. Each of you sizing the other up, scrambling to build opinions of someone who’s only ever been a figure across the lush trees and grass. 

Did you once lose a kite to one of their oak trees? You think you might remember a young, rawboned Javier climbing a web of gnarled branches to fish it free, delivering it safely to where you waited on your side of the fence. Yes, you can see it now—that lazy, one-sided smile on his boyish face, the sun-bleached kite, and the relief of its homecoming to your trembling hand. 

Three decades older he is no less honest in the way he awaits your reaction.

“Or she’s messing with me,” you admit. “I never know anymore.”

His scoff triggers yours—a brief, quiet chuckle in the remains of a salvaged summer. Javier shrugs and yes, you think he catches the way your eyes skirt briefly to his shoulders because his jaw ticks, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his tongue against his front teeth. He turns his head in the direction of their house, sees no sign of Chucho, same as you. A low hm sound rattles from his chest.

You’d swear the sun flares a little hotter when he returns his gaze to you.

“If it rains again,” Javier says, his voice swooping to a deeper shade. “What will you bring me?”

You cross your arms. “I think you can count on the bread indefinitely.”

“Don’t mean her—I mean you.”

Traitorous, your heart: how it speeds, skips a note or two in its once steady pattern. “I don’t think you brought the rain,” you tell him. “Just timing.”

When he narrows his eyes, his crow’s feet swallow them. Mustache quirking, pink tongue darting over his bottom lip. “Call it hypothetical,” he says, and you’re not sure if you were standing quite this close just a moment before, if one of you has moved and if so, which. 

Hunger rarely devours you in any of its forms. A life spent in service of harvests leaves little excess to spend. Yet it stirs unmistakably, low and begging, at the sound of Javier’s gruff voice and the graceful way he pins your eyes to his mouth with every tiny movement of his lips. He doesn’t have to smile for you to feel him smirking—a fact alone that feels somehow mythic in its dominion, its quiet, unassuming power. All of him marble-sleek and solid, the image of virile beauty. It almost feels like a shame to think you’ve seldom stood this close before.

You jut your chin to the sky—that blue untouched by a single cloud—and shake your head. “It’s not going to rain,” you say, steadfast in your certainty. “Not anytime soon.”

“And if it does.” He doesn’t say it like a question—rather, an inevitability—which is to say you hear his real meaning: and when it does.

Head shaking, cheeks set aflame, you once more roll your eyes, this time turning back to return to your side of the fence. Over your shoulder you call out, “If it rains this week, I’ll bring whatever you like.”

For six days there’s nothing but sun. You watch the apples blush on their branches, those first pinkish stripes that promise a red and sugared fruit. Autumn will bring spices and cider, days and weeks and months of fermentation, of watching fruit turn liquid and then to gold. This stretch of summer is make or break for the harvest to come: the right weather now can mean perfection or a crying shame.

All week you watch Javier at such a distance he appears as only a tiny, charcoal figure roaming the fields, hauling lumber and picking up the far-off slack.

Yet often when you do, you think his head looks to be already angled in your direction. Impossible to know for sure in the blazing light and with so much land between you, but you’d take that bet. You’re pretty sure he’s watching you too.

You’re sure, also, that you’re right about the weather. At the dawn of the seventh day the skies look no less blemished than they have all week. Doesn’t look at all like it’s going to rain.  To your surprise, you’re a little disappointed, but the feeling passes.

You push out into the orchards, tend to the lifelong task of keeping everything verdant and alive. Sweet is the air at this early, fragile hour in which the birds are just now waking, filling the world with their jubilee. Sky pink at the horizon, white overhead, you spend the morning gloating to no one but the trees—you were right, and Javier was wrong. He’s going to lose.

Lose what, you aren’t sure, but when midday breaks golden and ripe, Javier appears in the tall grass, hand steadied on the neck of a tobiano as he and the creature walk between gated pastures, and his face turns in your direction, catches you drinking icy cider on the porch while you catch your breath between tasks. 

This time when he catches your gaze, he lifts his free hand, forefinger spearing up at the sky. Too far to call out to each other, you have no way of asking what the gesture is for, so you step down from the croaking porch into the crabgrass and look up.

There hang, above you, newborn wisps. Clouds ashy at their bellies.

But clouds are just clouds. They aren’t rain.

The reckoning comes an hour later. 

You dismiss the first, shy drop. A fluke, a fleeting blip of your imagination. Then the second: clear and wet on your forearm. Then a third. Soon it’s unavoidable—above you gray has gathered like dust bunnies beneath a couch, the bright summer shaded by the weather’s impossible will—and the rain that falls is not a patter, not a whisper, but a stony fist fight. The kind of rain that comes sweeping and determined, that has something to prove. 

It’s like autumn has taken the stage two months too early. Childlike in its eagerness to command your attention—a downpour harsh and giving. 

You emerge at the end of an arbored aisle to see Javier cut stoic against the shaded sky just shy of the boundary between your properties, chest wide and proud, just as drenched by the onslaught of rain but not fazed in the slightest. Too cavalier to smile but its essence hangs in the air between you, silver as any raindrop, unmistakable in meaning. He nods in the direction of a stable not far from the first shelter of elder oaks and without a word or invitation lopes off toward it, so fluid in his lazy strides, legs a little bowed and no small bit solid, hugged tight by denim that might as well be painted on.

You are following before your mind can think to.

You are hopping the fence.

You are dashing for the shadowed stable after him.

Breathless, hair kelped to your cheeks, clothes more water than textile, you cannot at first make out the stable’s interior, eyes not yet adjusted to the shift in light, ears booming with its cacophony. “Okay,” you say to the darkness in which Javier must be standing, blinking fast, wiping the rain from your eyes. “You got really fuckin’ lucky. What do you want?”

Embers warm in your chest—the first fronds of new wanting. You know what you hope he’ll say.

A flash of movement as your eyes adapt: Javier’s tanned arms reaching for you. His broad hands frame your face and you are not yet surefooted as he, swept up in his sudden, steady embrace. You hear yourself laugh over the barrage outside, silenced only by the blackness in his eyes—all that warmth and brown swallowed by his pupils. Your hands cuff his wrists, holding him to holding you without hesitation. 

It should be awkward, this first real meeting of your bodies. How Javier steps up to press the length of his torso to yours, sly in the subtle turn of his lips as he breathes one quiet word: You. But it isn’t. He slots his lips to yours like kissing you is just another step in his languid stride, graceful and planned, his arms dragging you against his steady frame. The softness of his mouth a welcome surprise. Dizzy on the first swipe of his begging tongue, you’re entirely unaware of Javier walking you backward until your shoulder blades hit the stable wall.

What a gift it is to be kissed and kiss with one’s whole body. Javier licks hotly into your mouth, sucking sweetly on your tongue or bottom lip depending on his whim, hands holding you flush to the fire of him. When he moves to your jaw, the soft flesh of your ear, you are a candle never before lit, touched a thousand times wrongly and made finally right.

Javier mumbles something lost under the bellowing tempest. Every raindrop riots on the sheeted roof. 

“What?” you pant, eyelids heavy with lust. Your shirt hangs open, as does his, both unbuttoned though you’d not noticed their undoing. Now visible in the gray light is the bronze of his freckled chest, the dark hair drawn from his navel to the waistband of his jeans.

You’d stare, but Javier then laps at the hollows of your neck, drinks rain from the dip in your collarbone, and you hum softly, entranced by his touch, eyes fluttering closed. He moves his lips closer to your ear. “Perfect,” he repeats, before his mouth is lost once more to the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your chest.

Meanwhile the path of your hands draws a symphony from him: low grunts and breathy huffs and, when your fingertips trace the hair on his stomach to graze his jeans, an earthy moan sweeter than any rainfall after any summer. 

Javier cants his hips against yours like he’s making a promise.

How sublime, the wet ask of his tongue down your stomach as he falls to his knees. 

Though he—after catching your eye, fingers frozen over the fly of your shorts until you nod—is the one to strip the layers from you first, you aren’t certain which of you is the one who’s praying, only that the reverence hangs heavy as a heatwave in the humid air.

Your head falls back against the stable wall. All but the roar of the storm is lost beyond your panting bodies as Javier kneels at the altar of you, shelves one of your legs on his shoulders, and laps hungrily from your aching heat. The pledge of his mouth sucks the air from you—your hands fly to the laurel of his hair, bathed locks slipping between your fingers as you clench and throb and tug, hardly conscious of the whimpers you let out in the wake of his tending.

Dutiful, he brings you gasping to the brink of some new chasm. Tongue expert in its tracing, circling, slipping, driving. Lifts his face to smirk just before you fall, dark stache glossy with your need and eyes blown black, and perhaps you’d be annoyed if Javier looked arrogant at all, but his confidence appears to you only assured. Resolute in his wanting. As if the world would have to come to a sudden, gasping end for his concentration to falter at all.

“Like that?” Javier asks, perhaps as winded as you. Genuine, you think, in his asking, though he must know.

You’re not sure if you remember how to nod or speak, but your hips buck on their own accord, desperate for him to see this through. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, his thick fingers squeezing your hips. “Think you do.”

Then his grin vanishes as he resumes and all at once you are tumbling, swept away in a landslide and earthquake at the same time as he slips two fingers into you, coaxing a rush of pleasure into his mouth. You might cry out his name, but the sound is lost to the din of the deluge.

When next you catch your breath, Javier is standing, denim wet and straining against the swell of his length. Hesitation is no longer a word you know or hold, already greedy for his taste, so you urge your mouth to his and lap the taste of yourself from his tongue, fingers busy with freeing him, the slick peeling of his jeans. You fall without realizing you’re falling, sunken to the ground with Javier’s cock heavy and throbbing in your hand. 

He might whine when your tongue flickers sweetly against his weeping head—but there’s no mistaking the desperate groan dug loose from the earth of Javier’s chest as you bring the whole of him into the furnace of your mouth, wet and tight and willing. Your moan sends a shiver through his body, then Javier’s hand shoots out fast as a gunshot, palm slamming into the wall to keep himself from toppling. 

“Shit—” he gasps, and you look up at him through dewy lashes to find his eyes have closed, lips swollen and jaw hanging open. 

Again, you hum. Make a game of the stroke and slide and swallowing that makes him quiver until it’s too good, too good, too close baby and he pulls you off him, drool slugging down your chin. His cock aching, surely, when you nuzzle your cheek against it, tempted to take it in your throat again. But you smile as he plummets to meet you on the ground, then swoon when he lays you out on the topsoil not yet drenched by the rain. 

“Wanna feel you first,” Javier murmurs, petting the hair back from your face, lapping the spit from your chin with his tongue before he unites it with yours. Lips plush, more tender than you expect amidst his fervor, the kind of kissing you can’t help but lose yourself to. You think you’d kiss him the rest of the day, through any night. Brows pinching when he pulls away, cupping the blaze of your burning cheeks with the palm of his hand, thumb swept across your upper lip as he gazes down at you with adoration.

“Need to fill you,” he groans. “Don’t I, hm? Dime, baby.”

Thighs spread to make room for him in the bowl of your hips, you pull him over you by the shoulders until he blankets you, covering all but a sliver of the rain-rich sky visible through the stable’s entrance, and the oak tree’s canopy lashing in the fevered gale.

Is his shirt below you now, somehow? You think it must be—spread carefully to protect your needy flesh.

“Yes,” you breathe, as Javier kneels between your legs, fisting the base of his cock. “Yes, yes.”

A grin, but not of ego—he is only pleased. Pious in his watching the way breath shudders in your chest. Javier nods, brow dented low and serious, curls black with water and plastered to his face, and pumps himself once, then takes your ankles in his hands. Sets them flat on the ground, bending both your knees to frame him. Hands butterflied and wide, tracing the slant of your thighs to the bend of your hips like all of a sudden he has all the time in the world. 

Maybe you do. It almost feels like you do. 

Like this might not be a spell that breaks with the end of the rain.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I know,” you breathe.

With both hands Javier lifts your hips from the ground and pulls you toward him until your core presses against the underside of his cock. He hmphs, transfixed by this silken meeting, and thrusts his hips once, gently, rubbing himself between your folds. You whimper at the friction, cunt fluttering, begging. 

Javier clicks his tongue as you claw at his forearms, hips pitching in his hold to ask for more, and this time there is perhaps a drop of pride in his cunning gaze. Glad to be the one you stir for, the one you choose.

“Needs me, hm?” he coos.

You paint the air between you with his name.

“I know,” he murmurs, guiding himself to you now, nudging his tip against your clit once, twice, then notching.

Then rhapsody. The urging in and dragging out, the sweet perfection of Javier inside you, taking space that now seems like it was made for him from the start. “Fuck,” you hear yourself say, more breath than voice, and Javier grits his teeth as he feeds his cock to you slowly, throbbing and whole.

“So soft,” he grunts, resolve slipping—his hips snap against yours on the next thrust and you yelp from the bliss of it. Teeth bared above you, Javier yanks you flush against his slender hips, buried to the hilt as he tries to catch his breath. “Shit, baby.”

Thighs clamping around his waist, you writhe, plant your palms on his sternum, desperate for more. 

“Javi,” you plea, and in a flash Javier spreads his hands over your hamstrings, pins your thighs to your stomach, and bends over you, fucking you into the ground.

Your teeth bump when he moves to kiss you, then he tilts his head and it’s all saccharine again: his tongue lapping sweetly into your mouth, mustache scraping against your cupid’s bow. Like this, the angle is exquisite. So deep it’s like he’s everywhere, stretching you out and stringing you taut and Javier must feel it too because he starts to grind, the thatch of dark hair at the base of his stomach rubbing against your clit as he grazes his teeth along the underside of your jaw.

“That’s it,” he mumbles. “Damelo, baby, quiero sentirte.”

You shatter, or bloom, you can’t totally decide. Exaltation in a single moment, your whole body electric in its trembling, clenching, gasping. Javier falters only when your body comes down from its high, emboldened to move again. Folded as you are, you can only whine and moan and sparkle as he once more takes up a rhythm. Smooth and hot as cider on a cold night, his cock glistening with your need as he pulls out and presses in, patient again.

“Perfect,” he prays.

It’s possible that this is heaven.

You don’t know when it stopped, but the skies have quieted. A lick of sunlight casts into the stables and falls over the expanse of Javier’s back and shoulders as he rocks into you again and again and again. Hand weaving into the curls at the nape of his neck, you hold him to you as his pace begins to stutter.

Javier licks the column of your throat, purring against your neck, “Lo quieres, baby? Hm?”

“Yes,” you tell him, one arm winding around his shoulders. “Deep.”

He kisses you once, then pulls back just enough to watch your face, his own lust-tense and sneering as his high builds and climbs. You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip, tell him to let go, and he is beautiful—lit copper and gold by summer’s warmth as he drops his forehead to yours.

Perfect in his promise, Javier offers all to you, fills you wholly, his body tense and then unraveling. His weight drops onto you properly as he paints your cunt with his seed. When you grunt he lifts just enough to free your legs without leaving your heat, and you lock your ankles over the small of his back.

Javier nuzzles his nose to yours.

You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, but when you’re standing again, his hands guides your weakened legs back into your shorts. You button each other’s shirts instead of your own. 

Outside the stables, the earth sings petrichor, grateful for the fleeting flood. Across the fence beyond the tall grass your orchard sparkles, glittered with rain as you stand beneath the oak tree gazing out in gratitude. Javier’s hand ghosts over your spine and you feel a rash of goosebumps break out as if he’s once more touched your skin. 

His breath is warm against your hair, the apple of your cheek. “Don’t wait for rain next time,” he whispers, then slinks off regal and graceful as a wildcat, clicking his tongue to call out the horses to the pastures now marbled with loam.

It doesn’t rain again for weeks, but you go to him anyway, hopping the fence that cradles your homes to seek his arms.

moodboard by @perotovar & dividers by @saradika-graphics

tag list & some mutuals:

@thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @tuquoquebrute @thundermartini

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @jessthebaker

@burntheedges @studioghibelli @la-eterna-enamorada29 @goodgirlwannabe @guiltyasdave

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @pedgito

@jolapeno @pastelpinkflowerlife @ak-vintage @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours

[jolalibrary]

"I don't" you took his face in your hands, brushed your lips on his and smiled "You're a catch, Javier Peña, I'm keeping you to myself"

my heart thisssss! this was so cute and I always love reading a happy!Javi!!!! 🥹🩷

All the roads lead to a jar of pickles | Pickled Peña

summary: Javier keeps finding promises to make every New Year's Eve

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

warnings: fluff, alusions to smut, mentions of narcos, no use of y/n, just javi being so in love and receiving the love he deserves

word count: 4k (yeah i got carried away

IMPORTANT: English is not my first language, i've done my best with grammar but there will be mistakes (fuck prepositions i hate them), so pls overlook those

an: this is a one shot to the @pickled-pena writing challenge! i was super excited to write this and it was indeed a challenge since tumblr decided to delete what i wrote twice, but i loved to participate. also, i procrastinated and literally wrote this right before posting to no lose tbe deadline (not proud, but i made it

hope you enjoy it!

Javier didn't use to be a man to make many promises. He made a few during the years, promises like quit smoaking, clearing Colombia from cocaine, to take care of himself for his mother on her deathbed; he didn't keep any of them. It wasn't like he didn't try, though, Javier was a man of word, things just went out of his control: he did arrest Los Pepes, but the traffic of coke was at full stem ahead even without them, consuming the country, ruining and taking lives of innocent people; it was logical to imagine that taking care of himself was more under his control, but honestly, Javier didn't even know how to do that anymore, his life going south for so long it felt like changing wasn't a possibility.

He still had his father, and living with him back in the ranch again definitely had Javier in the most healthy state of his life that time. His return to Laredo caused quite the commotion, him abandoning Lorraine in the alter was never forgotten, but being part of the chasing of Escobar got him in Laredo's good grace again, he was a hero after all. He hated all of it: the praises and congratulations he didn't deserve, the back pattings and hugs that invaded his personal space, the audacity the people had to 'forgive' him, as if they were people whose opinion he valued.

It's not like he wasn't used to it, he was born and raised there and small towns had small towns' issues, but that didn't mean it didn't piss him off still. His big, nosy family was a part of it, all over his head asking "what was his plan now that he was back home", about "getting a girlfriend to become a wife and finally have kids", because "he wasn't getting any younger" and "was the only single cousin". It was like all his concerns were thrown in his face. He loved them, they were all he had left, but god, didn't they make him feel like shit. Because he had accomplished nothing in forty years, and it was clear that every person around him could notice that too.

The coming of a new year was another reminder of that. During his years in Colombia, he didn't do much other than a dinner with Steve and Connie, neither of them was in the mood of anything fancy at that time, and when they left the country, he simply worked or, in the best scenario, slept. In Laredo, though, his family wouldn't miss an opportunity to throw a party.

"What are your resolutions for the next year, Javi?" his cousin asked.

They both were in the kitchen, the task to cut pickles in very thin, even slices given to them by one of their aunts. Javi stopped his work with the knife to not lose a finger as he side eyed his cousin.

"Don't look at me like that!" she laughed "I'm asking you a question"

"What do you mean?"

"Resolutions, Javi" she rolled her eyes "Like your wishes for the next year"

"You mean, like, manifesting? Are you into that shit?" he couldn't hide the frown on his face.

"No, Javier, not manifesting, even though there's nothing wrong with that" she gave him an irritated look "You write down what you would like to change in yourself, to be a better person next year"

"Is that your way to say that I'm an asshole, prima?" he narrowed his eyes at her and she laughed loudly.

"Well, not just that" she shrugged "I like to do that every year, helps me to keep focused in what I want. And I see the look in your eyes, Javi" she wore a sympathetic smile as her hands caressed his "You have dreams you want to chase, why not start by that?"

A loud scream made them both jump in their places, a tiny human coming through the kitchen threshold with his hands thrown up in the air.

"Mijo" she laughed at the child's prank and the boy giggled.

His cousin had been married for almost ten years by then, a little boy and one girl on the way. Her being younger than him and having accomplished his dreams made a claw made of jelousy wrap its nails around his throat.

Javier wanted a wife, he wanted to marry someone he loved, he wanted to build a family of his own, he just was focused on the wrong things at the wrong time.

So he decided to start with something that should be simple, only one promise to himself: to meet someone in the coming year.

It should have, didn't mean it was, though. It was scary, he found out, to get to know someone after so long, especially at a small town where he knew almost everyone. Javier never had problems to get laid, but most of the woman he hooked up with didn't really seem interested in more than that, after a while it started to feel like a him problem. That being said, Javier didn't know how to start, so the next time another cousin of his said that he would really get along with a co-worker he had, he finally accepted.

The date was... awkward, to say the least. They went to the most popular restaurant in Laredo, every person there looking at him the whole evening; she didn't seem to mind the attention, but Javier did. He tried to make conversation, to ask about her interests, to compliment her, but he was as rusty as a cheap aluminum pot left in the rain for months, years, in his case. She would ask a lot about him, too, but not his hobbies or what he liked to hear on the radio, she would ask about Escobar, how was it like to catch bad guys, if he still had his gun. Javier tried to change the subject, but she would insist on talking about Colombia. She was curious, it was normal, he was used to it, but what a damn turn off it was. Javier felt like being in an interview, the atmosphere heavier and heavier as the questions were getting more and more personal, and by the first hour of the date, he was wishing he was at home.

Javier had this happening before, during his time chasing Los Pepes, the media would be all over him asking all sorts of questions, work related or not, and he hated it. If she wasn't an acquaintance of his cousin, he would even consider her being a fucking journalist, because it was not normal to act like that with someone you had just met.

So after that, Javier was pretty dismotivated to continue his chasing, but his family had already found out he was giving love a chance and wouldn't leave him alone. Apparently, there were many "young women" interested in Javier, according to his aunts. Javier wasn't really comfortable being putten in that position again, but decided to give it a try - few tries, actually. Blide dates were exhaustive and the most of them very unpleasant. In a blink of eyes, it was New Year's Eve again and Javier was still not in a relationship, another failed promise in his mind.

"Well, your plan was to meet someone, and technically you met, like, twenty new women. I would call it a success" Javier rolled his eyes at his cousin's attempt to cheer him up.

"There must be something very wrong with me" he sighed and she pouted.

"Don't say that, Javi! All of them wanted to go on a date with you, you were the one to reject them"

"I know, but- I don't know" he scratched his chin "They all looked at me as if I saved the world, and it's not like that, you know it's not"

She moved the newborn to her other side and sitted closer to him in the couch settled outside the house where they had been chatting for the last hour. Javier looked at the baby in her arms and felt his throat tighten.

"You think so little of yourself, Javi" all her attention was on him, but his eyes didn't meet hers "I know you didn't "save the world", but you tried to make a difference and gave your best to do so, you can't reject a girl just because she admires you"

Javier had done things terrible enough for the good ones to be irrelevants, had let shit happen when he should have tried to stop them, and he had told her that, not in details, but she was the only person beside him and Steve to know, and still thought he was a good person. And yeah, maybe he wasn't so bad after all, but he imagined letting one of those women inside, their eyes shining with pride, letting himself love her, feeling safe enough to tell her about everything and her never seeing him the same way, giving up on him because of his baggage, he knew he would if he could, so how could he put such a burden upon someone's shoulders? Who would want that?

"But I understand, I think" she spoke again, her free hand patting his shoulder "It must feel strange having someone knowing so much about you and you knowing nothing about them. Maybe you shouldn't go on these shitty arranged dates and find someone on your on"

"Yeah, I think you're right" he took her hand in his and gave her knuckes a light peck "Thank you"

"Mijo" Chucho's head appeared on the frame of the door "Would you do me a favor?"

"Of course, Pops" he stood up.

"Your aunts forg-" he was interrupted by shoutings coming from the kitchen:

"You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?" was the voice of one of his aunts "Strolling through the corridors looking for fruitcakes when it's not even the season anymore!"

"You leave my fruitcakes alone!" another aunt shouted back "I don't hear you complaining when you're eating them!"

Javier looked at his father with his brows raised in curiosity, and the old man sighed "Your aunts forgot the jar of pickles, would you mind driving to the tienda?"

"No, I don't"

Most of the commerces were already closed at that time of the evening, but the tienda was the one place everyone in Laredo could count to be open at any time. The owners greeted him when he passed through the door, trying to small talk, and he turned them down the nicer way he could, wishing them a happy new year and going straight to the aisle he was supposed to. He heard the sound of broken glass followed by cursings coming from further in the store and found you staring miseraly at a burst jar of pickles on the floor, the vinegar smell all over the air and a basket full of groceries supported on your hip.

"You okay?" you looked up at him and he felt the the wind knocked out of him; you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.

"I am, yeah, that isn't" you pointed to the jar and he smiled.

Probably imagining what had happened by the noise, a man quickly showed up with a broom and a cloth to clear it up. You apologized profusely, saying that you could clean it up yourself while the man said it was no problem.

Javier looked at you one more time and left to get what he went there for. He had never seen you in the city before, and it wasn't like he was out of the ranch often - he tried very much not to -, but you should've been new there; the conversation with his cousin still fresh in his head. When he got to the dill pickles aisle, he shouldn't be surprised that you appeared in the other end of it, you had just dropped your jar after all.

"Hi again" you smiled as you walked towards him and he smiled back.

He felt something very similar to shyness creeping in his stomach "Hi"

"Just getting another one of this since mine decided this life just wasn't for him" you raised your hand and said your name.

"Javier" the handshake lingered a little longer than one normally would, your skin soft against his.

He saw the way you looked at him with interest, he should've asked you out. He should've, you were pretty, were his type and, if new in town, probably knew nothing about him. He should've, but he didn't. Thinking once then twice if he could've been reading it wrong, if you were just being nice and in the possibility to make you uncomfortable asking you out after exchanging two sentences in an aisl store. So he just took a jar, said goodbye, and left.

But something inside of him told him that you, with your bright smile and little jokes, could be the one. So he promised to himself to ask you out the next time he saw you.

And he did. After that day, he would go to the city every chance he had. He told his father he would start doing the groceries so he could rest. Chucho didn't buy that, but did nothing about it, he knew his son, so he knew better than to ask, when he wanted to talk to him, he would. It took a couple of months for him to see you again, in the most unexpected place he could think of. He had taken his father to an appointment in Houston, strolling around to pass the time when he saw you inside a café. His eyes widened and he was quick to move out of your sight before you saw him.

He was anxious, but he had been waiting for an opportunity for months and couldn't let it slide away again. Javier took a deep breath and entered the shop, a bell upon his head announcing his entrance. He pretended not to see you, going straight to the counter to ask for a coffee; he didn't want you thinking he was a stalker or something. While waiting for his drink, Javier would take glances in your direction, you sitted three tables away from him, an open book and a mug on the table before you. With his coffee in hands, he looked around and locked eyes with you, who smiled and waved at him. Even though there were plenty of unoccupied tables, Javier took confident steps towards yours.

"Mind if I join?" the smile you gave him made his skin prickle.

"Not at all" you marked a page in the book and closed it as he took a seat in the chair in front of you.

"I haven't seen you in a while" was his subtle attempt to start a conversation.

"Were you looking for me?" you rested your forearms on the table and lightly leaned in his direction.

Javier smirked, was that you flirting, or was he really that rusty? "I was, yeah"

"Good to know" you smiled again "I travel a lot for work, haven't really been in Laredo"

Before he could ask what you did for work, you asked what he was doing in Houston, so he told you about his father's semester appointment that was only available there, and that made you ask about Chucho's health, and then about the trip, since it was a very long one, but he told you he liked driving and used to do that with his parents a lot, which lead to talking about families, you said you weren't really close to yours, the conversation flowing with neither of you seeing the time pass. It was you the one to bring him back to reality, asking which time he was supposed to get Chucho in the hospital and making him realise that he was already late.

"Javier" you said as he quickly stood up to leave "I don't know if I'm reading this wrong, I really hope I'm not and I'm sorry if I am but-"

"Would you like to go out with me sometime?" the words left his mouth before without hesitation.

Your brows raised in surprised, but your smile could have brightened a whole galaxy "God, yes"

He called you the next day, not wanting to wait a minute longer than what he thought wasn't giving desperation. You set the date for the next week, when you would already be back in Laredo. He went to pick you up and got once more mesmerized by the sight of you; you laughed and affectionately squeezed his arm when he told you that. Javier took you to his favorite restaurant in the city, a cozy little place with delicious food his parents used to take him when his mother was still alive. The two of you talked the whole night: he found out that you were a photographer, had moved to Laredo a few months ago planning on settling down "I'm getting too old for all that traveling, and the house's prices are good" was what you told him. Your favorite food was mexican, you weirdly liked the smell of gasoline and wet soil, loved listening to music, still had your grandparents in your hometown so you visited often, wanted to have a dog but couldn't with your schedule, always dreamt of being a mother. You asked so much about him, too. Not the type of questions he was used to being asked, you tried to know him by asking about his childhood, more details about his parents because they seemed to have had such a beautiful love, if he had traveled out of Laredo before, which got him telling you he was a former DEA agent in Colombia, and he saw the curiosity in your eyes, he waited for the questions about that to come, but instead you just said you've had always wanted to visit South America. Years later, when he mentioned tour first date, you would tell him that you knew what was happening in Colombia at that time and that you knew better than to ask what could be invasive questions.

When you couldn't stay in the restaurant anymore because they had to close, Javier still didn't want the night to end, but drove you to your house still. As he took you to your door and wished you a goodnight, ready to leave, you held his upper arm and gave him a light peck on the lips. As if something snapped inside of him, Javier didn't give you the time to even open your eyes before his mouth were against yours again, tongues dancing together as if they already knew one another and had done this before, hands passing through each others bodies. When you asked him to go inside, he hesitated.

"I don't want you to think that's all I want" he vocalized his concerns.

"I don't" you took his face in your hands, brushed your lips on his and smiled "You're a catch, Javier Peña, I'm keeping you to myself"

Javier took his time with you, kissing every inch of your body, having you giggling and moaning and writhing under his touch. Unhurriedly making you his between wet kisses and moans and screams of his name. He would've stayed connected to your body for the rest of his life if he could've, but your agenda was booked for the rest of the year and all he could have was a couple of weeknds a month and long night's phone calls. But Javier took all you gave him without complaints, even though he missed you so much his chest tighted. He missed your smile, your laughter, your body next to his, your fingers through his hair, your kisses to wake him up in the morning, the way his name souded on your lips when he was inside of you, the weight of your head resting on his chest, the way your right leg would twine between his when you slept. The man was head over heels for you and knew you felt the same, all those nights the both of you cried on the phone, sick of being away from each other proved it.

But the both of you survived that tough time like champions, by then, the end of the year was near, and you went to get your grandparents at your hometown to spend the New Year's Eve with Javier's family, the people who raised you obviously being two of the best people he had ever met. His aunts were in love with you, the kids wouldn't leave you alone and his favorite cousin was so thrilled to finally meet you that she dramatically almost passed out. Everyone spent the night laughing and eating and talking, and watching from afar, he couldn't believe how well you fitted on his family, but he hadn't doubted for a second that everyone would love you, how could someone not to? So when he told you he loved you for the first time that night and you said it back without hesitation, Javier promised to be the best version of himself to get you to wear his mother's ring on your finger by the end of the next year.

Not everything was perfect, nothing ever is. You had some fights, you disagreed in a few things, but something you stablished the first time Javier gave in to old habits and tried to run away from the issue was that you wouldn't sleep without talking about it; no hitting doors, no leaving, no fucking the anger out, you talked and made the effort to change what was bothering. Javier had been in only one serious relationship before, with Lorraine, and damn what a difference it was. He couldn't blame neither of them, they were young and didn't know what they wanted; you, on the other hand, knew exactly what you wanted and it still shocked him that it was him. You wanted him, all flaws and errors and baggage included, you didn't let him shut you down when things got tough, and with time he learned to trust you, to count on you, to talk about his feelings, his walls slowly tumbling down. The day he told you everything about Colombia was the hardest he had ever been putten through, years of fighting drug dealers and putting his life at risk, and he had never been more frightened. Tears were shared, you didn't react very well to a few things, but you never dropped his hand, never interrupted, never distanced yourself, even thanked him for trusting you, and at the end he felt as light as a feather. You convinced him to go to therapy, emphasizing that he had to treat the psychological consequences of the terror he confronted back in Colombia.

After that, it seemed like you had reached a goal at your relationship, you spending more time at the ranch than at your own house, a great routine already settled, and you made it very clear you were ready to be asked in marriage when you said those exact words to him. Little did you know he was already planning on it, and one day, after photographing a wedding at a neighbor city, Javier welcomed you in the ranch with candles everywhere, a knee on the floor, tears on his eyes, his mothers ring in a velvet red box and the most heartwarming speech one could ever ask for. The wedding was quick to happen, neither of you wanted a big party, just your families and friends gathered in the ranch with the ceremony realized by a very emotional Chucho. Didn't take you long to get pregnant either, your life settled with you being called to take every photo in Laredo and Javier accepting a job at the Sheriff's Office; the both of you had decided to live with Chucho once he had injured his leg during work, him more than thrilled to have a grandbaby under his roof. Javi fell in love with you a little more every day that passed, more and more mesmerized by you and your growing belly. At the end of that year, he promised to be a father as good as the one he had.

And what a good father he was indeed. He dedicated his life to his family, providing all the love and dedication he had in him, gladly waking up during the nights to comfort his kids; yes, you both got tired as hell, made mistakes, got stressed sometimes, but you got the life of your dreams and the both of you had so much love to give that it didn't matter how hard things could get, you wanted it, all of it. With his one-year-old boy sleeping in his arms as you talked to your grandma on the other side of the room, your ring hand carressing your beautiful round belly that carried your next baby, he saw as his babygirl crossed the room shouting with her hands thrown up in the air to scare you, clearly influenced by her cousin, and you playfully shouted back. The dogs started barking and jumping at the commotion, the three-year-old giggling as you kissed her cheek.

Javier felt like his heart could explode inside of his chest, certain that there was no man alive happier than him, he thought about how lucky he was he went to get those pickles all those years ago. The journy the both of you had wasn't quite easy, the challenges you had to face, the expensive phone bills he got when you were apart, the fears he had to overcome, even those years in Colombia, he would have done it all again and again and again if it meant to be where he was at that very moment, to wake up everyday by your side, to always have you in the passanger seat to rest his hand on your thigh, to have the kids laughing and running around the house, to experiencing the type of love his parents had.

At that New Year's Eve, Javier kept the same promise he had been keeping the last years: to give his all to the family of his own.

"Javi, baby" you called him, your smile as wide as always "I'm craving pickles"

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update - 12/24/2023 Christmas Eve

Hey Nerdie! You’ve got some bags there.

I do both under my eyes and Din finally let me look through the ones he’s been using. It’s….Mandalorians are wild.

I feel like they’re not Nerdie, at least not how you’re thinking. Should we even ask?

Has to do with what I’ve written this week:

Weddings 101 with Dieter - chapter 3 came out this week. There was a fight that I still giggle about. There will be more, I’m loving the beef between Dieter and Oscar. There had to be some type of fight in the rom-com. 🤭 There was also cloud smut? I don’t know how else to put it. Ya’ll read it and tell me what it was.

Sard’ika Sessions - In Session Four Din put together something in the reader’s house. They may use it again. Liberties are taken with the Creed and Mandalorian culture though not too crazy. (That might be for an epilogue.) I’d like to thank everyone who’s been reading since Session one (we’ve come so far from thigh-riding) and are now on the latter end where our Session partners are exploring each other but communication as well. It was really sweet to read people’s comments and see that they picked up on how well they communicate with each other while indulging in their sexual appetites. I’d like to think it’s come across how I planned it originally when I scribbled all of this in my notebook at 4am when I couldn’t sleep in November after Thanksgiving of all things. We’ll see how things continue to progress.

I have a poll up for “Weddings 101 with Dieter” to determine what might go into chapter four. I’m enjoying everyone’s comments and options on what should happen with both Dieter/Maya and Dieter vs. Oscar. Click the link above to vote and have your suggestions added. I’ll announce the results and the most voted will be put in. I’ll likely add some of the other suggestions because I like them so much. ☺️

Remember Frankie~ (I read something new and caught up on a few things. Some of which weren’t even related to our favorite pilot. My mind went deep into smut. As a warning, don’t read while multi-tasking! Though I take it as a point of pride to have someone forget their name while on a call. 😉) They knew who they are. 😎 Love ya! ❤️

Nerdie’s Bedtime Stories (Might be a new series for weirdness I think up and might read to someone. This was a Christmas Carol featuring some of the Pedro boys. A Feral Carol as @maggiemayhemnj called it.) @undercoverpena and @morallyinept encouraged me. 🤣

You put a lot of thought into what you write. We really thought it was only the non-smut stuff you thought hard on. You’ve indicated you have trouble with that before.

It’s not so much I have trouble with it. I’m used to doing one-shots and exclusivity writing smut before I joined back up on Tumblr. I’m branching out and trying all sorts of smut and actual storylines (when I can make it coherent to anyone but myself) in my writing now. Even comedy with Dieter though I like to put little jokes in most of my writing.

Ah, so you’re learning as you go on as we all do. Fair. Any current WIPs you’re trying to finish up before 2023 is out?

Well, I have a Pickled Peña to finish. Everyone’s welcome to join in and write about our favorite DEA agent Javier Peña. Everyone who’s participating will post on January 1st and tag their work with the “pickled peña” tag.

I’m also participating in the PMAMC 2024 which is in mid-January. I decided to challenge myself with not only writing about pegging but also writing with a character I’ve only written for once and in his historical setting, because past Nerdie who accepted this was feeling ambitious. 😗 Present Nerdie wonders what was she thinking. ���� She also has to review her notes on what may have been used to facilitate pegging during the time period, there’s a long note I have on it. It should be mostly historically accurate, I guess, because that’s what matters. 👀 In pegging - the historical aspect. 😒

I have two Robbie Reyes asks to work on as well as one smut piece I wanted to do for him and one actual story.

There are three Joel pieces that I wanted to write, one will be tabled until next Christmas. I don’t think I’ll finish it by tomorrow. The second was a post outbreak one, I’ve only written post outbreak once so I want to see if it will be a one short or series. The third one might be finished. I need to edit it.

Anything else will likely be tabled until 2024 because I either don’t have ideas for it or I want to wait until I feel good about writing it. 😊

Any last remarks?

I’d like to thank any and all of my beta readers: @avastrasposts @musings-of-a-rose @frenchiereading @theywhowriteandknowthings @megamindsecretlair @pedrodascal @iamasaddie @fhatbhabie and @morallyinept @legendary-pink-dot

Ya’ll saw all the typos, swapped countries and off beat plot points. 😗

Also @linzels-blog don’t worry The Creed is fine. Mostly I believe. Like it will all work out. 😉

I usually add fics I’ve read this week but I’m going to organize them and put them in another fic rec post because I have them saved there already. 😎

The above wallpaper was made by @xxhypersomnia who did two sets of awesome retro Javier Peña edits on her page. 🥰 She even tagged me in the second one which I have to look at later when I’m home.

[toomanytookas]

PPCU Fandom Projects Digest: September/October 2024

A summary of projects that wrapped up last month, ones to look forward to this month, and one plucked from the past to (re)discover for your TBR! First time hearing about the database? More info available here.

Celebrate September Projects!

@almostfoxglove - Thank You Boards

@auteurdelabre - Trope Off

@beefrobeefcal - Married Joel Sits on You

@burntheedges - Roll-a-Trope Challenge

@justagalwhowrites - Joel Miller Birthday Celebration

@perotovar - Offering of Frith

@quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes - Monster (S)Mash

@toomanystoriessolittletime - 8k Writing Challenge

Anticipate October Projects!

Open for Participants - October deadlines (sign up and/or post)

@baronessvonglitter - Fuck-tober [Your prompt is an assigned character and song combo]

@beefrobeefcal - Dave York Made Me Believe [Dave York + the X files come together for this prompt]

@goodwithcheese & @jolapeno - jolabrew + withcheese challenge [Pick from a menu of characters and fall-themed prompts. A smut free fest.]

@mermaidgirl30 - Halloween Writing Challenge [Halloween as a general theme]

@mrsmando's birthday soirée [Request drabbles/headcanons and moodboards for a variety of Pedro boys]

@norththelemon & @alyssamariag - Pedrotober [Daily character/Pedro-themed prompts]

Non-PPCU specific events include: angstober, fictober, flufftober, whumptober, cherrytober, kinktober [various, including prompt lists created by @absurdthirst here and @ozarkthedog here]

Signups closed - October posting

@the-orange-tabby-cat's Yard Sale

For projects beyond October, head on over to the database to peruse the listings!

(Re)Discover an Older Project! (selected from the database via RNG)

@pickled-pena - Pickled Peña Writing Challenge [January 2024] Check out the masterlist for this challenge, which has 25 awesome fics with the following parameters:

Character: Javier Peña Theme: New Year's Resolutions Dialogue: "You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?" Prop: pickle/jar of pickles Length: 5k and under