#javier Peña x oc

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Self Control.

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Pairing - Javier Peña x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, mentions of blood and death

Word Count - 3429

Author's Note - hello lovely people, hope you're all well. i've been a huge fan of pedro pascal since his narcos days, so all of this love for him happening currently is making me very happy. javier peña is perhaps my favourite tv character of all time, so i'm very excited to share this story with you. i'd always love to write more javi stuff, so if you ever have any thoughts, please send them my way. i'm happy to write for all pedro characters actually!! as always, much love x

Masterlist. Requests.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. 

It was supposed to be simple. A routine raid. Get the information and go. 

How did it all go so wrong? 

Gunshots. Blood. A sea of green uniforms scattering the ground. Escobar had somehow known about it. He was taking no prisoners. 

The Search Bloc had lost men. The Colombian Police had lost men. You were just praying that you hadn't. 

Javier Peña and Steve Murphy were still out there. You had no idea if they were okay. They could be shot, bleeding out. Kidnapped. Or worse. 

No. 

You're driving yourself insane thinking of all the possible worse case scenarios. Your mind can't help but go there. It's instinct. 

You're sat waiting. Hoping. Praying. You've made your home at Javi and Steve's desks - they're more central to the action than your own. You're watching the front doors, sat in Javi's chair. It smells like cigarette smoke, and musk, and him. You let the familiar scent envelope you, allowing it to bring you comfort. You breathe him in. He'll be here soon. You know he will.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Javier Peña was a complicated man. An enigma. He was tough, but gentle. Rugged, but tender. Commanding, but reserved. He was one big juxtaposition. Impossible to read. 

Or so he thought. 

You came along, and challenged every single one of his existing beliefs. You turned him soft - more understanding, more empathetic. He'll tell you he hates it. He lies. 

You weren't supposed to be here. Not really. You'd followed your brother, a DEA agent, all the way from Texas to Colombia. He'd told you he was being sent to South America to assist with the Pablo Escobar situation, and you'd packed your bags without a second thought. You had no one else. Wherever he goes, you go. Except one place. 

He'd died two months into the job. Shot dead by Escobar's men, in a situation that he shouldn't have even been in. And all of a sudden, you were alone. Alone in an unfamiliar place. Alone in the world. 

Javier made sure that wasn't true. He took you under his wing like an injured baby bird, slowly but surely nursing you back to health. He'd been there, when Carrillo had told you the fate of your brother. He'd caught you in his arms when your knees had given out, held you like he was scared you were going to shatter into a thousand pieces. He was holding you together. He has been, ever since. 

You were just a secretary. The odd one out. The only woman. Looked down on. People pitied you, really. You heard the things they said. Even if you didn't understand, you heard. You could take a guess. 

The world was a terrifying place for a woman. It was a terrifying place in general. But it seemed to be less scary knowing that Javier and Steve were at their desks just across the precinct every day. Your safety blankets. Your protectors. Which is exactly why the thought of losing either of them was currently ripping you apart from the inside out.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your eyes shot up every time the door opened. Slowly but surely, members of the Search Bloc filtered in - many of them bloody, and injured, but alive. You weren't taking your eyes off the entrance to the precinct. Not for a second. Not when any minute, Peña and Murphy could walk in, and everything would be okay again. Any minute now, you reassure yourself. Any minute now. 

You hear steel toe boots on the linoleum floor, and your breath hitches… but it’s Colonel Carrillo. He spots you from across the room and strides over, ignoring any pleas for his attention from the Search Bloc guys. He envelopes you in a hug - professionalism be damned.

“Are you okay?”, you ask when he pulls back. “What happened? I’ve been going insane listening over the radio.”

“I’m okay, mi amor. We’re still trying to figure out what went wrong. He knew, someone had to have told him.”

You’re just about to ask him about Murphy and Peña when he says,

“We got separated in the chaos. I don’t know where they are, but I’m sure they’re fine. Try not to panic, okay?”

He’s looking at you carefully, and you’re nodding, but you know you aren’t going to take his advice. If anything, now you’re panicking more. Men are filtering through the door every minute, but none of them are the two you’re looking for. Anxiety creeps into your stomach, wraps its claws around your insides. You can’t shake it. You feel like you’re being swallowed by dread - it’s all too familiar. You know exactly what it’s like to have someone you love go into the field and not return.

Carrillo strokes your cheekbone with his thumb gently, and leaves to attend to his men. You sit back down in Javi’s chair, trying to burrow into his scent, the warmth of the leather. You can imagine his big strong arms wrapping themselves around you, the way he nuzzles his nose into the crown of your head when he hugs you, how he traces patterns on your back when he holds you when you’re particularly upset. 

You think about Steve, and the way he winks at you when you catch eye contact across the room, or how he throws an arm around your shoulders whenever he sidles over to your desk to bother you. He’s always stealing candy from your top drawer, and then acting innocent when you call him out on it. You feign annoyance, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You know you’re lucky to have the two of them looking out for you. You know you’re lucky to have Carrillo on your side too - life would be undoubtedly more difficult without his protection. They make you feel less vulnerable, more equal. You no longer feel like a lamb at the slaughter every time you walk into work. 

Drops of water hit your lap, and you realize you’re crying. Warm, wet tears slide down your cheeks, taking streaks of your mascara with them. Your lipstick has smudged where you’ve been peeling at the skin of your lips, and your nail polish has been incessantly picked at for hours. You know you look just as much of a mess on the outside as you feel on the inside. You close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Calm down, you tell yourself. You’d know if something bad had happened to them. You’d feel it. 

It’s as if time has become molten - sticky, warm molasses. Minutes feel like hours. The world is moving in slow motion, and it’s making you dizzy. Your breath is coming in short, sharp pants, and the urge to curl up into a ball grows stronger by the second. If the boys don’t show up soon, you’re convinced you’re going to crumble into a thousand pieces. You feel like you’re shattering, splitting apart at the seams. Fear sits on your chest like an ugly, relentless creature, choking you with each passing minute. The world is getting colder, darker, and you’re defenseless.

And just like that, your sun appears. Battered, bruised, bloody, but alive. Standing in the doorway, panting and breathless, is Javier Peña. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re leaping out of his chair, and practically running to close the distance between you. You collide with the solid mass of a man, and he wraps his arms around you like it’s second nature. He smells like cigarettes and musk and gunpowder and the outdoors and smoke and home. Relief fills your body, and the weight of it almost knocks you off your feet. You settle further into his chest like you belong there, pressing your nose into him and inhaling. 

You pull away, and notice that his chest is damp. The tears from before are back with a vengeance, sprinting their way down your cheeks, forming puddles wherever they can reach. You’re not sure if you’re crying due to happiness, or fear, or relief - perhaps a mixture of all three. You’re both still panting, looking at each other in disbelief. You fist your hands into the front of his shirt, as if to ground yourself to him. Checking he’s real. In the flesh.

“Don’t cry, cariño. I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

He’s murmuring quietly to you, as if you’re the only two people in the room. He reaches out, and gently uses his thumbs to swipe away the tears that are still escaping. Cradling your face in his big, calloused hands, he looks at you earnestly.

“I’ll always come back, bonita. You know I will. Just like I promised.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and for the first time in hours, you relax. You stay pressed together like that for what feels like an eternity, until you hear familiar footsteps approaching. 

You break away from Javier to get a good look at Steve. He too is battered and bruised - hair mussed, shirt torn, blood staining his jeans and his hands. But he’s alive. That’s all that matters.

“Murphy,” you breathe, before wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You’d go out there and take down Escobar yourself if you could. If it meant you didn’t have to see your friends in pain anymore. This job is killing you all from the inside out, slowly but surely. You’re all shells of yourselves. You wonder how much longer you’re all going to be able to cope before you snap. You have a feeling that these two men in front of you are closer to their breaking points than you think. 

“God, I need to shower. I’ve never sweat this much in my life,” Steve remarks, and now that you’re looking at him, you can’t help but agree. You nod, smirk etched on your face, and the corners of his lips turn up. A slight smile from Steve. That’s a win.

A voice rumbles from behind you in response to Murphy’s statement. Jesus, Javi was closer to you than you thought.

“Yeah, me too. You go. I’ll drive her home.” He places a hand on the small of your back, and you can feel the warmth of him seeping through his palm.  He always runs so hot, you think to yourself. Your sun.

Murphy squeezes your arm and heads out the door, leaving you and Javier standing in the middle of the precinct. Everyone seems to be heading home, the room becoming increasingly quiet. You figure the two of you should follow suit. You gesture at Javi to give you a minute, and make your way over to the Colonel’s office, popping your head in the doorway. 

“You should go home, Carrillo,” you say softly. “You need to sleep just as much as the rest of us.”

He smiles at you tentatively, his face dampened with worry. You can see clear as day that he’s blaming himself for the events of the evening. You also know that there’s nothing you can say to make it better.

“I will, querida. I will.”

And with that, you grab your things from your desk, and make your way over to where Javi is waiting for you. He returns his hand to the small of your back, and guides you to his car.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your hands are shaking when you try to unlock the front door to your apartment. You can’t quite get the key in the lock, and it’s becoming frustrating. Why are you acting like you were the one being shot at tonight? All you had to do was sit at your desk and wait. Get a grip, you tell yourself. You’ve had it the easiest.

Javi can see you’re struggling, so he reaches out and opens the door for you. You step inside, immediately kicking off your heels and throwing down your purse. You turn on the lamp in the corner of the living room, and draw the blinds. All the while, Javi stands in the doorway, watching you complete your nightly rituals. It’s disarming to see you like this, he thinks. So domestic. So at peace.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and places his hand on the doorknob.

“Let me leave you alone, cariño. You need to rest. The adrenaline of tonight is going to wear off any minute, and we’re all gonna crash.”

He takes a step, but you lunge forward in his direction to stop him.

“Wait! Wait. I - I don’t… I can’t - please.” You can’t find the right words. In fact, you’re not even sure what you’re asking for.

He steps back inside your apartment, and shuts the door behind him gently, making sure to lock the deadbolt. He’s never been a man to take stupid chances when it comes to your safety. When it comes to you.

“What is it, mi amor?”, he asks carefully. “What do you need?”

“You,” you answer without a second thought. “Please don’t leave. I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight if you leave.”

He looks at you for a moment - carefully surveying. He takes in your appearance, the pain in your eyes, the way you look so small and fearful standing in front of him. It’s not even a question.

He kicks off his boots, and takes his wallet and his cigarettes out from the back pocket of his jeans, placing them on the counter. Then, he strides over, across the room, and smothers you in a hug that he’s convinced he probably needs more than you. 

You stand like that, embraced in each other, for what feels like forever. Two people breathing each other in, trying to absorb the other person. If you could crawl into Javier’s chest, bury yourself into his ribcage, you would. No hug is ever close enough. Never enough. It’s never enough.

“I’ll stay,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’ll always stay.”

You pull back to gaze into those big brown eyes, warm and sweet like chocolate. He looks serene, peaceful, almost. You don’t get to see him like this very often.

“You should shower,” you tell him quietly. You’re worried that you’re going to spook one another, so you both keep the volume to a minimum. “I’ll make us some tea.”

He nods gently, and makes his way to your bathroom. Moments later, you hear the water running, so you begin to boil the kettle, reaching for two mugs from your cabinet.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You place a mug of tea on each nightstand either side of your bed, and slip out of your skirt and blouse. You opt for a tank top and shorts - the Colombian heat still unrelenting, even in the early hours of the morning. The sun will be up soon, you think. A new day.

Javi stands in the doorway of your bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. Droplets of water are journeying down his chest, and your eyes follow, as if on instinct. He smirks when he catches you, watching your face heat up slightly.

“Cute bedsheets,” he remarks. “I like the love hearts.”

He’s still smirking, so you get up to smack him on the arm.

“Shut up, Javier,” you threaten, with no real malice. “Your tea is on the nightstand.”

You turn your back when he changes back into his black boxers, which only amuses him further. He can’t help but admire you from his place across the room. The way your hair blows slightly with the breeze from the opened window, the band of skin between where your tank top ends and your shorts begin, the sweat at the nape of your neck. He knows you’d taste like salt and sugar simultaneously. It takes everything in him not to run his tongue up your spine. You shiver from your spot on the edge of the bed, as if you can read his mind.

“I’m dressed, querida,” he almost whispers. You turn around, and shamelessly let your eyes rake over his golden skin, wishing so badly to reach out and touch him. He’s wearing significantly less clothes than you expected. Not that you’re complaining.

He lays down carefully on one side of your bed, stretching himself out on his back. You turn off the lamp on the nightstand, and lay down on the other side, careful to keep some distance between the two of you. You thought that having him here would relax you, but it seems to be doing the opposite. You feel like your nerve endings are on fire - the room is too warm, you can’t seem to get your lungs to fill with air, you’re hyper aware of every little movement in the room. You’re on edge.

Javi’s breathing is deep, calculated. He’s trying to keep calm. Everything in him is screaming to reach out and touch you, to throw an arm around your waist, to tangle his legs in between yours. He’s not sure he’s ever shown this level of self control.

“Javi,” you breathe. “Relax, please. I can feel how tense you are from here.”

He takes a deep breath before he answers you.

“Sorry, mi vida. I’m just - I’m… I’m trying.”

“Trying?”

“Trying to use every inch of restraint that I have.”

Your breath hitches, and he hears it, clear as day.

“What for?” you whisper.

“To resist the urge to touch you.”

You’re breathing quicker now, and so is he. The air in the room is thick with tension - it’s a miracle you’re both still conscious. 

“You’ve never really been one to deny yourself of the things you want, Javi," you whisper. "You’re not usually the patron saint of self control.” 

And with that, he snaps. He grabs your hips, and uses effortless strength to pull you so you’re straddling him, settled in his lap. He sits up to bring your faces level, and presses his forehead into yours, just like he did mere hours ago in the precinct. 

You know that tonight has changed everything for the two of you. You also know there’s no going back from this - you can’t uncross this line. The friendship that exists between you and Javi, a relationship that’s been so carefully built on trust and support and boundaries - permanently altered if you continue. You just can’t seem to find it in you to care. Not really. You want Javier Peña for all he is, all he has. Consequences be damned.

“I love you, cariño,” he breathes into your mouth. “Fuck, I love you.”

You’re convinced that any minute, you’re going to wake up from this beautiful dream. But for now, you make the most of it.

“I love you, Javier Peña. I love you so much it hurts.”

And with that, he’s kissing you. It’s desperate, and it’s needy, and it’s so full of love you’re worried that you’re going to pass out. His lips are on your lips, and he’s got one hand firmly at the nape of your neck, holding you in place. As if I’m going anywhere, you think. I’d happily stay here forever.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t notice the sunrise. Dawn hits the window, casting an orange hue across the room. Javi looks like he’s glowing, the sunlight glinting off his hair. Golden boy.

He pulls off your shirt, and presses his chest to yours. He’s convinced you’re tethered to each other - he can feel the connection through your skin. It almost makes him want to cry, this feeling. It’s never felt like this before. It never will again. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist, ensuring that there isn’t a centimeter of space between you. You don’t know what today holds. You know it won’t be easy. But you’re comforted by the fact that you know Javi will be right there beside you. No matter what happens from this moment on, Javi is always going to be right there beside you.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you breathe into his mouth.

“I love you, mi alma,” he breathes back. “Mi corazón, mi alma.”

My heart, my soul. It’s as if he took the words right out of your mouth. 

Mi corazón, mi alma.

My heart, my soul.

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[redahlia-writes]

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3  - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

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[pennyserenade]

wish you were here.

chapter five - fade into you | ao3 link | previous chapter

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: t (teen) tags/warnings: angst, brief mention of infidelity, alcohol word count: 2.1k summary: Mariella and Javier continue to feel their way through a friendship. a/n: sorry this is taking me so long to write. love you

A tattered floral scrapbook of Mariella’s sits, face up, on the table. She stands in the corner of her kitchen, looking at it as though it has wronged her in some way. And in some ways, it has. 

In one hand she holds a glass of water and in the other, her telephone. Henry Rath’s number has been typed in, and her fingers hesitate to dial it. The trip down memory lane has proved to be a bitter one. So much of her life had been documented in that scrapbook, from graduations to weddings to the first house, to the very last birthdays she and Henry would spend as a couple together. It was hard to ignore him when he was all there—a little piece of him merged forever with a little piece of her. 

She knew it wasn’t fair, what she did to him. Or rather, what she’s doing to him. In the past three months, he’s left a handful of voicemails she’s deleted before even finishing. She screens most of her calls, just on the offhand chance that it might be him, and each time it makes her feel wrong. At first, it started off with good intention—she wanted to leave him alone, to let him go back to his life. But eventually, the more she thought about what they had done, the more ignoring him became less altruistic. Every time she hears the phone ring, she thinks of him in that hotel room and that little girl that hung on his hip, and she wants as far from it as possible. 

She places the telephone back in its cradle. The excuses are endless: it is Tuesday and she works tomorrow, so she shouldn’t start something she doesn’t know she can’t stop; he probably isn’t home from work yet; he’s likely forgotten about it and to call and remind him now would be cruel; his wife could pick up; closure isn’t the sort of thing either of them are particularly good at. 

Mariella picks up the telephone again. She waits patiently as it rings. 

“Hello?” Chucho answers. 

She leans back onto the counter, swirling the water in her cup. “Hey, Chucho. I was wondering if Javi’s home.”

“Javi?” he asks, sounding surprised. 

“Yeah, Javi. I never thanked him for helping me with my classroom last month and I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence before Chucho speaks again. “Javi’s always home, just never know where,” the man laughs. “Would it be alright if I had him call you back? I gotta go find him.”

Mariella glances over at the scrapbook on the table. “That’d be lovely, Chucho. Thank you.” 

When he hangs up, she moves over and closes the book shut. If she wasn’t so goddamn sentimental, she might throw the whole thing away but she is, so she can’t. Instead she tucks it away in the cupboards over her oven, where she’s stored a lone bottle of tequila for about two years now, and then she sits back, waiting. The phone rings a few moments later and she doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “Hello,” she picks up. 

“Mariella?” Javier asks. His voice is low, almost a whisper. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I wanted to thank you for the classroom. I’ve been using it for about a week now, and it looks wonderful.”

On the other end, she can hear him shift with the phone. “It was no problem,” he replies softly. Then, after a pause, he says, “How are you, Mari?” 

“I’m good, Javier.”

“That’s, uh, that’s good.”

“How about you?” 

More movement. “I’m good too.” 

“My dad says he hasn’t seen you in the movie store as of late,” she says. Javier coughs awkwardly. 

“No? I guess I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy avoiding me? ‘Cause if so, I assure you that’s a safe zone. I don’t work there during the school year, remember?” It’s meant to come out teasing, but, at the current moment, she lacks the exact humor needed to pull off the weight of that sentence. She punctuates it with a laugh that is more of a huff than anything.

He protests. “I—That’s not why.”

“No?” she asks simply. 

“No, not really. There’s just been a lot to do around here. We got new horses. There’s a fence that needs to be built. Chucho just needs me more than the television does.” He attempts to laugh, but it sounds forced. She doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Think you could spare an hour or two to go get dinner with me?” 

“You want to get dinner?” he sounds in disbelief. 

She can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. One of my new student’s parents owns the bar downtown. They gave me two coupons for a free dinner.”

“Oh,” he replies. “Well, I’ll have to get cleaned up. Can you wait?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you there at, uh—“ Another pause, “—how about seven?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, see you then,” he replies. 

“Yeah, bye,” she adds awkwardly, hanging up. 

Slumping her shoulders, she lets out a deep sigh. Why must everything feel so fucking hard lately?

—-

“Thought you didn’t go to bars,” Javier says, bringing his beer to his mouth. He’s teasing, she can tell: that slanted brow, the pursued lips working hard not to press into a comely grin. She takes a sip of her own drink, and shrugs her shoulders. 

“I don’t,” she hums in response. 

The dinner crowd at the bar is surprisingly large, but conversation is easy to have. It’s nicer, really, in a place like this - too busy to have to worry if the table next to you is listening in. Not that she and Javier have ventured to any topics unsafe for public consumption. They’ve been good, drinking their beers, making small talk the way one might with a friend they’ve grown apart with. It’s got an intimate air to it, but it’s stilted for a strange, heartbreaking reason. 

They don’t talk about all that happened weeks ago, or why they’re sitting here now. Mariella doesn’t mind, really. This is the thing she enjoys about Javier, what she has seen in him since the beginning: he isn’t interested in brewing in the past. If she were a better woman, this might worry her, but luckily enough she isn’t. She understands all too well the temptation to look forward and never backward. 

The beer is making her feel warm and pleasantly buzzed. In the corner, there is a jukebox playing soft country songs and some people are dancing slowly in the middle. She and Javi watch them curiously, resting back in their chairs. 

“How’s the teaching going?” He looks back over at her. 

“It’s going well. The kid’s are as brilliant and witty as ever,” she smiles softly. “How’s the farm?”

Javier shrugs his shoulders. “It’s work. For the first time in months, I’m finally getting a full night’s rest, though, so I won’t complain too much.”

“I’ve always loved that piece of land,” Mariella says, looking back at the dancing patrons. “Miles upon miles of greenery. And the horses! I love driving up and watching them run.”

This makes Javier smile. “Chucho is proud of it and he should be, I suppose. I certainly appreciate it more now than I used to. In Colombia, it was like that—beautiful, I mean. And so green. Standing out in the fields sometimes reminds me of being back there.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks, before she finds the sense to know better. 

Javier’s eyes rake over the crowd, too. He watches a young couple in the corner for a bit, smiling as the boy’s hand gradually works its way lower on the girl’s back. Before he touches her ass, Javi looks back to Mariella, his smile faint but present. “Sometimes,” he answers. 

“I’d love to go someday.”

“You should,” he encourages. “It’s magnificent, really, unlike anything else. That shit they say in the news—it’s true, but not nearly that bad. Not for regular people with clean hands.”

Mariella shakes her head. “Just when I thought you had me sold, you had and go say that.”

“What, your hands dirty?” he narrows his eyes. 

She holds her palms out. “Red,” she nods, though they aren’t. He breathes out a quiet laugh. 

“I think you’d be alright—but go to Mexico first.” 

“You sound like my mother,” she laughs too. 

Looking over at Javi, Mariella debates whether to ask him if he wants to dance or not. The beer has made her feel a little more relaxed, but she’s not without her reason. She remembers the first day they met - really met - and how he said he didn’t know how to dance anymore. She also remembers the kitchen, and the incident that has driven them apart for a month. 

Before she’s given the chance, a woman stops in front of the table. She’s pretty — big blue eyes, an endearing grin — the kind of woman for whom the country accent was made to be spoken by. “Javi,” she says, someplace between shocked and amazed. 

Mariella feels bad at first, thinking this is going to be another one of those small town run-ins he hates, but when she looks over at him, she can tell it’s not. Something softer takes hold of him, something almost tender.  Mariella feels almost like an intruder as he says, “Hey, Lorraine.”

Lorraine’s eyes meet Mariella’s, and then go back to Javi’s. Javi understands. “Mariella, this is Lorraine. She’s my—“

“His old friend,” she finishes for him, extending her hand for Mariella to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve known about you for years. You’re all your Daddy talks about on Sundays sometimes.”

Lorraine can’t be much older than she is—maybe five or six years—and yet she seems so much more mature. She looks like what Mariella feels she’s been trying to attain her whole life: this perfect, well-rounded, soft-spoken girl who says words like ‘Daddy’ and manages not only to sound sincere, but sweet. 

Mariella shakes her head and smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

Lorraine glances over her shoulder, holding her finger up to a man standing by the entrance. “My husband,” she supplies, looking back at them both. “Listen, I better get going but I just wanted to say it’s nice to see you out and about, Javi. A lot of people here missed you.” Lorraine looks over to Mariella. “And really, it’s lovely to meet you, Mariella. I wish I had more time to sit and chat, because so many people have been telling us about your school. I’ve got a little one about school going age, and I’d love to put her in it.”

“Oh,” Mariella says, “Well, I can give you my number if you’d like.”

“Could you?” Lorraine smiles. “Oh, that’d be lovely.”

Mariella reaches into her purse and rummages around for a pen. When she finds it, she takes one of the napkins from the table and quickly jots down her information. “I wrote down my home number and the school’s. I wouldn’t mind answering any questions you have, but if you’re interested in enrollment information, the office number will be most helpful.”

Lorraine nods. Her hair bounces with her head, and Mariella can’t help but feel like she’s encountered a real life Barbie of sorts. She can imagine that she and Javier must’ve been real good friends, but it doesn’t do anything more than amuse her. 

“Bye, Javi,” Lorraine says, throwing up a hand. She pats Mariella on the shoulder on the way out, “Thank you again,” she says softly. 

Mariella rushes out an “Oh, you’re welcome” and Javier offers a wordless smile. They both watch her return to her husband, but Mariella returns her eyes to Javier long before he does to her. She watches the way a frown takes over his lips. 

Javier brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly shaking the encounter off. The tenderness is replaced by whatever was there before. It’s no less kind, but certainly not as intense. 

“She was my fiancée, once upon a time,” he explains. Mariella wouldn’t have asked, but she’s happy he’s willing to give her that information freely. She nods her head, not saying anything in reply. 

Her eyes return to the crowd, and they both settle into an introspective silence. Mariella forgets she ever wanted to ask him to dance in the first place. For a little bit, she even forgets her own troubles, too. 

She didn’t entirely know why she had called for Javier like she had earlier. He’d been on her mind, sure, but no more than Henry. In fact, a lot less than Henry. Something inside of her had told her to do it, so she had. She’s happy she did, now. 

Misery loves company they say, and she thinks she might’ve found herself a companion in one Javier Peña. 

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier pena x female oc #javier pena x oc #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female oc #javier peña x oc #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / a Javier Peña fic.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY:   After being transferred back to the States from Colombia, Javier Peña is relocated to a small town in the middle Texas as the new Deputy Sheriff to help solve a string of murders that have been occurring in this more rural part of the state. Rumors of a sacrilegious group plague the community which has its citizens on edge. Along the way, he enters a convoluted relationship with the sheriff’s daughter, Paloma. Entranced not only by her beauty but also by her captivating and enticing artistry as she preforms at a local bar on weekend nights. The once DEA agent soon begins to realize that there’s a lot more at play here than initially thought. Heavily influenced by Ethel Cain’s Preacher’s Daughter album.

RATING:   18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. More specific tags will be listed on chapter posts.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS:   The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N:   hey y’all! just wanna say that this was an idea that popped in my head as i was rewatching narcos for the dozenth time while simultaneously discovering ethel cain’s work (i know i’m late, cut me some slack pls) but i’ve genuinely never been so inspired to… write. so with that, i give you all a small prologue of sorts to see if there’s any interest in continuing this. it’s my first time publicly posting any of my works so i’m so fuckin’ nervous but oh well i’m just diving head first!

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

The sounds of twigs snapping beneath her feet echo throughout the forest, her frantic breaths making her chest burn as she continues to run aimlessly in attempts to escape her captors. Nina had gotten lucky, her wrist burned from constantly rubbing against her rope confinements until eventually she was able to undo the tight knot and free herself from her imminent death. She wasted no time in booking it out of whatever tattered building they were in; being met with nothing but surrounding darkness.

It didn’t take long before those who had taken her realized she was missing, but it was enough to put some distance between herself and them. Her bare feet ache from the unforgiving woodsy ground, legs slashed from the various twigs and thorns that she had run through in order to make her escape. But that pain was only temporary, and currently her body was focused on survival. She had to make it back to civilization; even if she didn’t know where she was.

A few more minutes of running before the girl finds some kind of solace behind a towering oak tree, her back pressed against its ridges as she allows herself a moment to catch her breath.

To regroup.

One hand travels up to her collarbone where a delicate cross necklace sits against her skin, she grips it tightly and begins to utter a soft yet frantic prayer hoping that the God she’s devoted her life to would spare her from the horrors and fate she’s currently facing. Her eyes snap open at the sound of a twig snapping loudly and before Nina has any time to react to the sudden presence, she’s being yanked by her forearm out of the shadows and roughly thrown onto the ground.

She’s been caught.

“ Please let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. ” Nina pleads and it’s nothing this trio has not heard before.

“ Oh sweet child… ” The smooth yet dangerous voice of the leader of this tormenting group crouches down until he’s at her level, brushing a strand of tawny hair away from her face as he gazes deep into her eyes.

Deep into her soul.

“ You cannot keep the inevitable from occurring. ” Enter the other man, a heavy two barreled shotgun in his hands pointed directly at her. Nina’s lips curl into a pout as tears begin to pour down her supple cheeks. This gets a scoff out of the third person that makes up the trio, a girl that was around her age.

“ Oh poor baby is cryin’. this coulda been so much easier if you hadn’t ran, doll face. ” Her tone is patronizing as she watches Nina intently, a smirk sprawled across her own lips. “ C’mon August, we need to deal with her before we miss our window of opportunity. Again. ” she looks down at the antique watch that adorns her left hand. Only a few minutes until three in the morning.

August takes a few more moments to study the weeping girl before him, just as a predator would its prey. However, there’s a softness in his eyes that she isn’t able to fully register. He eventually stands to his full height. “ It will have to be done here. There is not enough time to bring her back to the house. ” He snaps his fingers at the man with the shotgun and he immediately lowers it, silent as ever and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a large, silver dagger that glistens as the moonlight from the full moon shines down upon it. Nina’s eyes widen at the sight of the blade and she begins to scramble backwards but August reaches down to grasp her ankle to keep her from moving. 

“ Hold her down. ” He orders and the other two wordlessly comply, the dagger now in August’s possession as the guy takes hold of her wrists and the girl of her ankles. Nina begins to thrash around violently to no avail. They’ve got a strong hold on her.

“ Please, A-August please I’ll d-do whatever you want. I w-won’t tell anyone just p-please don’t kill me. ” The helpless girl cries, tears and snot mixing as violent sobs rack throughout her entire body.

The earnest begging for her life falls on deaf ears, instead August plants one foot on either side of her body, now towering over her completely with the dagger firmly in his grasp. Between her hysteric crying and overwhelming emotions, Nina doesn’t understand the words that fall past the man’s lips but she knows for certain that he isn’t speaking English.

She attempts to save herself one final time but is ignored once more. Just as August finishes his prayer-like uttering, the wind begins to pick up around them, sending leaves and dirt to swirl around them as if they had conjured up their own, mini tornado. 

Nina’s eyes widen as the dagger raises itself over his head.

“ I am no good nor evil, simply I am

And I have come to take what is mine. ”

And with those final words, the dagger plunges down deep into her chest, right where her heart lies. A piercing scream shoots out of her throat, damn near destroying her vocal chords as August continues to stab the sharp blade into her flesh over and over again.

Until eventually, the life drains from Nina’s eyes.

#javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #javier pena x oc #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x oc #javier peña fic #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #super nervous but super excited ! hope this gets some traction (: #ethel cain #southern gothic fic #preachers daughter

[drabbles-mc]

Who You're Dealing With (Pt. 2)

Steve Murphy & Javier Peña & OC Carolina Rodriguez

(background Javier Peña x OC Carolina Rodriguez)

For @narcosfandomdiscord's Day of Conflict: fistfight and "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Warnings: 18+, language, fighting, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood/injury

Find Part One HERE

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I didn't ever plan to write a follow-up to Who You're Dealing With but this prompt just felt too fitting! I simply couldn't help myself! Hope you enjoy. xo

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

For as much as Carolina didn’t even want to look at Javi in that moment, she also had no interest in going home alone to an empty house. What happened to her was Javi’s fault, certainly, but even so he was one of the only people who would be capable of providing her with any kind of comfort after everything that had unfolded. Some of that comfort might come in the form of her giving him snippy responses to all of his questions and statements, but she more than earned the right to do that.

Javi pulled into the garage at of the apartment complex that he and Steve were both placed in. Other than him asking Carolina if she wanted to be dropped off at home, and her brief response of, “No,” the ride had been completely silent. He didn’t expect much else. Once he cut the ignition on the car, leaving only the tiny light above the rearview mirror on, he turned and looked over at her. Given the events of the day, part of him had wondered if she was going to just pass out and go to sleep on the drive home. She didn’t have any such luck, though—she was wide awake and staring out the windshield at the concrete wall of the parking garage.

Clearing his throat like a warning, he asked, “Ready?”

Carolina let out a deep sigh, one that caused her to wince slightly in pain after the fact. “Yeah,” she muttered, exhaustion managing to drip off the singular syllable.

Javi would’ve gotten out and gone to open the car door for her if he thought that it would be genuinely helpful to her, if he thought that she even wanted him to do it. But he knew better. Stepping out, he shut the door and patiently waited for her to do the same before locking the car and walking over to her so that they could both enter the building together.

It was late, and quiet. The hallway lights were all on in the apartment complex, but there wasn’t the usual noise of TV and music flowing out from the cracks along the bottoms of everyone’s doors. The building wasn’t ever overly noisy, but given the events of the day, the quietness of it all felt more noticeable.

They slowly made their way down the hall, passing Steve’s door as they went. There was no light coming out from underneath his door despite the fact that he was a night owl as much as the rest of them—neither of them had the energy to think any deeper on it.

Just as they were about to reach the stairs that would take them up to Javi’s floor, Carolina stopped. Her head dropped back and she fought the urge to let out a groan. Instead, she let out a quiet, exasperated, “Fuck.”

Javi stopped, immediately looking at her and trying to figure out if something was hurting her. Or, at least, hurting more than everything else was at baseline in the moment. “What’s wrong?”

She looked over at him. “My gun. It’s in your car.”

“So?”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to bed without it tonight, Javi.”

“Caro—”

“Give me the keys,” she held out her hand, “I’ll get it myself.”

He waved her off. “I’ll get it.” As much as he wanted to argue, try to tell her that they were okay now and that he would keep her safe, he knew that he wasn’t going to win the argument. Even on a better day it would’ve been a longshot. So, rather than handing her his car keys, he gave her the one to his apartment. “Go let yourself in. I’ll be right there.”

That suggestion was one that she didn’t argue with. She swiped the keys out of his hand without another word. Javi turned on his heel and started heading back down the hall the way they just came. He looked down at the floor for a moment while he fished his car keys out of his pocket. He only looked up when he heard the door at the end of the hall open. His eyes widened and his feet stopped in their tracks when he saw Steve walking into the building.

Steve’s face instantly contorted in confusion when he saw Javi walking towards him. “Javi?” His gaze flitted down the hallway and he caught sight of Carolina almost at the base of the staircase. “Caro? What the hell?”

Javi was usually much quicker on his feet but his brain wasn’t working fast enough to come up with a good excuse. “Long day.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled light-heartedly, “I’ll say. You look like shit.”

Javi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you drunk?”

Steve waved him off. “Fuck off. No, I’m not.”

“Where were you?”

“Don’t do that. You’re the one who’s being—”

Carolina spoke up, cutting them both off. “Can we finish this conversation later?”

Steve might not have been completely sober, but he wasn’t so drunk that he missed the twinge of pain lingering in Carolina’s voice as she asked them that very rhetorical question. He knew what she sounded like when she was pissed off, even knew what she sounded like when she was sad. This wasn’t either of those things—she sounded hurt.

His expression sobered even if the rest of him didn’t. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Javi answered for her, not wanting to get into all of this here.

Steve pushed past Javi, earning a slightly pained grunt as he did. With a few long strides he was easily able to catch up to Carolina at the bottom of the stairs. Once he got closer, he could see the state that she was in—the dirt, the dried blood, everything. He saw the way that her hand was trembling as it gripped the key to Javi’s apartment.

He couldn’t keep the concern off his face, or the pity, as he said, “We gotta get you to a—”

“The only place I’m going is to bed,” she said, trying to sound certain the way she usually did, which was a difficult feat when so much pain and exhaustion was weighing down on her shoulders.

“What the fuck happened with you two?” Steve asked, looking back and forth between them. “Why didn’t you fuckin’ call me?”

“We were a little caught up,” Javi answered with a scoff as he backpedaled and put himself closer to the two of them.

“With what?” Steve pressed.

Javi didn’t want to get into any of this with Steve no matter where they were, but he especially didn’t want to get into it in the middle of the hallway of their goddamn apartment building. “Steve—”

“Cut the shit, Jav,” Steve stopped his excuse before he could even get it started.

Javi looked over at Carolina, hoping that she would give him a lifeline of some kind. Her word was so often the final one—if she told Steve that they would talk about it in the morning, he’d listen. But she stood, silently, and waited for Javi to figure out how to handle this one himself. He could only imagine the twinge of satisfaction that it gave her to see him flounder like this. No matter how much pain she was in, no matter how tired she was, she would never be too exhausted or pained to not be angry, too.

“I’m not talkin’ about this here,” he said, his voice hushed. It was a Hail Mary of an attempt to put off the conversation.

Steve wouldn’t have bought it for a buck even if he had been sober, even if Carolina and Javi didn’t both look like they’d been dragged behind a truck for a few miles. He definitely wasn’t going to be put off that easily now. “Tough shit.” He watched as Javi tucked his chin down towards his chest. “Who the fuck did this to you guys?”

Javi couldn’t bring himself to say it. All of the struggles he’d gone through trying to keep his connections under-wraps, and within the span of one day two of the people he wanted to keep out of it the most were going to be put right in the middle of it. Steve was just going to hear about it, at least, unlike poor Carolina who had gone through just about the worst initiation to the situation that there could’ve been for her. But even then, at least he didn’t have to spell it out. He didn’t have to say it, didn’t have to admit to one of the people that he cared about the most just how far down the rabbit hole he’d fallen.

His silent contemplation was taking too long for Steve’s liking. “Javi? What—”

“Javier’s been out making new friends without us,” Carolina finally grit out when she saw that Javi wasn’t going to be able to say it. Her voice was low, sharp in a way that Steve hadn’t heard in a long time.

“New fr—” he stopped himself short as he shook his head. “What the fuck kind of new…” he trailed off when he saw the guilt saturating Javi’s face. All of the puzzle pieces started to snap together as he looked back and forth between his two partners. His eyes settled back on the man standing in front of him. “Javi,” was all he managed to say, the whiskey on his breath not softening the weight of the emotions behind the one word.

“I’ll explain everything tom—”

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” Steve snapped. He looked at Carolina again, the rips in her clothes, the mess of her hair that was usually so impeccably done, the stains of blood that weren’t going to wash out of the jeans she was wearing. His gaze returned to Javi. “They…they did this to her?”

Javi felt the shift in Steve’s demeanor just as much as he heard it in the tone of his voice. Whether he was blackout drunk or stone cold sober, one thing that Steve could always manage to be was pissed off. Every now and then Javi was able to diffuse the situation, but he had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be one of those times. But he still had to try. “Steve—”

He didn’t let Javi get the second word out. Quicker than any of them could bat an eye, Steve cracked his fist against Javi’s jaw, sending him stumbling back a couple steps into the wall behind him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Carolina’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Of all the things she’d been expecting, that hadn’t been one of them. She didn’t know if it was the shock or the exhaustion that made it hard for her to move and intervene. Or maybe it was the fact that she thought Javi deserved to get his shit rocked a little bit. It was anyone’s guess.

Steve stepped in and swung again. It didn’t connect as nicely as his first punch, but it didn’t miss, either. Javi had finally recovered from his own shock enough to try and defend himself. He swung back, but it was half-hearted. He was too tired to get into whatever it was that Steve wanted this to turn into, but he wasn’t just going to take it without a little bit of a fight.

“Alright, alright,” Carolina spoke up, trying to keep her voice down as she looked at all the doors in the hallway, waiting for one of them to open and reveal a nosey neighbor. “Enough. This is the saddest fistfight I’ve ever seen either of you get in.”

Javi mustered up one last rush of strength to shove Steve off of him. It was enough to separate them, and Steve still had just enough alcohol in his system to have a bit of a sway in his step as Javi made him stumble back. They each forced themselves to stand as upright as they could manage, trying to pretend that they hadn’t just been acting the way that they were.

Steve looked at Javi for a few seconds longer, anger etched deep into his expression. When the sun came up and they were both walking around with clearer heads, Steve would piece Javi apart the best way that he knew how, he’d get answers to all the questions he had because now Javi had no choice but to tell him everything. This affected all of them now in a much more direct way than any of them ever wanted, than Javi had ever bargained for.

When that thought crossed his mind, Steve’s expression shifted, almost softening but not quite as he turned and looked over at Carolina. She looked like she was ready to just lay down on the stairs and sleep there for the night. He had the urge to hug her even though he knew it wouldn’t do her any good.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding surprisingly genuine.

She shook her head. “It’s not on you, Steve.”

Her words knocked the wind out of both Steve and Javi for different reasons. Javi felt like she’d just slapped him across the face, though he deserved it at that point. Steve just hadn’t been ready for the intense disappointment and hurt in her tone as she said it. She was right, of course, none of what had unfolded during the day had anything to do with Steve, but he still felt like he should be doing something to fix it.

He pointed back over his shoulder towards the door to his apartment. “Do you wanna stay?”

In spite of everything, a weak smile crossed Carolina’s face as she shook her head. “It’s alright.” She let out a sigh, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders and out of her face. “Thank you, though.”

The silence amongst the three of them was thick with tension. Carolina had nothing left in the tank, too tired to cause much of an issue with either one of the men standing in front of her at this point. She was ready to pack it in for the night, had been for a long while now. She wanted to think that both Javi and Steve were ready to shelf their argument until the morning at least, but with how stubborn they each were, she couldn’t be sure.

When a few more seconds passed without anyone saying anything, making any move at all, Carolina cleared her throat. The simple action prompted both men to snap their attention to her. She looked at Javi, the anger drained out of her as her fatigue won out. “Please go get my gun.”

Javi wouldn’t, couldn’t tell her no. No matter what his deal with Steve was in that moment, would be when he came back, there was no way that Javi could do anything but what Carolina asked of him in that moment. If the guilt shredding through his chest said anything, it was that he was going to be feeling that way for a long time. Without another word to either of them, Javi turned and headed back off on the simple errand that had spurred the entire interaction in the first place.

When Javi was gone and out the door, Steve turned back to Carolina. She could see it in his eyes that he was trying to figure out of he wanted to say something kind and comforting to her, or something scathing and pithy about Javi.

She took the chance away from him as she asked, as sarcastically as she could manage, “How you holding up?”

He couldn’t help but to laugh, and Carolina could smell the liquor on his breath when he did. “Better than you two.”

“Por dios.” She shook her head, a hint of a smile attempting to tug at her lips. “Eso no dice mucho,” she said as she leaned against the railing of the stairs.

Steve scoffed. She always did that to him, reminded him that he should be learning Spanish because she wasn’t going to take the time to translate everything she said. “Sure, yeah, whatever you say.” They both shared a quiet, weary chuckle over it before his face grew serious again. “We gotta talk about it, Caro.”

She nodded. “I know.” Both their attentions shifted as Javi strode back into the building. Looking back at Steve, she reached and gently rested her hand on his arm for a moment. “Not tonight though.”

He knew better than to argue, so he gave a small nod. “Alright.” Javi was standing right with them again but Steve didn’t even want to pay him any mind. “If you guys need anything,” he spoke about the two of them in one swoop but he was still refusing to look at Javi, “just call. Or stomp. Whatever works.”

Carolina took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh of relief. The day finally felt like it was really going to come to an end. “Thank you.” She said a quick goodnight to Steve before turning to Javi, taking her gun from him, and finally heading up the stairs.

It left the two of them at the base of the stairway. Steve was finally looking at Javi again, but there was nothing but anger in his expression. All of the comfort he’d been ready to offer Carolina was now gone. The only reason it bothered Javi was because he knew that Steve had every right to feel the way that he did about it all. He had nothing to try and defend himself with.

“All you had to do was keep her out of your shit, Jav,” Steve finally said.

“Can this wait till tomorrow?” Javi asked as he shook his head.

“Unbelievable,” Steve scoffed.

Javi’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t fuckin—” he stopped himself short. Nothing good, or productive, was going to come from the two of them talking about it anymore in that moment. Running his hand back through his hair, Javi said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If the stakes had been different at all, if Carolina wasn’t waiting upstairs by herself, if Steve wasn’t steeping in his own personal shit on top of all of this, maybe his response would’ve been different. But it was what it all unfortunately was. “Yeah,” Steve said as he walked away, “you fuckin’ will.”

#narcoctober #narcos #day of conflict #javier peña #steve murphy #oc carolina rodriguez #oc carolina #oc caro #javier peña x oc #steve murphy x oc #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[romana-after-dark]

Coming soon…

New series alert! Once school and BBTF wrap up, here’s what’s coming…

Picture it!

Marisol Muñoz is a social worker in Colombia, helping facilitate the Murphy adoption of Olivia, and is usually the woman on the scene when narcos raids find a child, because she’s the only one not afraid to approach the scene.

So yeah, you can say Steve and Javi have gotten to know her a little

Her name is Marisol but Javi calls her Mariposa.

One day, while talking with Javier about Steve and Connie as part of the adoption proceedings, Mari blanks out.

When she comes too, she’s in a house and soon comes to find it belongs to Pablo Escobar and Javier has also been taken.

Although she was not the primary taken, Pablo has no problem using her to break down Javi.

THIS WILL BE A DARK FIC!!! Themes of non con, brainwashing, stockholder etc will be present!

However! Javi is NOT dark. Javi is the good guy.

I decided since I know this won’t take off, I’m just writing how I prefer anyway: an oc ❤️

More info to come but I’m sorry to say this series warnings will function like the “wrote chose not to archived warnings”

To avoid spoilers, I will be taking you some bigger stuff but at a certain point, to continue is your choice

#narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña x oc #Javier Peña #romana writes #dark #dark fanfiction

[cregan-starks]

M A S T E R L I S T

Narcos & Narcos: Mexico

House of the Dragon

#tori's masterlist #tori's beholden #tori’s flames of deceit #narcos #narcos: mexico #narcos mexico #narcos mexico fanfic #walt breslin #walt breslin x oc #walt breslin/oc #walt breslin x reader #walt breslin/reader #javier peña x reader #javier Peña x oc #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen/oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen/reader #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark/oc #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark/reader

[moodiboards]

Javier Peña x Ophelia-Jean "OJ" Watson

The Game of Give and Take

by @appletreesinwinter

#my moodboard #inspired by hers #Karen makes a moodboard #narcos #javier peña x oc #narcos x oc

[ghostofaboy]

Reconnaissance

Summary: Javi learns about a new interesting spot in the city.

Pairing: Javier Peña/Male OCs Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only | Word Count: 2391

Warnings: Cruising, masturbation, oral sex, anal fingering, voyeurism, anonymous sex, public sex

Note: This as not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay/bi characters. Please make sure you’ve read the warnings.

Javi knew he shouldn’t be here. It was stupid and if he got caught there’d be hell to pay, but from the moment he’d heard about this place he knew he had to come. Sat at his desk in the DEA Austin office bored out his mind while he tried to finish a report, Javi had heard some of the younger agents laughing through his open office door. They were all recent transfers, all green as fuck, and far too young in Javi’s opinion. They laughed and swapped stories about getting lost and finding ‘hidden gems’ in Austin, naming some of the most well known bars and clubs in the city in the process. But then one of them had mentioned something and Javi’s fingers had paused, hovering above his keyboard as he listened.

Apparently the young agent, Harrin or Harkin or something, had stumbled across the spot when he’d stopped to ask for directions. A bunch of guys with their dicks out blowing each other, he giggled to the other agents, and they laughed at the thought. From the way they were talking, it was obvious they didn’t know what the young man had found. They all thought it was a fluke or just a bunch of old gay guys who just happen to have chosen that place to stop. But Javi knew what the young agent had found. 

A cruising spot. 

From the description, Javi was pretty sure he knew where they were talking about, a small area of a neighborhood park, but he never knew about the spot. And from that moment Javi knew he was going to go there.

It was late afternoon and the sun was shining as Javi had pulled up in his car and surveyed the area. At the first, nothing indicated he had the right spot. Off in the distance, families sat on blankets and children played. While there were a few other cars park up near him, Javi couldn’t see any of the guys the young agent had laughed about. 

But then he spotted them. Just through the branches and leaves, Javi could see the unmistakable sight of a pasty white ass humping against another as the two tanned men hid amongst the trees. Then he spotted another group, three older men in a circle all jacking each other off. Then more, and more. 

Leaning back in his seat, Javi unfastened his jeans, freeing his semi hard cock and began to stroke it lazily. A breeze drifted through his open window as he scanned the area. Part of him on the look out for a potential hook up, another part ever alert. If he was caught here, he was done. There would be no coming back from a scandal like getting caught fucking in public.

Slowly stroking his cock, Javi soon spotted an older man watching him from his own car. The other man was round, with a bald head but a thick white mustache. He was sat with his car door open in a pair of cargo shorts and polo shirt, his hard, fat cock poking out as he tugged on it. His eyes met Javi’s and immediately the older man smiled and started to make his way over to Javi’s car.

“Hi there.” He greeted Javi politely as he leaned on the car roof, his cock almost at eye level with Javi. “You’ve got a real nice cock. May I?”

“Sure.” Javi nodded, moving his own hand as the stranger reached in and started to gently pump him. 

Arousal spiked through Javi’s system as the older man expertly worked his throbbing cock. Sliding his hand down Javi’s shaft, man would rotate his wrist a little on the way up, before skimming his fingers over the sensitive head to begin again. Every few pumps, he would pause slightly as he glanced around, a constant reminder to Javi of the extremely public place they were in.

Reaching up Javi began to tentatively stroke the man’s cock, causing the older man to buck into his grip and gasp. With his other hand Javi lifted his shirt up higher, exposing his stomach ready for his release. He was close. The heady mixture of the attention and environment was going straight to Javi’s cock, filling his head with fog as the hungry need took over. 

Above him at the car door the other man continued pumping him, pulling him closer to the edge with every masterful stoke. Gasping and grunting filled the space, intermixed with worried moments of silence and stillness as a walker got a little too close or a car drove by. Finally the tension snapped and with a low growl, Javi came, shooting thick ropes over his stomach and the man’s hand. 

As his own climax shook him Javi stopped stroking the other man’s cock, instead leaning forward to engulf the short fat dick in his mouth. On the other side of the car door the old man moaned as Javi bobbed his head and ran his tongue over the leaking tip. A thick hand grabbed the back of Javi’s head as the stranger fucked his mouth through the open car window.

It didn’t take long for bitter release to flood Javi’s mouth and the hand to disappear from his hair. With a polite thank you, the stranger left, and Javi waited until he was back in his car before discreetly spitting the man’s cum into a tissue before collapsing back in his seat. 

That had been a rush. The thrill of anonymous sex coupled with the chance of getting caught had been intoxicating. And exactly what Javi was worried about. He’d enjoyed that. Potentially too much.

Pulling another tissue from the small pack, Javi set about wiping his own seed from his stomach as he watched people go about their business in the afternoon sun. The guys amidst the trees were gone, presumably finished and moved on while Javi was distracted. Tossing the tissue onto the passenger seat, Javi scanned the area for more encounters.

There were two other cars parked up, one of which gently rocked as Javi focused on it, hinting at the activities going on inside. A lanky looking middle-aged man leaned against a tree watching them casually, keeping an eye out for anyone getting too close as he looked around. 

But other than that, the area seemed clear, and Javi felt a pang of disappointment. As thrilling as getting jacked off by a stranger had been, he had been hoping for a little more. Not necessarily sex but more than one encounter would have been nice. 

Slumping back in his seat, Javi idly played with his cock as life in the park went on around him. It twitched at the attention but remained flaccid as Javi rolled his foreskin back and forth over the head as he continued to look around the area. He knew he should leave instead of sitting in his car with his cock out.

After a short time of slowly stroking his shaft, Javi noticed another car pull up close to his own, and Javi tucked his semi away out of sight under his shirt. For a few tense minutes, Javi waited, watching the new arrival to see what his intensions were. From what he could see from his car, Javi would see the other man looking around the area just as he had. Then as he turned his head, the new driver locked eyes with Javi.

The new guy offered Javi a smile and a small nod, which Javi returned. The man slowly got out of his car and began to make his way over to Javi, who re-exposed his cock and quickly hid the used tissues in the glove compartment. 

Looking up Javi watched as the other man approached his open window just as the man before had done, before to Javi’s surprise, he veered away. Turning in his seat, Javi followed as the man circled the car and then to Javi’s surprise, the stranger opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.

“Hey.” The man smiled, his eyes raking over Javi before landing on his cock. “Do you mind me gettin’ in? Sorry, I should’ve asked first, man.”

“It’s fine.” Javi smirked as he got a better look at the other man. He was younger than Javi, with messy blond hair and a big, easy smile. Slowly stroking his cock once more, Javi licked his lips as the other man tugged down the front of his sweatpants to reveal his own hardening shaft. 

“Can I?” The stranger gestured to Javi’s erected, reaching over and feeling its weight when Javi nodded. “Hey, can I play with your ass while you jerk off?”

The request caught Javi off guard, but he couldn’t deny the throb of arousal he felt at the idea. Pulling his jeans open further, Javi locked eyes with the younger man as he pushed them down to his knees, feeling the cooling breeze from the open window caress his skin.

The stranger grinned, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small bottle of lube and squeezing some out onto his fingers before offering it to Javi. Javi chuckled as he applied a couple of drips to his cock.

“You always carry that with you?”

“I like to be prepared.” The other man laughed, putting it the bottle back in him pocket. “What can I say? I’m an organized kinda guy.”

Javi continued to chuckle as he shifted down in his seat slightly and opened his legs, wincing as the cool lube on the stranger’s finger’s made contact with his rim. Settling back Javi began to stroke himself once more as the other man’s digit circled his entrance gently. Then, carefully and slowly it began to push inside him, breaching his hole, before withdrawing slightly.

The hot rush of arousal washed over Javi as the other man began to tenderly pump a finger in and out of him. His skin prickled as Javi attempted to focus on his own role, but with each plunge of the finger he felt his own pace falter as his head filled with the wonderful fog of lust.

"Just relax." The stranger whispered skimming a finger over that sweet spot inside Javi, who bit back a moan. "Come on, pump that cock for me. I wanna watch you cum."

Javi nodded, pinching his eye shut for a moment before pumping his length in time with the other man's fingers. The pace was relaxed to begin with, just a single finger slowly sinking into him. And in turn, Javi sensually stroked his dick, with his eyes flicking between the other man's bobbing, leaking cock and the hand between his legs.

Then, gently, the stranger eased in a second finger. Javi gasped, arching his back as a pulse of arousal thrummed through him. He could feel his whole body heating up, and he instinctually opened his legs further, pushing himself down in his seat onto the thick fingers.

"You really to cum?" The stranger purred in his ear, and glancing over, Javi could see him stroking his own cock now as he leaned sideways in the passenger seat. 

"I'm ready." Javi growled, gripping his shaft firmly as he resumed pumping. 

The pace was faster now, as Javi lifted his hip up to rut up into his fist. In his ass, the two sturdy fingers stretched him open, no longer caressing his prostate with feather-light teasing, but now fucking Javi with each plunge inside him.

The lewd sounds of breathy moans, grunts and the wet squelches of Javi's ass filled the car, sounding louder in the enclosed space and adding to Javi's intoxicating tension building within him. 

Javi was grateful for the lube now as he frantically pumped his cock so quickly his hand was almost a blur. The other man's fingers thrust into his hole hungrily as he tugged on his own dick, while his eyes remained fixed on where his digits disappeared into Javi's ass.

Javi's thighs shook as he felt his peak approaching. The fire inside was reaching its limit, and Javi could feel his control slipping away. Gritting his teeth, Javi hissed, throwing his head back as he let go. With a shudder, Javi came, giving in to the ecstasy as his cock painted his stomach and hand with thick release. 

He was vaguely aware of the stranger coaching him through his climax as the thick fingers caressed that sweet spot to milk Javi of every last drop. Finally, Javi let his hand drop away, falling limp in his seat, gasping as the other man's finger left his ass. 

Slumped in his seat, Javi turned his head to watch as the other man frenetically pumped his cock, before shooting cum over his hand with a load moan. 

For a moment, the two men sat boneless in their seats, panting as the world around roared back into their consciousnesses. Thankfully no one had noticed them as off in the distance the city went on as normal. 

The car was filled with the musky scent as Javi sat, his chest heaving, as the other man quickly wiped himself down with a wet wipe. As he offered one to Javi, Javi nodded gratefully and with a shaking hand began to clean his own sticky body. After tucking himself away, the stranger smiled at Javi, offering another nod before wordlessly leaving the car and quickly returning to his own.

Javi took his time tidying himself before pulling up his jeans and putting his soft cock away. He wasn’t sure what to do now as he played with the car’s ignition. Should he leave? Stay and meet another man? Logically, the longer he stayed, the more likely it was he would get caught, or someone would notice him. It was with that in mind that Javi turned the key and set off home.

As he drove home for a much-needed shower, Javi knew he would be going back. Perhaps not to that exactly spot for a while, but this afternoon that scratched an itch that he’d been ignoring for too long. The anonymity was a thrill for him that he’d forgotten and pushed down since he’d come back from Colombia. All he had to do now was find some more spots to add into his new routine.

#javier peña #javier peña x original male characters #narcos #pedro pascal character fanfiction #javier peña x male ocs

[romanarose]

If You Wanna be Wild: Chapter 7

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Everything falls apart and evryone is alone.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!:mentions of rape an violence, what happened to Helena, smut, repressed feelings, angst.

Almost everything was written by Fen <3

2.7k words

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

**************

There was no making up. There was no Javi bringing Santi food as an apology, there was no talking. 

When Santi walked into the office on Monday, he saw the fucking desks rearranged, Javier’s and Santi’s on other sides of the room instead of pushed face to face. Santi quickly rushed to the bathroom where he panic vomited and had an anxiety attack, resulting in him being 45 minutes late. Javi didn’t say anything about it.

Where Santi couldn’t eat, Javi couldn’t stop eating, munching down food and taking frequent trips to the vending machine. His doctor was going to kill him. Santi could barely function, even coming in late or leaving early which was a cardinal sin in his book. Still, none of it stopped him from seeing Candy. Occasionally Candy asked about him because all month Javi hadn’t been to see her either. Santi couldn’t get much answer either.

They worked, but mostly separately. Javi had even been trying to find somewhere else to work, but there weren’t exactly free rooms in the precinct. They talked occasionally but only about Lorea… making Santi desperately lonely. He had his family and he loved his tias, but they weren’t Javi. It was the day of the rally for the beatification of Laura Montoya, which forced them to be in close proximity as they dressed in plain clothes and scouted the area for any sign of the Lorea family. Not wanting to look too much like officers on alert, Santi tried making conversation, none of which was working with Javi, only getting few word answers. 

The boy was going to drive him absolutely batshit insane if he didn’t stop talking. It was bad enough he kept asking. ‘Should we get food’ or ‘it’s nice out today’, but his voice mixed with the crowds and noise and music and chatter or the rally, people shouting about whoever it was they were here for, politicians trying to stop them and constantly flashbacks of that night of the ball… Then Santi had to go and say 

“She misses you.”

“You mentioned her name one more fucking time and I’ll-”

“You’ll fucking what?” Santi snapped, his nerves had twisted, hardened suddenly by rage. 

His anger took Javi by surprise, he’d never heard him speak like that to anyone let alone him. 

Santi took his pause as indignation. “I mentioned Candy once. Once. And that’s only because you haven’t seen her, or called her or anything!” He hissed. “She’s worried about you actually, she-”

It was Javi’s turn to snap. 

He grabbed the younger man by the back of his collar and pulled him into a side alley, using his own momentum against him and slamming him up against the brick wall. 

Sant let out a little huff of air as his back collided, gritting his jaw as pain raced along his back. 

The action had been forceful, but not enough to cause discomfort for most people. However, a rough, uneven lump of mortar had poked oddly against the scar at the nape of his neck, sending a tingle down his back.

Javi rammed the heel of his hand into the wall next to Santi’s head, using his height to his full advantage as he leaned over him like he was interrogating a suspect instead of a colleague. A friend. 

Santi breathed hard, his frown pinching his eyebrows together, and Javi would say he even looked cute if he wasn’t so bloody annoying, so obsessed with getting under his skin. Unable to let anything go, constantly digging at him in his self-righteous attitude, just needing to push, and push, and push, and…

Cute. The thought caught him off guard. When had he started to think of Santiago as cute?

“What the fuck are you doing Peña?” He growled, puffing his chest out, but not pushing back. 

Javi shook his head slightly, trying to break his racing mind, trying to get back to reality. “Candy, look, you can’t just-”

“She’s an adult Javi, I can-”

“You’re going to get her killed!” His voice raised at the end, louder and more desperate than he had intended, with just the slightest waver. He hoped Santi didn’t hear it, but he probably did. Nothing got past him. “Do you understand?” Santi glared at him, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Those stupid large doe eyes looking painfully dark and enticing. “You’re flaunting her. Taking her to the ball and, and-”

Santi scoffed. “That’s none of your business, I asked her, I-”

“You’re gonna get her gutted and dumped on the side of the road!” Javier screamed, haunting flashbacks to Helena’s beaten and raped body, wrapping his coat around her and having to carry her out, not sure if she was dying or not. “You know how easy it would be for Lorea to do something? This isn’t even a put two and two together situation, Pope, it’s you waving a four right in his fucking face! And what do you think is gonna happen when he takes her, huh? When he beats her and rapes her an tortures her to get information on YOU!” 

Santi swallows, his face still hard, but that little bob of his Adam’s apple draws Javier’s eye, but he doesn't respond. Javier lowers his voice, fist still gripping Santi’s jacket.

“She’s not gonna give you up, she’s not gonna help them hurt you. She’s gonna end up dead. You’re gonna…” He closed his eyes for a moment, took a small breath. It was easier not to look at him, not to have to stare at his soft eyes and plump lips. “You’re gonna end up dead too, Pope. I can’t… I’ve seen it, okay?”  

Javier screwed up his face, opening his eyes so that he could look at Santi man to man. Implore him to see reason. 

“I’m not telling you to stop seeing her, I’m just saying.... I’ve seen shit happen to girls in her line of work. To officers like you that are still wet behind the ears to this kind of thing-” The second it was out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake. 

“I’m not a fucking child, Peña.” Santi hissed, pressing forward and getting up in Javier’s face. “I know that’s what everyone at the station seems to think and all their little Virgin Maria mierda. I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck if all they see is that.” He pushes firmly on Javier’s chest, almost smacking as he punctuates his sentence. “But I thought you’d know better! I was black ops special agent, I spend years of my life in almost every goddamn continent doing retcon, assassinations, covert operations and rescuing women and children and getting SHOT! I’m not-”

“I’m not saying you’re a child-”

“You are! You are!” Santiago growls, smacking Javi’s chest repeatedly. He doesn’t care that he does sound like a child in that moment, arguing relentlessly on semantics. His emotions are bubbling over and muddying his head. “You’re saying that you know best. That your word is law. Despite all you do to endanger Candy!”

“I do n-”

“You do! You think you’re above it all, you’re just as bad, you pretend to care but you-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Garcia!”

“Make me!”

He doesn’t think. 

There’s always times he doesn’t think. When he gets too lost in whatever emotion he’s letting overwhelm him. Sometimes rage. Sometimes guilt. Usually negative either way. That’s where Santi is a good partner, keeping a cool and level head while Javi plays bad cop.

Usually ends up with him throwing a punch, not a kiss. 

Santi knew ‘make me’ was childish. Knew it was playground nonsense reserved for kids still in single digits. But if everyone was going to keep calling him that, keep pretending that he wasn’t the only actual goddamned adult in the room then-

Then…

Javier’s lips on his steal his breath away, rob him of every thought that has ever run through his mind. And, for once, it’s blissfully quiet. The anxieties pushed away for the peace of a lover's kiss.

Javi presses closer, pushing Santiago further into the wall and cupping his face with his warm hand as he kisses him, body to body, warmth to warmth. Darting out his tongue to just trace Santi’s bottom lip and groans when he parts them immediately, no hesitation, and lets him lick into his mouth. 

The angle’s a little awkward, Javier’s body trapping Santi’s hand between their chests. But Santiago’s fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as his kisses leave him breathless and desperate for more.

Javier’s leg bumps into his and Santi moves a step, moaning softly and then whining as his thigh presses against his half hard cock, a sharp spike of pleasure running up his spine and- 

His thoughts all come crashing down. What the fuck, what the fuck  was he doing? His mother’s voice rang in his head, screaming his name. 

He could get arrested for this, thrown in jail, worse. He was going to burn in hell.

Santi pulled back quickly, disentangling himself from Javier so quickly that both men nearly fell. He turned, not giving the older man a second look, and ran out of the alley into the crowded street. 

He didn’t even hear Javier call his name. 

*

“Are you okay, baby?” You asked, your naked body covering Santiago while giving him tender kisses, scooting yourself up and down his cock. You loved to tease him, get him whimpering and watch as all those troublesome thoughts left his pretty little head. He was too pretty to be so worried all the time.

He’d been stressed on and off about Javi, occasionally bringing it up, but you think he stopped when he realized it upset you. You were really good at pretending to care when old professors droned on and on about academic works or when men talked about themselves or complained about their wives and mothers again and again and again. You could’ve faked not being upset when Santi, but you didn’t fake anything with him. Javi’s absence hurt your feelings. You were worried about him, and you were angry at him for abandoning you and hurting Santi. For continuing to hurt his feelings. Bitch.

But honestly… you just miss him. A lot. It would take more than a poster to patch this, he’d have to make things right with Santi too, but you’d forgive him. You just wanted him back, and you wanted Santi happy again. He was already thin enough, and as your body slid up and down the sweaty length of him, you could feel he’d lost weight. 

Santi moaned loudly, gripping onto your hips as you bounced on his length, his eyes rolling back in his head as your heat engulfs him over and over. Pulling him deeper and deeper. 

The fat tip of his cock presses deliriously, perfectly rubbing over your walls with every slick slide. Stretching you so wonderfully like he was made for you. He was, he really, really was. Something was bothering him today, and he was finding solace in you. You were happy to give it to him. Pushing all other thoughts out of your head. 

He whines, babbling nonsensically with his eyes closed, “please, please, please,” He rocks up against you, letting his body override his brain as you fuck him into the mattress. “Please, gonna come, please, need you so much,” he gasps, almost sobbing from pleasure. 

You stroke his cheek and pick up your pace, even if he hasn’t said you could tell how close he was. The way his stomach muscles tense, how his eyes are screwed shut and head thrown back into the pillow, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you can come, give it all to me.”

He shakes his head rapidly, “no, please,” he moans, “need you, need mommy to come, please.” 

His whines change in pitch, the little sounds getting higher and higher as he reaches the point of no return. His mouth hangs open, his skin flushed and sweaty, and heat floods to your core. 

You brace yourself with your left hand on his leg behind you as you ride him, leaning back ever so slightly to change the angle just enough that he continuously hits perfectly inside, stretching you to your limit. 

Santi sobs, the position change sending a buzz up his spine, pressing on the thick length of his cock to a surprisingly maddening degree. His whole body pulsed, stealing the air from his lungs.

He bucks up once, his eyes fluttering open in surprise as he comes, his length pulsating. He empties himself deep inside you, his orgasm stretching onwards and overtaking every possible thought. 

You smile as you watch him, happy to see him so blissed out. You ride him throughout his high, trying to prolong his sensations as long as possible. He deserved it.

He sighs, shivering with aftershocks as he comes back to himself and looks up at you. You open your mouth to speak, the words on the tip of your tongue.

Santi grabs you by the hips, urging you up and off him and pulling your aching pussy onto his face. He lets out a small groan at the mess he made, his cum leaking out of your folds before he runs the tip of his tongue through them. 

You bite back a moan, grabbing onto his hair for stability as his mustache brushes against your clit.

His mouth feels like heaven as he lick and swirls around your clit, his movements soft but certain, quickly pushing you towards your peak.

Instinctively you buck your hips, grinding down on his mouth to chase your high. He rocks you against him, urging you tp move and fuck his eager tongue. 

“Santi…” you whine as you come hard against him, pulling fiercely on his hair. 

He continues licking, moaning against you as he drinks down every drop of your release. 

You breathe heavily, boneless for a moment before slowly moving away to lay down next to him. 

He pouts a little as you settle. “I wasn’t finished.” He smiles cheekily, your cum shining all over the bottom half of his face,

You giggle, and gently swat his arm and cuddle up next to him. Santi didn’t need instruction, scooting his back to your chest. In your arms, where he belonged. You loved being like this with him, but somehow it always felt like something was missing. You loved when Javi used to hold you, protecting you with a strong arm around your body, but again, you felt like something was missing, in your arms this time instead of around you.

You kiss the scar on his spine. “Good boy, Santito.”

It happened so fast. Santi teanses and you barely have a second to register how he turns to you, his eyes widen in panic, his skin turning ashen before he’s up, out of bed and pulling on his clothes so fast that it shouldn’t have been possible. What the fuck? Did you do something wrong?

“Santi?” you start, trying to keep your voice soft but unable to hide the fear that has overcome your words.Why is he leaving? What did you do wrong? Did you mess up things with Santi too, the one good thing left? You barely sit up before he’s shoving a handful of dollars at you, practically just throwing them in your direction and the bed. 

“Here.” His voice is quiet, distant. Like he’s not really there. A stark comparison to his panicked, edgy movements. He doesn’t even bother tying his shoes, simply shoving his feet inside them and stumbling towards the door.

“Wait, Sant-”

He slams the door on his way out. 

Leaving your bed cold, and you alone.

It was supposed to be sex, talking. Build a nice repour. That was it. You were good at it too, making old ugly men think you were infatuated, but yourself detached from even the most charming and attractive. Something happened with Javi and Santi, a line that became blurred, friendship and genuine attraction and care. Now they were gone. 

You hate yourself for how hard you cry.

***************

thank you so much to everyone whose stuck around while i sort my SHIT OUT (its never ending)

If you like me writing javi, i wrote a drable today too, and if you wanna see a totally insane version of santi, come to rooms on fire!

be sure to give @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction a follow, he's amazing and my everything. they are pumping out AMAZING works rn for the moon knight bingo.

I appriciate you all very very much, please let know your thoughts in the comment!!!

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[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Yes, Mr President.

There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.

Author's Note - oh boy. buckle in. this is entirely inspired by the fitz / scandal edits that are all over my tiktok currently. i'd be very interested in politics if javier was my president <3 as always, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated x

Pairing - President!Javier Peña x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 2074

Masterlist. Requests.

You've always been a sickeningly good liar.

"I'm just bringing some papers he requested," is what you tell the security guard at the end of the hallway as you push past.

I'm about to get railed by the President of the United States in the Oval Office, is what you mean.

Your kitten pumps click against the wooden floors as you stride fiercely towards the heavy wooden door. Luckily, security posts themselves at the end of the hallway. Javier has told them time and time again that he feels smothered when they stand right outside his door. It works in your favour, anyway.

You knock four times in quick succession - your secret code.

"Come in."

His low, booming voice permeates through the wood, settling in your bones. Oh, that voice.

You enter the room and lay eyes on him immediately. He looks so broad, sat in his leather chair. His shoulders fill it out completely, dwarfing the back of it. His shirt sleeves are pushed up and over his forearms, the top few buttons undone. He looks delectable.

"Hi, hermosa," he drawls. "You bring me those papers I wanted?"

"Sure did," you purr, making your way over to him. You throw the documents onto his desk and hitch a leg over so you're straddling his lap on the chair.

"Missed you," he mumbles against your lips, warm hands grabbing at your hips to pull you closer so you're chest to chest.

"You saw me this morning," you chuckle, resting your forehead against his.

"I saw you in a foreign affairs meeting this morning. It's not the same."

He leans in and presses his lips to yours, revelling in the content sigh you let out. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. He groans, and the vibrations of the sound settle in your core.

You grind your hips forward, searching for any friction you can find. Javi helps you, rocking you over his lap.

"Oh, you look so pretty like this, honey," he drawls. "You love this, don't you? The thrill of being caught turns you on, doesn't it?"

All you can do is whine in response.

"It'd be a national scandal," he continues lowly. "I bet they'd all think I seduced you. But that's not the truth, is it, baby?"

When you don't answer, he grabs your hips roughly, holding you so you are no longer able to move.

"Answer me, pretty girl. That's not the truth, is it?"

"No," you whine.

"No, what?"

"No, Mr President."

Hearing his title fall from your lips all pretty makes him moan, head thrown back and gorgeous neck exposed. You lunge forward and attack it, pressing kisses into the spots you know he likes.

"Walking around here in your tight skirts, those button up blouses. Batting your eyelashes at me like butter wouldn't melt. If only they all knew, huh? If only they knew how filthy you are."

Your hands fly to his shirt, fingers trembling as you try to undo the buttons. He chuckles as he watches you struggle, making no move to help you.

"You need help, sweetheart? All you have to do is ask. I'll give you anything you want. Anything."

You know he means it.

"Yes, sir. Help, please."

"Good girl."

He makes quick work of his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders before doing the same to yours. He presses you into him, revelling in the skin on skin contact. He's so warm and you're so soft and you both sigh at the feeling.

"Been thinking about this all day," he mumbles against your neck. His hands trace patterns up and down your spine, enjoying the feeling of your skin underneath the rough pads of his fingers.

"Me too," you whine. "You looked so big stood up there today. So broad and powerful. Wanted you to bend me over the desk in front of everyone."

He groans at your confession, and the vibrations settle in your core.

"Come here, honey," he half requests, half demands, grabbing your thighs to hoist you onto the desk in front of him. He remains sat on his chair, wheeling closer to where you're now spread out, legs apart.

"God, you look good enough to eat," he winks, rucking your skirt up and over your hips.

Javier leans forward and presses his nose into your core, inhaling deeply. It's so filthy and so intimate that you'd be cringing if you weren't so turned on.

He sucks at you through your underwear, groaning at your muffled taste. It's the one thing he can never get enough of.

"Fuck, you're so sweet," he sighs. "And to think that I'm the only person in the world that gets to taste you like this. Such a shame."

"It's not a shame," you whimper breathlessly. "It's all yours. All for you. No one else."

He moans unashamedly, gripping at the waistband of your underwear to pull them down and off. He tucks them into the pocket of his slacks, revelling in the way he can feel how wet they are against his thigh.

Without a second thought, he dives into you, tongue licking an eager stripe from bottom to top. You jolt upwards when he sucks on your clit, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him work.

You've always been turned on by the way Javi enjoys himself when he eats you out. It's as if he enjoys it as much as you do. He hums and groans in contentment the entire time, and the vibrations drive you closer and closer to the edge.

You can feel your climax licking at the base of your spine, warming you up from the inside out. Javier can feel it too, doubling down on his efforts. He's always taken pride in how easily he can get you off with just his tongue, no fingers needed.

"That's it, pretty girl," he mumbles into your core. "You're almost there, I know you are. You can do it. Come for me, honey."

You tip over the edge, back arching and hips canting. He uses a strong hand to push you back down, fingers splayed over your stomach. The other hand keeps your thighs apart, determined to prolong your orgasm for as long as possible.

You finally come down, slumping back against the desk. Your chest is heaving, breath coming in quick pants. Javi stands up and leans over you, kissing your lips gently.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "You'd let me do whatever I wanted, wouldn't you? As long as you get to come, you don't care."

As humiliating as it is, he isn't wrong. It's nothing to do with the fact he's the most influential man in the world. No, it's more to do with the fact that you feel like you've known him your whole life. The minute you met, the two of you clicked. There's always been an undeniable, unavoidable chemistry between you, buzzing away underneath everything. You're genuinely surprised no one has caught on yet.

"Javi," you whinge, grabbing at him to pull him closer.

"What is it, hermosa? What do you need, huh?"

You thread your fingers through his hair, ignoring the way your heart sings when he leans into your touch like a puppy.

"Need you," you mumble against his lips.

He kisses you again, tongue sweeping into your mouth. He bites your bottom lip, making you gasp in surprise. Chuckling lowly, he unbuttons his suit trousers, reaching into his underwear. You watch his every move, practically salivating. When he doesn't immediately do what you want, you whimper, trying to get his attention.

"You need something, pretty girl?"

You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his arrogance. You'd think that being the most powerful man on the planet would get exhausting, and that he'd want to give it up in his downtime, but no. He loves to have all the power in the bedroom, his authority not relenting for a minute.

Javier moves back to standing in between your legs, grabbing your hips and pulling you forward so you're at the edge of the desk. He swipes his length through your folds, seeing how far he can tease you before you'll break. You wiggle your hips, willing him to get the message.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" he asks, condescension dripping from his tone.

You nod your head frantically, but Javier won't let up.

"Beg."

You think, for a second, that you've misheard him. Usually, all you have to do is whine a little, pout your bottom lip, look at him with your big doe eyes. His long day has clearly taken its toll on him.

"... What?" you ask meekly.

"You heard me. Beg."

If this was any other man, any other situation, you'd be laughing in his face and storming out of the room. But this isn't just any man. This is Javier. Javier Peña, President of the United States of America.

You relent embarrassingly quickly.

"Please," you whine. "Please, Javi, baby. Fuck me. Please, I need it. I need you."

His gaze sweeps you up and down slowly, surveying you carefully. He must be feeling generous, because he decides to take mercy on you.

"Okay, sweet girl. Only because you asked me so pretty."

He slides home in one smooth thrust, connecting you in more ways than one. He rests his forehead against yours, kissing you gently, tenderly.

"There we go," he coos. "That's what you needed, isn't it?"

"You're a menace," you laugh breathlessly, adjusting to him.

"You wouldn't have it any other way," he teases, kissing you again before withdrawing his hips and slamming forward.

Javier sets a steady, bruising rhythm, fingers digging into your hips to stop you from sliding off the desk. You're suddenly very grateful security are at the end of the hallway, and not directly outside the door.

One of his hands moves to rest at the base of your throat, holding you in place. As if you'd want to be anywhere but here.

"Fuck, princesa," he breathes. "Can never get enough of this. Of you."

His hips pick up in pace, fingers tightening on your neck. The lack of oxygen is making your vision fuzzy around the edges, allowing everything to feel more intense. Your climax is building rapidly, racing through your veins.

"Can feel you squeezing me, honey," Javier groans. "You're so close. Almost there, baby, come on. You gonna come with me? Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, Mr President," you pant breathlessly. "Please, Javi. Please."

"Come with me, pretty girl. Let me feel you. That's it, atta girl."

Javier releases his grip on your neck at the exact moment your orgasm hits you. The oxygen rushes back into your lungs and you see stars, gripping onto his biceps for dear life. He finishes with you, groaning as his head falls forward to rest on your shoulder.

The two of you are panting, chests heaving and sweat dripping down your backs. You run your fingers through his hair, revelling in how soft it is, how the ends are curling because it's getting longer.

After a few minutes, you come back to reality, realising it's probably much later than you initially thought.

"What time is it?" you whisper against his temple.

He pulls back to check the clock on the wall behind you.

"11:18pm."

"Shit," you groan.

"Yeah," he agrees.

Javi pulls out of you with a wince, and tucks himself back into his trousers. He wraps a strong arm around your middle and helps you off the desk, setting you on shaky legs. He finds your shirt and buttons it up for you, before doing his own. Sitting back down in his chair, he runs his fingers through his hair.

"I should go," you admit reluctantly. "We've got an early morning tomorrow. I can't meet the Texan Senator looking like I haven't slept."

Javier chuckles, eyes boring into yours. He smiles at you so genuinely it makes you want to cry.

"Goodnight, hermosa."

You gather your stuff and slip your shoes back on, making your way towards the door.

"Oh, and Mr President?"

His head immediately whips around to look at you, giving you his full attention.

"Yeah, baby?"

You turn around, one hand on the door knob. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you rake your gaze down his body and back up again.

"Say hi to your wife for me."

@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@soaringcloud

@reuss7

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@mrsquill

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[pennyserenade]

bienvenido 

chapter one - fade into you

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: m (nothing explicit or graphic, just some language and some references to sexual activity. overall fic will be explicit though so no one under 18+!)  tags/warnings: alcohol being consumed/thought about/talked about, javier peña doing his best not to be a slut (finds it hard), physical descriptions of oc word count: 4.1k+ summary: javier mets mariella, not for the first time but certainly the best time a/n: if you’re thinking ‘i swear to god i’ve already read a first chapter of this.’ you’re right. sorry about that. it was a little ugly and had to disappear. this is the new and improved version (i mean, hopefully improved). it doesn’t really bear any resemblance to the other one, so if you read that one you don’t have to worry about re-reading anything. this is completely new. also, this fic is going to be about lots of fun stuff: a unique mexican experience, small town gossip, kissing, television, the ‘90s, movies. especially the movies. because of this i crafted a cute little letterboxd list that will expand in time called, fade into you. it’ll have every movie i mention here. also also: if you want to get notifications about when this fic updates, follow @belovedinfidels​ and turn on the notifications! that’s my updates blog. okay bye. hope you enjoy this. love ya <3333 re-edited: 11/15/2023

Javier is beginning to enjoy standing at the edge of existence, his restlessness quieted by two Modelos and the sound of the Mariachi coming to him above chattering voices. Dust gathers on his boots and around the cuffs of his new blue jeans, brought over from the group dancing close to the live band. He watches them curiously, rocking back on his feet, digging himself further into his spot. The Texas sun has been working on growing kinder for the past hour, peeking farther and farther beneath the white two-story farm house at the edge of the property, and he’s taking in the last bits of it gratefully.

Originally he had said no to this invitation. A Saturday night spent in the company of the population of Laredo hadn’t exactly appealed to Javier, who, for the better part of this summer, has only gone to town when absolutely necessary. On top of that, Chucho had told Javi that the event was a party for James Tawes’ campaign for city council. Javier has no real appetite for politics anymore—not even on the local level--and he doesn't know much about Tawes aside from the fact that he's a tall Gregory Peck type, around the same age as his father, and has a daughter a few years younger than himself. In general, this event presented no real interest to Javier, but then he got lonely. Loneliness these day is akin to a slow death for Javier, so he put on his jeans and his boots, and he showed up.

Chucho had been long gone by the time he decided he couldn’t spend another Saturday alone, so he drove himself out here, remembering the way. This house used to belong to a the Ruiz family. He had went to school with their son, Misael, and had spent many nights here during high school, drinking their liquor while they were away. He doesn't know what happened to them, and doesn't care enough to ask.

Javier had parked where no one could get behind him, just in case he hated it and wanted to leave. So far he hasn’t hated it. Hasn’t loved it, either, but it beats sitting at home, flipping mindlessly through tv channels.

As he brings his third Modelo up to his lips, Javier turns his head and spots a woman coming up to him. Panic fills him, first because of the approaching figure, and then secondly because even as she gets closer, he find he can't recognize her. If there is anything worse than being accosted by those you know, it’s being accosted by those you can’t remember.

A friendly smile spreads across his face. He reconciles with his loss before it happens—knows this will be an awkward conversation, feeling around in the dark for some memory of this dark haired woman and her name. She is pretty. Surely he didn’t—? No, he has been good this summer. He’s been sharing walls with his father and hasn’t been particularly keen on sneaking out of any women’s home in the early hours of the morning, eliciting rumors. The last time he was laid was a little over a month ago, and he remembers her name perfectly: Louisa. This isn’t Louisa. This is—

“Hi, I’m Mariella,” she offers, sticking her hand out. He looks down at it, takes it into his own. The alcohol has a dizzying effect on him, loosens him up. He feels it as he begins to talk, more than he did standing there.

“Javier,” he says, putting on a winsome grin She is pretty. Smells good too, like a warm vanilla. “You can just call me Javi, though.”

“Thank you for coming to this, it means a lot to my family.”He raises his eyebrow, unsure of what she means. This makes her laugh. “I’m James’ daughter, Mariella.”

“Oh—oh,” Javier smiles, embarrassed. “Of course.”

He should’ve recognized her. She's the woman who he’s seen the most of since he’s gotten back, every four to five days at the video store. It’s called Mari’s Video. She must be the namesake, the dutiful daughter Chucho has been gushing about all summer. She helps James out during her the summers she has free and teaches at the elementary school during the school year. She is a kind girl. Chucho tells him this every time he thinks to. It comes off as more of a warning than an encouragement, though.

Mariella gives him an easy smile, raising her hand to fight against the setting sun. Javier steps into its path, shielding her from it. “Thank you,” she tells him. “I don’t really know why I came up to bother you. Just to say thank you, I guess. And to say hi. You’re the talk of the town since you came back and I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know you.”

His interest in the conversation dwindles and his smile fades slightly. “Oh, well, I’m just like everyone else.” His fingers begin to pick at the beer bottle label.

“Ah, damn,” she says, pouting, “Thought you were going to be one of those gnarly hometown hero types who never wants to shut up about what he’s seen and what he’s done.”

It takes him a moment to register that she’s poking fun at him. She’s got to smirk, laugh at him a bit, before he catches on. He shakes his head, grinning. “No, none of that. Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s okay. You spend enough at the store to be forgiven. You keep the lights on, you know?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s been a long, boring summer. It's saved me.”

“You like Hitchcock?” she says.

“Hm?”

“You know, Hitchcock. North by Northwest? You rent that one frequently. I think you got Notorious once too, and I’ve definitely seen you with Rebecca.”

“You’ve got a good memory," he tells her, smiling softly. So she remembers him.

“When you spend entire summers at a movie store, you pay attention to what people get. It’s a good way to judge their character.”

Bringing the beer back up to his lips, he hums, “Oh yeah?” She nods. This prompts him to ask, “What would you say my character is, based on what I’ve given you?”

Narrowing her dark eyes in concentration, she thinks it over. This offers Javier the chance to inspect her more deliberately without feeling like a creep. He smirks under her gaze, taking in the plumpness of her lip gloss covered lips, the rosiness covering her high cheekbones, her tanned, slightly freckled skin skin. She looks white, has features that are undeniably her father’s, but he can tell she’s Mexican. She's got that look. He wonders if she speaks Spanish. She must.

“You’re kind of a loner, maybe even a little lost. I think you might’ve been adventurous when you were younger but now when you find something you like, you stick to it.” She pauses, debating, then she nods her head, sure. “Yeah. I think you might be a bit of the all-American type too, but you won’t admit to it. Don't want to be called gringo. And for some reason, I feel like you’ve got a little animosity towards being the hometown hero.”

Javier practically gawks. “You got all that from a few tapes?” he asks.

“Some of it. Some of it I got from the way you responded when I said you were the hometown hero.”

“Oh,” he grins, “right.”

“When you go back to the store you should get The Swimmer. You remind me a little of Burt Lancaster. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”

“I do?” He can't imagine Burt Lancaster, but he makes a mental note to remember him.

She nods, poking her hands in her pockets. “Yeah. Maybe even From Here to Eternity, too. That’s a good one.”

“I’ll check them out,” he tells her, swirling the beer around at his side.

“Good,” she smiles. She turns her head towards another crowd. “Well, I gotta go win the favor of many more people, but I’ll see you around. Maybe I'll even see you at church by the end of this. I'm not a frequent go-er but they tell me its good for the optics.”

Javier shakes him head firmly. “I don’t go to that,” he says. She looks at him, eyes wide. “And you admit it?” she jokes, hand flying to her chest in mock disgust.  

He watches her leave, unsure of whether it’s the beer or the talk that has him grinning this wide. As she skirts around the large crowd, smiling politely, trying to find an opening to disappear into, he feels the familiar sensation of desire rise up in his stomach. She’s funny. Cute. Pig-tailed braids and blue jeans, the Teacher.

Almost as though God is playing a cruel joke on him, Javier’s eyes land on her father when he turns his head back. James is standing, talking animatedly to another, shorter man. Javier squints. It’s Chucho.

The desire fizzles out. He hears Chucho's voice saying: She’s a good girl, Jav.

He thinks he will leave soon.

———

She loves her father. In this family-oriented town, that’s usually considered to be a good trait. They like that her summers are dedicated to the movie store he had opened up in her honor, and that she comes to events like this, opening herself up to help him. She’s heard what they say about her: how she’s soft spoken, a good girl, smart. A daughter anyone could want. She came home like good girls should, and she stayed home. They really love that. For a child to live for their parent—it’s the ideal here in Laredo. Despite their whiteness, they've always fit in more comfortably because of this dynamic. Mariella only wishes James, in his paternal state, would stop pestering her about getting a life outside of this.

As Tamara loads the raw meat onto the dinner plate, she offers Mariella a sympathetic grin. She is the mediator in the family, and has been since she married James seventeen years ago. Tamara is the only mother Mariella has ever really known, aside from her father's mother, but she came so late into her life that she often feels more like a friend. Mariella seeks her out whenever the waves between her father and herself are rocky.

“He is just worried about you,” Tamara tells her, “He thinks that you spend too much time working. I don’t usually take his side, honey, but I agree this time. You have been working a lot this summer.”

Mariella frowns. “You know, some parents would really love that.”

“But your father never was some parent, was he? He wants you to be happy, at the expense of everything. You know that.” Tamara hands her the plate of meat. “Will you take this out to the grill? I have to go get more beers from the back.”

Mariella nods. Tamara is a smart woman, sometimes too smart, and she knows she’s right. In another life, Tamara could’ve made a hell of a therapist. She tells her all that all the time. Says that she’s wasting her talent on being an elementary school principal, but Tamara doesn’t agree. She thinks sometimes it’s almost the same thing.

“Will you tell him that I’m okay?” Mariella asks, standing at the entrance of the kitchen with the plate. “I do, but he won’t listen to me. He does you. Tell him I'm happy.”

Tamara wipes her hands on the towel in front of her, frowning. “I’ll try, but I think you relaxing a little might do more to assuage his fears. Why don’t you take a couple days off of the store, let me fill in for you? Go on vacation.”

Mariella doesn’t even think about it before she says, “No.” Tamara furrows her eyebrows and Mariella dives into an excuse. “I’ll go out of my mind, and I can’t have that before the new school year starts. Besides it’s a very good look for his campaign that I'm like this. I think the two of you should really consider how good the optics of me being a work-alcoholic is before you judge it too harshly.”

Before Tamara can say something wise, motherly, Mariella nudges the doorway and escapes around the corner with the plate of meat. She is in too much of a hurry, almost runs into someone where the hallway ends and the living room begins.

“I’m so sorry!” she gasps out, clutching the plate to her. Javier Peña stands in front of her. His features are in the middle of softening with the same realization she’s having. “Hello again,” she tells him meekly.

She really hadn’t expected him to be so charming when she went up to him early tonight. Of course she had heard rumors about him, about his womanizing ways, about his sordid history, but she had found him to be more reserved for the most part. The entire summer, he’d hardly said anything to her at the store, so when he hadn’t recognized her, she thought: Yeah, that checks out. But then he started to seem genuinely interested in her as they talked, which made her a little nervous. Men didn’t take notice of her. Not like that. Not here, anyway. She's worked diligently to discourage that kind of thing.

“Hello,” he responds warmly. He wears a pleased grin. “I was trying to find the bathroom. Do you know where that is?”

“Up the stairs to the left.” She points behind her to the staircase.

“Thank you," he says, but he doesn't move. She looks at him expectantly, waiting. He seems to catch on. “Listen,” he begins, “This might sound weird and you can tell me no if you’d like, but would you mind if I stuck to your side? You seem to have a better grip on this town than I do these days, and I’m a little sick of being a stranger around here.”

She finds herself nodding her head.

“Great,” he grins, “I’ll be right back.” There's a don't move applied somewhere in that, so she doesn't.

Standing by the bannister, a smile grows on her lips when she realizes. He’s tipsy. That’s the thing she hadn’t pinpointed before, earlier, but she can sense now. The Modelo in his hand, the way he swirled it around as they talked. The openness with which he spoke, all charm. It was alcohol.

It doesn’t take him long to go to the bathroom. His footfall on the stairs makes her turn her head. He’s aglow with a light buzz, all smiles and contentment as he pounds his way down the stairs.

“Let me carry that,” he tells her, taking the plate from her before she can protest.

“Okay,” she says laughingly, following him out to the yard.

They’re almost there when he says, “Where are we taking it?”

She points to the side of the edge of the lawn. “Over there, where the smoke is.”

“Right. And who’s cooking the meat?”

“A man named J.J. You probably know him.”

“Hopefully,” he says, “It seems I forget even those I know these days, though.”

She smiles. “Happens to the best of us,” she assures. Though, she can't say it does to her. She's the type to remember.

J.J looks happy to see them, but he's always happy to see everyone. He’s wearing an apron with a towel thrown over his shoulder, looking positively like a cook. Sweat prickles at his temple, his brown skin glistening from the heat. Mariella grimaces. “Do you have water?” she asks as Javier hands him the plate.

“Yeah, but I could really go for a beer about now.” J.J. glances at Javi, smiles at him. “Hola, Jav. I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Hola.” Javier nods in response. The Spanish comes off his tongue so naturally, it almost surprises her. She doesn’t know why. Of course he’d know it. He’d have to. Wasn’t in Colombia?

She glances back at J.J. “You sure you can cook and drink?”

He nods his head. “I’m a Mexican, mija,” he laughs. She rolls her eyes.

“You mind going to get him a beer? I don't know where they are,” she says to Javier.

He nods his head obidently. “‘Course,” he tell her.

J.J. watches him stalk off. When he’s a little ways gone, far enough to not be able to hear, he says, “So, the Peña boy?”

“It’s nothing like that," she tells J.J. immediately. "I just met him, really. You know him?”

“Sure. Haven’t really spoken to him until he was yay high, though." J.J. holds his hand to his hip. " He looks good, but makes me feel old.”

“He’s tipsy. I think that’s why he’s hanging around me.”

“Well he’s a Mexican, too. We like a party,” J.J. remarks, grinning wide. “You are too. Where’s your beer, gringa?”

“I don’t drink. Not like that.”

“Well, I think the Peña boy is bringing you back one.” He nods off in his direction.

Sure enough, Javier’s clutching three opened beers in his hand. “Here you go,” he says, disbursing them. J.J. takes it from him gratefully, popping the cap on the edge of boot.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he grins, raising the bottle to him.

Mariella stares down her own sweating bottle. “Thank you,” she tells Javier. Javier pops his own cap on the edge of the grill and she attempts that, too. When she fails clumsily two times, he takes it from her. He hands it back without saying anything, and she fights the urge to grimace at the taste once it’s on her tongue. She’s never been the beer type, but she doesn’t want him to think she isn’t grateful.

J.J. laughs knowingly beside them and Javier looks at him, perplexed. “What?” he says, faintly grinning.

“Nothing,” J.J. shakes his head. “Why don’t you kids go have some fun? Javier here—“ J.J. points his head in his direction “—used to be a helluva dancer when he was younger. Didn’t you, Jav?”

“I don’t know about that—“ Javi protests. “If I was, I’m not anymore. Two left feet and what have you,” he waves his hand, dismissing it.

“I never really learned,” she confesses.

Javi pouts his lip out. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s gringa,” J.J. tells him.

“No.” Javier shakes his head. Then he looks to her for confirmation. “I mean, not completely, right? I mean--you’re not completely white?”

“You’re good,” she tells him, laughing.

“Your mom is Mexican, then?”

She nods.

“Do I know her?”

She shakes her head. He doesn’t ask any more questions, just says hm.

“Go teach her to dance, Jav.” J.J. urges, pushing them out of an awkward silence. “C’mon, if you’re gonna follow a pretty girl around like a little lost puppy, at least ask her to dance.”

Javier grimaces. “My knees are bad. It wouldn’t be any good. She deserves a good partner.”

Mariella interferes. “I don’t want to dance. I’m not good at it.”

“You’re letting her down,” J.J. shakes his head at Javier. “If I wasn’t cookin’, I’d show you, Mari. It’s fun.”

“It’s for kids,” Javier tells him. They all look over to the area where people are dancing. It’s more than just kids. In fact, the amount of kids not in the area is grounds for laughter.

J.J. takes another sip of his beer and says, “Your pop would be so disappointed if he knew you weren’t out there with her. He and your Ma—they danced like crazy at these things. That’s where they met, you know? In Mexico.”

Javier’s smile lessens. He nods his head. “Yeah,” he says, sounding far away. She watches him, curious at the shift of mood. After a second, he looks back over to them, smiling again. “Go teach her, J.J. I’ll do the grill. I’ll take over when she’s got the basics down.”

“What, you can’t teach her? Don’t like teaching the teacher?”

He grins. “Something like that.” He nods his head towards the dance floor. “Go on, gimme those.”

J.J. shrugs and hands the pair of tongs to Javier. “Don’t burn the meat because I’ll tell the entire town you did it,” he warns, grabbing onto Mariella’s arm.

“I got it.”

Javier takes a big gulp of his beer before sitting it on the ground beside him. As he rises up, he watches as J.J. escorts Mariella away, smirking slightly.

“I don’t want to dance,” Mariella repeats as they move closer to the dance floor. J.J. smiles, says, “Yes you do, you just don’t know how. You’re lucky I’m old now, too. Perfect for a beginner. Now—“ He pushes her out from him, holds her arms outwards. “Like this,” he begins, moving his feet.

—

He watches from the sidelines, flipping the carne asada. Mariella stumbles a couple of times, her body colliding into J.J. 's when it’s supposed to move away, but other than that, she does just fine. It’s the cumbia. They dance it all the way through and at the end, she’s beaming. J.J.’s saying something to her and she nods. When she hugs him, Javier feels a pang of envy.

He wants her. It’s been bubbling up in him all night but now that he’s full of beer, it’s harder to deny. It’s why he won’t dance with her. If he dances with her, touches her like that, he’ll flirt, ask her home. Chucho will be furious if he takes her home. James, too, probably. He doesn’t know him that well, but in experience, Javier generally finds fathers don’t like when you fuck with their daughters. Literally and figuratively.

He craves a cigarette more than he ever has right now, watching them as J.J. hands Mariella off to someone else on the dance floor. It’s an older man, someone she seems to know. He doesn’t recognize him.

“You seem to fit right in,” a deep voice to the right says. Javier looks over and sees James. His grin is so genuine Javier thinks, Not quite the cut throat D.C. type.

“I’m sorry I haven’t made my way over to you tonight. I want to say thank you for coming. Means a lot to me.”

Javier shrugs  as if to say, it’s nothing. “Thanks for havin’ me. Nice house you got here,” he says, making small talk. He’s gotten good at that over the years.

“Thanks,” he says. He glances down at the grill. “Why don’t you let me do that? Go off and enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m just filling in for J.J.” Javier goes to point to him but finds he’s gone, disappeared in the crowd.

James laughs, a real hearty laugh. “He’s prone to doing that to people. He’s a damn good grill guy but you get a beer in him and he’s done.”

“It’s fine, really. I can keep doing it.”

“No way. This is the last batch, anyways. I’ll be done with it in a few. Go have fun. Drink a few beers for the both of us,” James says. Javier gives in, not knowing what else to say. He leans down and grabs his beer off the ground.

“Javi?” James asks before he leaves. Javier raises an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Mariella. I saw her talking to you earlier. She seems happier tonight.”

“Oh, well…” Javier lifts his shoulders. “It’s nothing. I don’t really think it was me. J.J. was teaching her to dance.”

“Yeah, well, still. She’s a good girl, you know? I want her to enjoy herself.”

Javier can’t help laughing to himself. James smiles. “What’s that?” he asks Javier.

“Oh, nothing. Everyone’s been telling me that about her, that's all.”

James seems surprised. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“You should be. She seems nice,” Javier tells him. He looks down at the bottle in his hands. “I think I’m gonna head home now, actually. Would you tell her I said goodbye?”

“You sure?” James asks. “The party will probably go on for a bit longer.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for everything. I had fun.”

“Certainly. I hope to see you again before the summer ends.”

—

Mari catches him from the corner of her eye. She sees the bright pink of his shirt moving towards the fence, to the parking lot, and she panics.  

She moves through the crowd, carried by the weight of her adrenaline. “Hey!” she shouts out to him. Javi turns, looking caught off guard. “You stood me up, dance partner!”

He scrunches up his nose. “I would’ve made a bad one!” he shouts back to her. She picks up her speed, jots over to meet him. “You leavin’?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s getting late. I’m old.”

“You’re a little tipsy to be driving aren’t you?”

“I’m okay.”

She leans against the fence. “Let me take you home.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I promise, I’ll be okay.”

“C’mon,” she says. “For my own sake. Please.”

Javier glances back at the lot full of cars. “But my truck...”

“Leave the keys with me and I’ll make sure you get it by morning.”

He tries to come up with a reason to say no, twisting his head back again. “I parked a long way off from everyone. You’re probably backed in,” he says, but she’s already opening the gate, crossing the threshold.

She takes her keys out of her pocket. “I might not be able to dance, but I can find a good parking spot. I know that trick too.” She laughs.

Javier watches her with a pinched expression. Doesn’t she know he’s trying to be good? He would’ve sat in his car, waited out the drink. He just doesn’t want to tell her that. It seems lonely, silly. She will only want to drive him home more.

He acquiesces, joking, “So this is what you get when you have rented that many tapes.”

“Yeah,” she plays along, voice airy and light, “It’s actually rent ten movies, get one ride free but I was worried about telling you that. You came a lot and never said anything, and I don’t like driving weirdos.”

She looks over her shoulder at him. He’s fighting off a grin.

She likes him. Really likes him. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, especially because it is something that happens with such rarity for her. Luckily for him, she is good at being good. She won’t make him sweat even for a second.

Mariella will let this crush die off as quickly as it came. That’s who she is. It’s why her father worries. She is so good at being good. Enough for the two of them, really.

At least, that’s what they say. In Laredo, there is usually always a smidge of truth in even the most damning of rumors. Javier knows this best.

#javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x ofc #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x oc #javier pena x oc #narcos #narcos fanfic #narcos fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal

[lokischocolatefountain]

Get ready to open your advent calendar (my tumblr page) for a new fic or drabble or characters played by Pedro Pascal beginning on the 1st of December. A lot of Javier Peña, a bit of Joel Miller and definitely maybe a character I’ve never written for before.

Masterlist

Dec 1: Guess (Din Djarin)

A game of guess goes right in every way both for you and Din, your kind of friend, sort of boss.

Dec 2: Picture (Joel Miller)

Joel knows he shouldn’t, especially with the guilt of his shameful secret sitting heavy in his chest. But there are so many pictures and he’s but a man. (Part 2 of Mr. Miller. Part 1: Secret)

Dec 3: For Old Time’s Sake (Javier Peña)

Chapter 1 of my new series ‘Red Tape, Red Line’

He’d won. Or at least that was what the ambassador had said. It was hard to feel victorious when crushed under the boot of DC bureaucracy. The job wouldn’t be finished. Not until the hearings ended. Not until he got key informants out. With his old friend nestled high up in bureaucracy, he wouldn’t complain if he got some help crossing the red tape. He sure wouldn’t complain if, in the process, they crossed some red lines.

Day 4: No fic. Took a mental health day.

Day 5: Setting Boundaries (Javier Peña)

Javi realizes he can’t have his cake and eat it too. (Part of the Married!Javi series, but can be read as a standalone)

Day 6: Daddy Issues (Din Djarin)

You and Din have Daddy Issues— your dad hates him— but you both get past it for now.

Day 7: Seven (Javier Peña)

You and Javi discuss children

Day ?: Vintage (Din Djarin)

In an alternate universe where Din Djarin is on Earth and the razor crest is his motorcycle that won’t stop breaking down, you offer your services as a mechanic. It doesn’t matter that it’s a piece of work. It doesn’t matter that it requires a lot of rare old parts. He pays well. And it doesn’t hurt that he looks good in a leather jacket.

#forcing myself to write #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #narcos fanfiction #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller x y/n #narcos fic #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x ofc #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x y/n #din djarin fluff

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 17

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Trigger Warning: Brief mention of S.A.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Dr. Miller didn’t need a single direction to my home. I began saying take a left here, or a right there and he eventually just chuckled to himself. It was as if he had taken the route countless times, and I suddenly wondered if he had. If I wasn’t so wholeheartedly into him, I would have been properly freaked out. But I wasn’t. At all.

“What am I going to tell Tori?” I asked Dr. Miller as we pulled into the driveway of my home. I knew that him being my professor was taboo and completely frowned upon. Even my friend couldn’t know, at least at the moment.

He popped the driver’s side door open nonchalantly and winked. “I’m just.. Joel. The guy you’re seeing.”

“Just Joel?” I gave a hearty laugh. “Just Joel..” I shook my head now, still smiling and internally wanting to make a Barbie movie reference. 

Dr. Miller laughed lightly. “I’m a businessman taking a business course at Woodbridge at night. We met after class, went for a drink and we hit it off.”

“That’s the story?”

“That’s the story.” He nodded, still grinning as if it were a game. “Now, come on.”

I exited the vehicle when his door clicked shut as he got out and walked side-by-side with him up the short walkway.

My heart raced. I wanted to talk about guys with Tori, particularly this guy. But having to lie on the spot to my friend, even just the smallest of details on how we met, had me on edge. I wasn’t particularly used to lying.

When I wandered in through the front door, my roommate was sitting on the couch with a remote in her hand and a bag of chips on her lap.

“Hey,” she greeted, “Work was a bitch today and..” Tori stopped mid sentence, “Oh..” Her eyes looked Dr. Miller up and down and she froze. “Hello.”

“Tori, this is Joel.” It still felt awkward for me to call him that. It was both a problem and a turn-on. I didn’t waste time worrying about it right then.

“Hi, Joel.” She was awe-struck for a moment and just stared at this older, well-put together man before her.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He extended an arm as he crossed the room to greet her.

Tori rose to her feet and shook his hand, side-eying me as she did for just a half-a-second. “Nice to meet you, too.” She couldn’t keep a smile from creeping on her face and Dr. Miller looked between the two of us as we exchanged a truly girly laugh - in cliche fashion.

“Do you have a bathroom I could use?” He asked. I knew he was giving us a window to talk to one another and so I directed him around the corner.

“Thank you.”

Immediately, as the door closed, Tori grabbed my arm, smiling bigger than I had ever seen her do.

“Um.. what the actual fuck.” She laughed, and basically whisper-shouted at me. “Who the fuck is Joel?”

“Shh..” I laughed with her, “He’s.. a guy.”

“A guy?” Her eyes wandered toward the doorway he’d just walked through to leave the room. “Lady, that is a man. That is a hot man. I don’t even know where to start with my questions.” She fanned herself, “Is that where you’ve disappeared these past few days?”

I nodded. “It’s new. I’m.. feeling it out.”

“Feeling him out is more like it, you whore.”

I laughed out loud and flicked her arm.

“Am I wrong?” she asked.

“No, you’re not wrong.” I laughed still, “I have so much to tell you.” A part of me suddenly felt guilty for leaving so abruptly again. “I think I’m going back to his house again. Is that… is that okay?”

“Is that okay?” Tori fanned herself again, “Number one, I’m not your mom or your babysitter. Number two, that man is sex on legs, girl. I can tell. Go get it. Besides, I’ve had my usual company here.” She spoke of the guy, Derek, she had been seeing and wandered toward the window, pushing the curtains aside. “And he drives a Mercedes? A fucking Mercedes!”

“I will tell you everything,” I promised.

“Yes, you will.” She smiled, “How’d you meet him?”

“He was taking a business class at Woodbridge. We bumped into each other one night and ended up talking, went out for a drink.” I shrugged, going along with the fake story that Dr. Miller had created.

“Wow. You sure he’s not a professor?” She was joking, but I froze for just a second before beginning to chuckle.

“Yeah, right.” I avoided her eye contact, a habit that went along with my terrible lying ability.

Dr. Miller rejoined us in the living room with the clear of his throat to let us both know he had returned.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll go pack a bag.” I looked at Tori, who couldn’t help but smirk. There would be a time soon when we would get to talk and I would unleash as many details as possible. I was longing to talk about it with someone - especially her.

As I rounded the corner and headed down to my room, I heard Dr. Miller and Tori casually begin to carry on with a conversation. I was sure she was peppering him with questions. She was far more outgoing than me in that way.

I whipped through my closet, finding some of my most comfortable outfits and some of my finest. I didn’t know what I was doing, really, or how long I would be staying with him. I grabbed every pair of clean underwear I could find and gathered all of my essentials, from makeup to deodorant to my toothbrush. When I thought I had all of my bases covered, I eagerly returned to the living room with a backpack on and a second Adidas duffle bag slung over my shoulder.

“I was just telling Tori you girls should have an alarm system here,” Dr. Miller said as I reentered the living room.

“It’s very thoughtful of him,” Tori said to me, holding my eye contact extra long until I cracked another smile. 

I looked at Dr. Miller now. “It is.”

He smiled back at me, “Just looking out.”

“Well,” Tori looked at me and walked up to give me a hug, “I’ll see you.. when I see you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly near her ear as we hugged.

“Don’t be,” she assured me with confidence, “You’re allowed to have a love life.” Tori added, because she’s a good friend, “Don’t worry about me. It’s giving me some much needed time with Derek, too.”

I smiled, feeling a little better knowing that. “Okay, good.”

Dr. Miller stood back as we exchanged goodbyes, bid Tori a farewell and a, “Nice meeting you,” as we made our way back out the front door. When we got back into the car he turned to me. “Would you be opposed to me getting an alarm system installed in this place?”

I shook my head, “No. But we just rent.” I actually wasn’t sure what was allowed and what wasn’t.

“If you’re going to be staying with me, it’s better off if Tori has some protection at the house,” he added, “Or if you’re there.”

“Yeah. I mean I guess it wouldn’t be a problem.” 

He nodded and started the car, “You okay with coming back?” Dr. Miller linked his hand with mine as he drove with his left hand.

“I thought about going back to your house all day,” I confessed, “Or I hoped.”

He squeezed my hand, “Just making sure.”

“Hey, they have a suspect in the case of those girls who were killed on campus,” I said, regurgitating Olivia’s information. “Some guy named Alec something or other.”

Dr. Miller turned to me as we drove and then slowly glanced back to the road. “I read that.”

“My coworker, Olivia, told me today.”

“Sex offender, right?” Dr. Miller asked.

“Yep.” I nodded, “Why do they even let those people out?”

“A fucked up justice system,” he said immediately, “Those assholes get less time than drug addicts, and people who commit grand theft auto.” Dr. Miller shook his head, “I’m not condoning stealing cars, but cars are replaceable. They’re property. Someone like Alec Pryor steals a person’s soul,” He glanced at me, “Or their life. And they never get it back.”

“Do you think they’ll catch him?” I asked.

Dr. Miller’s hand squeezed mine and he let it go when he felt me wince. “I..” He shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“Why’d you say they wouldn’t find the guy when we met in the office with Trevor?”

He hesitated and seemed to be wrestling himself for an answer. “Because I..” Dr. Miller was having trouble finding his words. He paused for a long moment and I even thought the conversation might have ended when he failed to speak for an extended period of time. “I just think he.. had enough time to flee. And people are probably going to cover him for him.”

“Yeah, but eventually they’ll find him,” I thought out loud and looked at him as if he truly had the answer to every single question I had in life. “Right?”

Dr. Miller kept his stare out the windshield. I could tell he didn’t believe the one-word answer he spoke. “Right.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @jiminstinypinky

#joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x oc #joel miller gif #joel miller x original character #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal pictures #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x oc #javier peña #pedro pascal photoshoot #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader

[drabbles-mc]

Drabbles-MC: Javier Peña Fics

Fic list under the cut!

👀 = smut, 💔 = angst

- A Little Something

- New Year’s Eve

- Stomp Twice / Part 2

- All In: Part 1

- Don’t Worry

- What You Want

- You Sure?

- Ask Me

- A Bit Too Long

- During All That

- Who You’re Dealing With 💔, Part 2 💔

- Taking Its Toll

- Miles of Red String

- More To Say

- Don’t Mention It 👀

- No One Like You 👀

- For the Record 💔

#narcos #narcos netflix #javier peña #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x oc #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc #masterlist

[latoyalestrange]

THE FOOL

p. pascal x f!oc

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: It was their last twenty-four hours in Columbia before the cast flew back to Los Angeles. If you thought they weren’t going to party, you would be terribly mistaken.

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of cheating, possessive!pedro, not edited, begging 0.0, suggestive make out sceneeee

Taglist: @marvel-sw-lover , @lokislittle , @red-red-rogue , @babukat , @joels-darlin , @lmariephoto37 , @violac0la

comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

CHAPTER SIX — BAD INFLUENCE

“And that’s a fucking wrap!” Tom shouted, flute of champagne held up for a toast. The long dinner table erupted with applause and cheering. “I won’t bore you with a long speech, I know I already talk too much. So enjoy your dinner, and we will see you next year for season two!” Another round of applause as he joins in on the cheering before taking his seat.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” Pedro grumbled in his seat, next to Naela of course.

“I know, right? I feel like I can finally relax and eat a full meal. I’m so nervous in between takes that I can’t eat,” she chuckles, wasting no time in digging in.

“Really? What makes you so nervous?” There was that tone again. She gave him a knowing smirk in between bites.

“Hm. Interesting.” He knew what she was trying to say. Pedro and Naela always seemed to be on the same page, which was proven true when they were asked if they wanted to continue the party after dinner at a nearby club.

“But we have to wake up so early tomorrow,” Naela droned, pouting at Joanna.

“Yeah, I don’t know about being hungover for a 7 hour flight,” Pedro added.

“Oh, come on, love birds! Let’s have some fun tonight!” Joanna shook Naela’s shoulders, forcing them to laugh. “We won’t get to see each other again until the season premier!”

“Blondie’s right, let’s go make bad decisions!” Boyd joined in, jokingly cheering at the last part. Pedro looked at Naela, smirking at her while he considered the idea.

“I’ll go if she goes,” he decided before taking the last drink from his glass. Naela rolled her eyes but failed to look annoyed with her cheeks flushed.

“Pleeease, Naela? I promise it’ll be so much fun!” Joanna clasped her hands together as she begged. Naela thought for a moment, clearly it was important to Joanna.

“Fine. But I’m leaving at midnight, sharp,” Naela tried to warn her, but Joanna was already jumping and cheering after the first word.

“Yay! That’s probably how late I wanted to stay out anyway.” Joanna beamed at her, making her chuckle and shake her head.

As soon as they passed the bouncer, Naela could feel the regret setting in. The music, the dancing, and the overall atmosphere just wasn’t her. She was more of a bar kind of girl. However, if you got a few drinks in her, she could definitely be a club girl.

A few drinks meaning two shots of tequila and a refajo; exactly what she’d had tonight. The group gathered around a small, circular, bar-height table with their drinks. Joanna and Naela were chatting on one side, and the boys on the other. With her barriers down, conversation was flowing without any effort. They were laughing, joking, telling stories, and it all felt natural. Things came to a crashing halt, however, when Joanna heard one of her favorite songs come on.

She gasped, “I love this song! Naela, you have to come dance with me!” She clapped giddily before taking Naela’s hands, robbing her of the opportunity to say no. Luckily, it was one of Naela’s guilty pleasure songs as well, ones that you hate to admit they make you dance every time.

They didn’t waste a second getting to the dance floor and swaying their hips together to the beat. The neon lights glided across their skin as they moved, making a beautiful scene for everyone to watch, and they did. They stood out against the crowd and Naela only realized it when the music changed and she finally paid attention to her surroundings. A few pairs of eyes were on them, but the only ones she cared about were the espresso orbs staring at her from across the dance floor. Before she could think, her feet were carrying her closer to him and Joanna was following close behind.

They weaved their way through the dance floor and eventually arrived back at the table. Her eyes were mostly locked with Pedro’s, but she couldn’t help but notice the new round of drinks waiting for them on the table.

“Aw, how’d you know?” Joanna mused as she took the shot glass in her hand.

“Just had a feeling.” Pedro answered, openly winking at Naela. She smirked and followed suit, taking the small-but-mighty tequila shot in her hand.

“Cheers.” She hoped her friends didn’t pick up on the suggestive tone meant for Pedro. If they did, they didn’t comment before bringing their glasses together, then tapping them on the table in ritual. Naela held her breath as she brought the glass up to her plump and glossed lips and downed the firey liquid in one go. She usually couldnt hide her disgust after the second shot and this time was no different. Luckily for her, Pedro found the way she scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue adorable. He shook off his own disgust before smiling down at her while she wasn’t looking.

“I think we should go dance with different people at the same time,” Joanna announced, looking pointedly at Boyd. He looked confused at first, but she nudged him and gestured towards Naela and Pedro on the other side of the table.

“What—“ Naela started before Boyd cut her off, agreeing with Joanna.

“Yeah, yeah I’m gonna go dance…” He trailed off as she dragged him away. Naela turned to Pedro, who was already looking at her, and couldn’t contain her laughter.

He shook his head, “What are we gonna do with them?”

She giggled, “I have no idea.” He sighed and glanced around the room, trying to swallow his anxiety.

“So what’s the first thing you’re doing when you get home?” Was the first question he could think of. The lights were flashing around, making focusing harder and just her presence was enough to make him sweat. She held back a wide smile by biting her lip, unable to contain her excitement.

“Firing my manager,” she answered confidently.

He instantly burst into laughter, letting his head fall back. “That’s fair, very fair.”

“What about you?” She asked, letting her body language naturally open up as she turned toward him. He smoothed his mustache for a moment, like he was deep in thought.

“Probably just gonna wait for you to call me,” he answered with a smug look on his face. She nudged him with her elbow, refusing to give in to the temptations she was feeling.

“I’m serious,” she added, looking up at him.

“So am I,” he chuckled. “Hope John won’t be too jealous.”

She scoffed, knowing he knew her boyfriends name, “It’s Josh. And he already is, if I’m honest.” The liquor was getting to the both of them and it was obvious in their conversation. His brow furrowed with interest.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” His tone again. It was like a siren’s call that pulled her further out to sea, and she was entirely fine with drowning in it.

“I only told him bits and pieces of a few scenes and he tried to convince me not to take the job. He damn near broke up with me when I told him about the other contract.” Her expression fell as she spoke, and Pedro swore he could feel a fire ignite in his chest. He was enraged by the fact that a man could treat a woman like her so poorly.

“Well you can tell John to step up or I’m next.” She didn’t bother to correct him. Her head was spinning, trying to find something witty and not awkward to say.

“Maybe I will,” with a cheeky smile and intentional eye contact was the best she could come up with. “I’m gonna go use the restroom. Could you get us another round?” she added to diffuse the tension. He nodded and watched as she gathered her purse and turned to walk away. Naela felt the urge to look over her shoulder, feeling a pair of eyes on her. Sure enough, glancing back at Pedro, she could clearly see his eyes glued below her waist. He looked up at her, wiping his thumb across his lip with a sultry look in his eyes. He didn’t even try to play it off, he wanted her and didn’t care if she knew.

The few minutes she had to herself in the bathroom Naela used relieve herself, but mostly to fix her hair and smudged lip gloss. She took several deep breaths before making her way across the sea of people in between her and where her friends were standing. Boyd and Joanna had joined Pedro back at the table, new drinks in their hands.

“How was sitting on the other side of the club for ten minutes?” Naela asked sarcastically as she sauntered up to the group.

“It was great actually, much better company,” Boyd added jokingly. Pedro wheezed as he laughed and nudged his shoulder.

An hour or so and a few more drinks later, Naela could feel everyone starting to slow down, whether it was from exhaustion or the liquor. Her own words were slurred and she found everything much more funny than it actually was. Additionally, she found herself standing much closer to Pedro than she should’ve been. By now, she leaned into him with his arm ghosting her back as they stood. Either no one cared or they were too drunk to notice.

Speaking of too drunk, while laughing at something Pedro said, she stumbled back into his chest.

“Wow, you’re really drunk,” he whispered teasingly in her ear, chuckling a bit as his hands lingered on the outside of her arms.

“Not even a little bit,” she mumbled, craning her neck to meet his gaze as she rested against him now.

“Let’s get you in bed, yeah?” She knew that wasn’t how he meant it but the ache she felt in between her legs thought otherwise. She nodded and couldn’t help but bite her lip as she looked up at him with suggestive eyes. He smirked down at her enticingly innocent expression, trying to silence the inappropriate thoughts circling his mind.

“I’ll call a taxi,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Are you guys coming?” She asked the rest of the group, her eyelids starting to droop and her words becoming more strung together by the second.

“No, I think we’ll finish our drinks first,” Joanne slurred as well, unable to hide her smirk. “You guys go ahead.”

“Okayyy, I’ll see you guys in the morning then.” Naela sloppily wrapped her arms around her friend, almost making the both of them topple over. They laughed it off before she broke away to hug Boyd as well.

“Don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” He joked, patting her back casually.

“So don’t do anything you would do, got it!” Naela resposed teasingly. He chuckled and nudged her away with his palm to her forehead. She retreated to Pedro, who was just getting off the phone.

As if it were a habit, he slinked his arm around her shoulder, whispering in her ear, “Vámonos, hermosa.” God, is Josh could see this…

Naela shooed the thought of her boyfriend away as Pedro held the door for her. The brisk air hitting her face didn’t sober her up one bit, but it felt nice. He joined her near the curb as they waited.

“So what are you actually doing first when you get home?” She asked curiously, smiling brightly at him. Her dimples made him want to cave right then and there.

“I’ll be sleeping for the first few days, trust me,” he laughed, “But once I’m awake I’m shaving this off.” He smoothed his facial hair down, a gesture Naela had grown to find extremely enticing. However, she gasped unexpectedly once she processed what he had said.

“No, please don’t get rid of it! It’s really grown on me,” she whined, inching closer to him and letting her palm rest on his chest.

“I’m pretty sure it’s literally grown on me,” he joked. Once again, even though it wouldn’t be that funny if she were sober, she let her head fall back with laughter, causing her to lose her footing and trip off of the curb and into the street. She would’ve been just fine, but Pedro instinctively grabbed her and pulled her back onto the side walk, coincidentally into his arms. With his heart practically beating out of his chest, tension hung in the air for what felt like many minutes as he searched her eyes for any sign of hesitancy. For once, Pedro knew exactly what he wanted and he was going to get it. No advice from management, no contract, or anything else for that matter could’ve kept him from kissing her in that moment.

Slowly, he brought their lips together for a gentle, yet meaningful kiss. It was so different from all the other times they’d kissed; it wasn’t rushed, expectant, or in front of an entire cast and crew. It was perfect, and she never wanted it to end as her arms found their way around his neck, pulling him in deeper. Their long-anticipated fantasy was over, however, when an impatient honker ripped them out of it. Naela had no idea how long the cab driver had been waiting behind them.

“Oh, shit…Lo siento, señor!” Pedro apologized to the driver before swinging the door open and allowing Naela in first. As they started driving, she instantly knew why the studio was so particular about them using their assigned drivers. She was regretting her last drink as the driver made sharp turns and lurched at every stop. She thought closing her eyes would help, but eventually she resorted to letting her head rest of Pedro’s shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked softly, looking down at her. She shook her head and groaned.

He chuckled, “Tell me if we need to stop. Not sure he’d be too happy if you threw up in here.” She only let out a deep breath in response.

“Frena, por favor. Ella está mareada,” He spoke up to the driver, who instantly accepted his request and drove carefully the rest of the way back.

“Veinte mil pesos, por favor.” The driver said coldly as he put the car in park and outstretched his hand. Pedro sighed and reached around to take out his wallet, giving him two crisp blue bills.

“Quédeselo.” He resposed simply as he pulled himself out of the back seat. Naela reached for her car door, but before she could step out, Pedro was opening her door and holding his hand out for her. She gladly accepted, regaining her footing much better than she had before the ride home. Once the cool air hit her skin again, she felt much better. They smiled at eachother after he closed the door, hardly having a chance before the cab sped off. Naela hardly noticed. She did notice, however, how right Joanna was about how he looked at her. Her cheeks were either hot from him or the drinks, and her stomach, she was sure turned into butterflies.

“You don’t need me to carry you, do you?” He asked teasingly.

She chuckled, “Hm, now that you mention it…” He knew exactly what her tone was implying. He sighed, and without a moment of hesitation, he bent down and wrapped his arms around her thighs and threw her over his shoulder. She squealed at the unexpected movement, desperately grasping onto his back for support.

“I wasn’t serious!” She giggled into his leather jacket as it pressed up against her chin. Once they reached her trailer, he slowly planted her feet on the ground, at which point Naela realized she had neither her shoes or her purse. She patted her side, swearing her bag was hanging off her shoulder moments ago.

“I got it, don’t worry,” He reassured her as he took her keys out of her purse, her shoes in his other hand. She couldn’t remember taking anything off, but she was grateful at least Pedro was keeping track of her mess.

“Oh, thanks,” she responded softly. After a few tries, he eventually opened the door to her trailer and ushered her inside.

“So this is where you’ll be staying for the next six months,” he joked, gesturing around the living space. Naela could hardly focus on what he was saying, though. Something about being taken care of made her want to take care of him. She slowly started inching toward him as he went on. “I hope you like spanish TV, because that’s all that plays—“

Before he could finish, she pressed her lips against his and tangled her fingers in his hair. Caught off guard, he found himself unable to back away, in fact his hands were slithering around her back and pulling her closer. But no matter how much he wanted this, or how long he’d waited, he didn’t want to be that person.

“Naela,” he managed to say in between feverish kisses. He was only met with more kisses. God, he wanted to give in so bad. But not only was she in a relationship, she was drunk. He planted both hands on either side of her face and retracted his own, looking her dead in the eyes.

“Naela, we can’t.” He shook his head, eye contact unbreaking so he knew she understood. Her face instantly dropped, and Pedro felt a pang in his chest. Why did she have to look at him like that?

“You don’t like me?” Her brow tipped upward, making her look utterly devastated. He instantly mirrored her expression, feeling horrible.

“No, no, it’s not that…” He shook his head and let his hands fall to her shoulders. He was no longer nervous to admit it, it’s what she needed to hear. “I really like you, Naela.” It didn’t seem to make her feel better, her eyes glued to the floor. He sighed and brought his hand back up to her cheek, this time brushing her hair behind her ear.

“You’re drunk, amor. And I want us to start off on the right foot. Nothing tieing us to other people…” He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I don’t want there to be any question that we both want this.”

“There isn’t,” she retorted, her eyes unwavering. She slid her hand up his torso, gripping lightly onto his collar once she reached it.

“Please, Pedro…” She couldn’t bring him to her level, so she got on her tip toes to connect their lips once more. He grumbled into the kiss, begrudgingly reciprocating.

“You’re making this really hard for me, Naela.” He growled once their lips parted, still holding her frame close as their foreheads pressed together.

“I hope I’m making something else hard too,” she teased, biting her lip.

“You don’t get to know,” he argued, giving her one last firm peck before straightening his back once more. Their hands loosely intertwined at their sides as he smirked down at her.

“You’re a bad influence,” he chuckled, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip.

“I would say I’m more of a fun influencer.” Pedro instantly laughed at her nonsensical response.

“Okay, yeah, time for bed, Naela.” Before she could protest, he spun her around by her shoulder and began guiding her toward her bed.

The next thing Naela knew, the alarm on her phone was blaring next to her head as she untangled herself from the covers. She quickly scrambled to grab her phone and silence it. She looked at the time, four AM. The events of the night before instantly set in. Naela couldn’t tell if she wished she had more to drink that night so she wouldn’t have to remember embarrassing herself like that. On one hand, she totally would’ve thrown up on Pedro at some point, but was that really worse than what she had done? Naela didn’t think so.

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