#javier pena x ofc

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Forever and Always Masterlist

Summary: Javier Peña never thought he'd fall in love, let alone deserve to. That was, until you walked into his life and changed it for the better. Now, with a wife, a house, and 3 daughters later, Javier Peña is the happiest man alive, and couldn't be more glad he's proven his past self wrong.

This series is written as slices of life following Javi and the Peña family! It can be read on its own, or as a continuation of the series It's Never Too Late!

Pairing: Dad!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (Reader's nickname is Osita), no use of y/n

General Warnings: Each story will have their own additional warnings, and any chapters with smut will be marked with*

SMUT (18+), Javi being domestic and in love, family dynamics, language, romantic comedy, tooth rotting, sickening fluff, you and Javi having the sweetest, most adorable family 🥹💕

Status: Ongoing!

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this story! (If you're already on the taglist for NTL, I'll automatically tag you in these stories too!)

Trying: You and Javi are trying for your first baby. The two of you can't help but be excited for future baby Peña, even they don't exist yet

Bonding: Summary: You and Javi just brought your daughter Lucy home from the hospital. While the two of you couldn't be more in love and excited at the addition of your newest family member, it doesn't mean that you both aren't feeling some of the nerves of being first time parents

Kicking: The past few weeks of your pregnancy, Baby Peña number 2 has been kicking you non-stop. Javi tries his best to help you relax and give you some relief. *

Tired: You had spent weeks looking forward to your date night with Javi, but once the day actually arrives, it seems like everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. Lucky for you, Javi knows just how to make your day better. *

Promises: When you wake up to find your house quiet, your first reaction is panic. But after you find Javi and learn what he has planned for you this morning, your mood becomes a whole lot better.*

Amor: After a bad day at work, coming home to his family makes Javi realize his day wasn't so bad after all

Lunch: Javi's rough start to the work week is turned around when he finds a surprise from his daughters in his lunch

Fight: When you get a phone call from your elementary school that your girls got into a fight, Javi leaves work to figure out what happened

Reindeer: It's Christmas Eve, and you and Javi spent the night preparing for your girls to have the most magical Christmas morning*

Haircut: Javi thinks that he's way past due for a haircut. You like his hair long for reasons other than his good looks.*

Uh-Oh: Javi's Girl Dad skills get put to the ultimate test when your oldest daughter gets her period and you're not home to help her

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena imagine #javi pena #javi peña x reader #javier pena #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena fluff #javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña smut #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x ofc #javier pena x ofc #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #pedrohub

[chronically-ghosted]

Dry Run

rating: T

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 1513

summary: you meet javi in a club and he shows you his favorite way to foreplay sex.

warnings: no smut, no y/n, this isn't explicit but outrageously horny, naughty language and bad touching in public, slutty dancing

a/n: @ravensmadreads reminded me that the songs "Gasolina" and "Rompe" exist and then forced me at gun point to write this drabble. no one talks about what a good dancer javi would be and i've had enough!

🤍Masterlist

It started simple enough. 

A smile at the bar. The tang of tequila and the sour bite of a lime. A touch against your thigh to see if you are easily startled. He has to lean in close to ask if he can buy you your next drink, the deep rub of his voice only audible above the pound and hum of the music when his lips brush the shell of your ear.  

Then you tug him by that linen shirt, the tails already creeping out of the waistband of his jeans as if in anticipation of what comes next. His damp throat visible through the shamelessly undone collar, you wonder if he barely dresses himself because he knows some woman will just tear him naked again. His breath smells smoky, rich, like the mezcal he’s been sipping on, his broad chest warm under your palm as he now herds you onto the dance floor. There’s a grin on his face, a dark fire in his eyes that tells you he likes to play with his food, that this is nothing more than foreplay to him. Practice before the test. A dry run. 

He wants you to know exactly where you liked to be touched before you bring him home, to surprise and bewitch you as if he had known those places all along. 

But you’re not so easily convinced. Not so easily made dumb by slim hips and wide palms. He wants to dance, you want bailar. 

It starts simple enough. His head hung low, teasing grin on his face, he encourages your arms around his neck. You feel his hair stick to your forehead as he leans in rough palms easing down over your wrists, your elbows, your shoulders, then steadying against your hips. He moves like many men in this country do, with the self-assuredness that the music listens to him and not the other way around. He’s light on his feet, cowboy boots taking two steps forward, one step back, and you wonder what kind of a job he has. What kind of a man he is, that he can dance like this but his palms are so rough. You wonder how he would dance if he didn’t have plans of fucking  you in the club’s bathroom. His hands rest lightly on your hips, hardly respectable but a little possessive, a promise and a warning that you are going to only dance with him tonight. 

You watch his eyes flick down to your chest only a few times. 

But then the music changes, the crowd drunk and eager for something stronger than seduction. The bachata gives way to music not about love but lust, its desirable twin. It’s faster, something more metallic and driven. 

The hands on your hips tighten and the pulse in your wrists quickens. It comes as no surprise that this stranger, this man can easily handle the switch – the slide into something that demands a change of pace, the roll of the hips instead of a sway. 

He is never rough and never grips too tight. His hands glide up to the arch of your back, hot and rolling like candle wax, as he suggests silently that you come closer, that you let him feel only what you’ve been showing. You go willingly, curious and painfully turned on. What is he capable of? What can he do to you? What would you let him do to you?

His feet widen apart and you slot in like you’re supposed to. He seems surprised by it, as if every move you’ve made towards him all night hasn’t been bold, hasn’t explicitly told him what you want. His arm now up around the low dip of your ribs, the thumb on the other hand brushes under your lip. He won’t kiss you, you don’t kiss to this music, but you see he wants to breathe you in, wants to make your air his. 

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, everything about him from his hair, to his mustache, eyes and eyebrows dark and heavy. “Que hermosa.” 

You don’t realize you’re pinned to his chest until his arm has nowhere to go, trapped between you two. So he doesn’t move it. He cups the back of your neck, fingers pressing into the damp lining of your hair above the knot of your spine. This isn’t what he expected to happen and neither did you. His belt buckle digs into your hips and you can’t resist pushing into that cold pinch. His nostrils flare, eyes searching, breath short. Sweat drips over his left eye and you half-bite, half-kiss the spot on his forehead, tongue printing on his skin. 

You feel more than hear the groan in his chest. 

The music changes again, the lights spinning and dropping in the low beats. In the half-dark, he tugs your elbows from around his head, finger rubbing over the lining of your panties over your dress, and he turns you, barely allowing an inch of space between you. 

You feel his breath on your neck before those wide palms curl around you, that hot, damp chest curl around you, and he’s dragged you against him, all without missing the flow of the music. You moan when his hard cock, confined by the seam of his jeans, spreads your ass cheeks apart and you drop your head onto his shoulder. His fingers twist the hem of your dress but don’t move it. The bareness of your skin is for him alone, in private, in the half-darkness. Instead, he palms the hand pressing into your thigh, your legs screaming from the constant movement, and brings it up to your chest, his fingers intertwining with yours. He nudges your jaw with his nose, breath heavy against your ear. 

He likes to fuck like this too, you realize.

His hips flow and buck with the music, yours nestled as tight as you can without him physically being inside you. You purposefully fall out of sync for a fraction of a second, your ass grindings against where he is so deliciously hard and he grunts. He drops his head, tongue then teeth digging into the muscle between your shoulder and your neck. You intentionally rub against him again, in the opposite direction, and his other hand again overtakes yours, threading his fingers and yours together, and wraps your arm around your ribs, his own like a hot steel bar across you. 

You toss your head back, gasping for air before you are pulled back under. 

Wrapped around you, he fucks you without penetration, the music a whispered instruction to the pace of his hips. You turn your head and bite his ear, making him groan deep, the metal teeth of his jeans imprinting their shape onto your ass. His eyes closed, his fingers dig into your palms. Hot, humid air puffs from his wet mouth over your shoulder, into the curl of your neck. Your skin beneath your wet hair twitches with sudden goosebumps. 

You realize, in a daze, he’s muttering the filthy lyrics to you, smearing promises into your skin long before you can reciprocate that pleasure. You push back against him, a reward, and this time, he purposefully rubs against you, against the music, his hand over yours dropping to your abdomen, just where your panties sit under your dress. He cups you as if he could mount you –  drive you under him, and eat you out on his knees.

On the next flash of light, the drop of the beat, you slide your hand out from under him and wind up into his hair. His free forearm binds you just under your tits, keeping you against his grinds, his sweat-damp body, so you curl your fingers into his hair and yank. His head drops back as he pants from the sharp spike of pleasure and pain. 

His heartbeat is the same as the bass, you think. Maybe yours too, the heat of his chest felt all the way down your spine. 

He is minutes away from unwinding himself from you, from flushing you cold without the fervor of his body, your own drenched in sweat, only to all but drag you into the nearest bathroom, shove your panties down to your knees and actually, properly fuck you until you have bruises and beg him for more. But not yet. 

There’s an intimacy in dancing like this. A familiarity that is too often rapidly lost and gained in the physicality of later acts. 

You think deliriously that all couples should have to dance like this before going out or even hooking up. Because this, this chemistry, this natural heat and rhythm, can so often provide honesty that can rarely be spoken about so early. This, this dancing, asks, “are you going to fuck me like I need it?”

Yes, his body proves as his strong, thick thighs cage you even further into him, yes, he can. 

He will fuck you. He will, he promises every time he makes you squeeze yourself with his hands. 

But not yet. 

Not yet. 

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix

[lokischocolatefountain]

Hiii if you’re still taking requests, could we have more angsty, jealous Javier? You write his character so good, i love all of it!!! Your married series was absolutely fantastic <3

Javier Peña is not a jealous man. The women he’s with have multiple partners beside him- they’re informants, sex workers, and a lot of times both. He’s no juvenile and doesn’t expect them to not do their job because he can’t share. Besides, there’s a clear transaction with these women- sex in exchange for dollar bills, intelligence in exchange for a visa.

Javier Peña is not a jealous man. At least he doesn’t think he is until he’s with her (the professor he ends up marrying). The relationship starts out casual. She’s a beautiful woman who frequents the restaurant he frequents. They do the decent mating dance of flirtation and buying each other coffee before he takes her back to her place and fucks her thoughts out of her head.

He makes it clear to her that he isn’t looking for something serious. He hasn’t told her the exact nature of her job, but she knows. She has seen the gun on him. She has seen him on a raid, tactical vest on and hand enclosed around his gun. She kicks him out, but only after giving him a kiss and telling him she’d like to do this again. They were on the same page. Until they weren’t.

He’s bad at drawing boundaries. He kissed prostitutes on the forehead, asked them about their young kids and ailing parents, let them drone on about their hopes and dreams. Sure it was important to cultivate a relationship with his informants so that when things got dangerous, they would continue to… inform. But he enjoyed it. He liked knowing the women he slept with, liked asking questions and answering their questions. It was the only human thing left in his life full of violence.

He cannot draw boundaries with her at all. He eats from her refrigerator, drinks her liquor and lies down on her lap and lets her read English literature to him. He picks her up from work sometimes and drops her back the morning after. He fixes her faulty plumbing without even being asked. He finds her carrying heavy bags of groceries and offers to drive her to her place. He takes her grocery shopping and restocks her fridge. He tells himself it’s because he eats so much of her food. Just repaying her.

He’s picking her up from work one night. It boils his blood to learn that he isn’t the only one waiting in the parking area for her. There’s another guy, a professor like her, and he walks with her to his car. He should’ve driven away as soon as he noticed her with another man. But he doesn’t. He stares hard enough to burn a hole in the dress she wore when he first slept with her. It was flattering on her figure, highlighting her best assets— her entire goddamn body. Clearly she wore this dress when she was hoping to get laid. He drives away before she could notice him. He finds someone else that night. Plenty of fish in the sea, right? Except he screams her name when he’s balls deep in Helena.

She’s at their restaurant the next morning, having breakfast and drinking coffee like she didn’t go fuck someone else just last night. He sits at his old table instead of joining her like he always did. She looks a little hurt by it, but quickly fixes her expression to smile at him. Good. Be hurt. He is aware he’s being irrational. And a pig. She was free to sleep with all of Bogotá if she wished. God knows he did. She wasn’t doing anything wrong just like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But he’s angry at her anyway.

Work takes him to Medellin for days and when he returns, he finds himself at her doorsteps. He feels right at home in her arms, in her pussy, and he doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to get up and leave even though everything in him is begging him to leave before it was too late. He struggles between the rational part of him that knows it’s best to leave and the irrational one that wants to pull her to his chest and fall asleep breathing her in. She makes the decision for him.

She’d asked in the nicest possible way to fuck right off. Well, not really. But she might as well have kicked him out. She asks for clarification “what are we doing, Javi?” There is it, he thinks. He was always clear about his intentions with women, but he’s had a few of them believe that they could “fix” him. Whatever the hell that meant. And he had to break their heart, tell them it was just sex like they’d originally agreed. But she surprises him.

She calls him out on his shit, tells him he’s giving her mixed signals with taking her grocery shopping and meeting her up at work. She tells him he can’t have it both ways. “I have a date with a colleague this Sunday. It’ll be weird if I’m with him, thinking about how sweet it was of you to take my car for an oil change. That’s not umm…it’s not fuckbuddy stuff.” It’s boyfriend stuff.

Her drawing the boundaries for him should’ve helped. But god it doesn’t. All he wants to do that week is walk into her university campus and punch that fucker who was taking his girl out on a date. It was stupid, dangerous and reprehensible. But fucking hell, he couldn’t do shit while thinking about her with another man. Would she let the guy fuck her in his car like she let him? Would she cry his name? Would she accidentally let a low Javi slip out of her pretty lips out of habit?

He stops visiting the restaurant. He doesn’t need breakfast anyway. He fucks other women, fucks his own fist, but none of them come close to the euphoria of being inside her, of kissing her and drinking her moans in just as he made her cum on his cock. Nobody comes close. It’s for the best. He cannot afford emotional entanglements. It was for her good that she pulled away when she did. This was no life for anyone and attaching herself to him would mean having to endure his shit.

He can’t stop thinking about her. He freezes in the middle of the fucking street with his gun pulled on some guy because he thinks he saw her in the distance. It’s not her, he knows that. She was in Bogotá and he was in Medellin. It’s not her. But he sees her in everything. He finds himself reading fiction, for fuck’s sake. He finds her panties stuffed into the cushions of his couch and smells it to get himself off. It was creepy as shit, but it’s the hardest he’s come since he stopped seeing her.

He drives by their restaurant and catches a glimpse of her having breakfast with that guy. At their restaurant, at their table. He’s filled with rage towards her new man, at her. How could she just take this guy to their restaurant and have breakfast at their table? Like he didn’t even fucking exist. How long had this been going on? Was it well before he saw them in the parking lot that evening? Did she bring him here whenever Javi was away in Medellin?

He brings another girl to his leather couch that night and tries not to think about how she could be at home right now, fucking her colleague in the same bed she fucked him. Did she ask him about his interests? Run her fingers through his hair? Touch his arms and tell him how strong he was? He wants to laugh at himself. Of course she didn’t do that last one. The fucker she was with had noodle arms. They wouldn’t satisfy her. He wouldn’t satisfy her. Javi knew her body in and out, knew all the right buttons to push, had her wrapped around his little finger and his cock.

Two months and he’s strong in his resolve. He still think about her, still keeps her panties tucked under his pillow like a low grade pervert, still thinks of beating the shit out of her new guy. Hell, she was probably in love with him by now. Probably a nice guy who didn’t sleep around and actually came home on time.

It’s the oddest thing that breaks him. Surveillance pictures from Escobar’s family vacation. The piece of shit has a whole wife. Keeps his mother and cousin close. Even that fucking monster had family. Doesn’t he deserve to at least take the girl he can’t get out of his head to a nice dinner? Loneliness creeps into his days and nights. No matter how many informants he beds, there’s a growing void in his chest.

Rather than drive home that night, he drives to hers. He wakes her up at an odd hour and all he can think of is whether she was in bed with the new guy when he rang the doorbell. She looked both surprised and annoyed to find him at her door. He couldn’t blame her for either of those things— he did drop off the face of the Earth and it was way past a decent hour to drop by someone’s place. He wants to hold her face in his hand and press a kiss to her lips. But he didn’t have permission for that anymore. So he just says “Dinner?”

Series Masterlist

#nice people #asks #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña fluff #javier peña headcanon #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x ofc #javier pena x reader #javier pena angst #javier peña angst #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fluff #javier pena narcos #javier pena imagine #javier peña imagine #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #javier peña fic #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x y/n #javier peña smut #anon asks #anon request #fic request #all that i've inflicted on the world

[pedropascalsx]

Yours for the Weekend. {Javier Pena x F! Reader}

Summary: Javier returns to Laredo for a Long Weekend after being informed by HR he must use up his paid time off.

Warnings: A little angst, age-gap dynamic, kissing, nothing sexual in this chapter but marked explicit for future chapters. Reader has no physical descriptions.

Word Count: 3.2k

Chapter: 1 of 3.

A/N: Had this idea yesterday and wasn’t able to put it down. A huge thank you to the amazing @frannyzooey​​ for editing, making the most helpful suggestions and being an incredible cheerleader. I am super grateful for you!

His nose scrunches up at the smell of freshly mowed grass and burning asphalt as the piping hot Laredo sun blazes down on it. 

He was home. Kind of. 

After working tirelessly and refusing to take any time off for months, HR had no choice but to demand he at least take a long weekend. Back to Texas, to see his Dad and spend the next few days tackling the jobs Chucho wasn’t able to do by himself, before rushing back to Colombia.

It had been just over a year since he last walked the familiar streets of home, ignoring the harsh whispering or the unwelcomed praises of their hometown hero. He’s never really sure of what he hates the most, the digs about how heartless he was to leave his high school sweetheart at the altar or the constant droning of how he is a hero; tackling drug crime with both hands at the expense of his own happiness. 

After a while it became white noise, constantly crackling in the background and itching his brain in a place that he could never scratch. He has no doubt that this visit will be the same.

His cab pulls up to the Peña family ranch with Chuchos truck nowhere in sight. Javier pays the driver, insisting he keep the change as a tip before going to the back to grab  his bag from the trunk. Knowing his dad would have made a fuss and insisted he pick him up from the airport, he hadn’t told Chucho he was coming back, and Javi didn’t want him to undertake any more unnecessary tasks so decided a surprise would be best.

Unlocking the door and stepping back inside the house he called home for most of his life is a feeling that he never fails to appreciate. The smell, the exact same furniture his mom and dad had picked out many years before and the sense of security is something rare that he allows himself to enjoy. A brief moment of serenity before he convinces himself he’s not a good enough man to enjoy the simple things.

The time of day and lack of food in the house alerts Javier to his Pops location. No doubt sipping an ice cold beer and chowing down on whatever special Rita has scrawled out on the chalkboard that sits slanted at the end of the bar. Food sounds good. He thinks to himself briefly before scrambling in the junk drawer for the set of keys to the spare truck that only gets used when Javier comes back into town. 

‘Everything stays the same,’ he hums to himself as he pulls up to the bar, the sight of Chuchos truck making him chuckle as he parks up next to it.

Loud and unsurprisingly busy, he weaves through the crowd with his head down to go unnoticed, the corner of his mouth turning up as he spots his Pops in his usual seat chatting happily to Rita at the bar. 

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky day!” Rita says with a beaming smile, “Both handsome Peña men in my bar at once! You never told me Javier was back in town.” She scowls at an equally surprised Chucho.

“I didn’t know myself!” He exclaims before pulling his son in for a hug. “What are you doing here?” 

“Had a few days to kill,” he says before pulling back, with the first genuine smile on his face for longer than he cares to admit, “Figured you’d be here as soon as I opened the fridge.” 

“Best chow in town,” Chucho remarks with a wink. “Sit down.” 

Wordlessly Rita hands Javi a beer and then shouts to the kitchen to add another special to Chuchos order, “On the house.”

“How long this time?” Chucho asks before taking a sip of his beer, his arm resting happily on the top of Javis back.

“Long weekend.” It doesn’t take long until people are coming over and thanking Javi for his hard work in Colombia and letting him know how proud they are of their ‘hometown hero.’

“Leave him alone,” a soft voice calls out, immediately grabbing Javi’s attention. He watches as she balances two plates with an insane amount of sides on a large tray. “Let him eat in peace,” she warns the room of patrons with a stern look. 

“Thanks dear,” Chucho chimes in as you place a plate in front of him and then one in front of Javi. Adding the sides between them both. “Enjoy, let me know if y’all need anything else.” 

“Thank you,” they both reply in unison, making you smile before heading back into the kitchen and grabbing your next set of plates. 

“How much longer do you think you’ll be out there?” Chucho asks, knowing that he’s unlikely to be happy with Javier's answer. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “Depends on the DEA I guess. Lots of work to do.” 

“Mhmmm,” Chucho hums in response, digging into his enchiladas and deciding on having a lighter conversation.

“We should stop for groceries on the way home,” Javi remarks before taking a large chug of his beer, “Maybe grill up some steaks tonight and have leftovers for lunch tomorrow. The fence outback is fucked… we can work on it in the morning, get as much fixed before I head back out there.” 

“Sounds like a hell of a rest you’re planning for yourself there, mijo.”

Every now and then you appear from the kitchen, a wide smile spread across your face as you hand out dishes and serve beer. And every so often you catch a glimpse of him, seemingly unsure of himself as he sips his beer and eats his food. Clearly aware that much of the focus on the room is on him. Not all of it good.

You’ve been there. In a similar situation where the small minded folk of this never changing town whisper loudly about your indiscretions, your mistakes and intimate parts of your life that none of them have a right to know. It makes your heart ache as you wonder if that’s what really sent him running. 

You’d heard bits and pieces about what happened, the town had gathered for what was likely to be a beautiful wedding, the church filled with excited guests eagerly awaiting to toast the happy couple but it never happened. He had cold feet and confessed that she deserved better, she deserved to marry someone that wanted the life that she wanted and it simply wasn’t him. He left town shortly after that and began his work with the DEA. 

It didn’t take long for the woman to move on and marry someone else but even after all these years, people still hold a grudge, a grudge that you now knew personally.

You lean across the bar quietly, counting your tips and preparing to clock out for the end of your shift before catching a glimpse of him again. A small smile sits on his face as his Dad vividly tells him a story, and before you have a chance to look away his eyes flash upwards and meet yours. Both of your eyes linger for a few seconds before your attention is ripped away by a customer demanding another beer, and you graciously oblige.

The sound of barstools scrapping has you looking up again, watching as the Peña men gather their belongings and leave payment and a generous tip on the bar for you. 

“See you tomorrow, querida,” Chucho calls over to you, “If you could add Javi down for the quiz that would be much appreciated.” 

 “Of course, Chucho. It was nice seeing you again.” You say, looking over at him and watching his face contort in confusion as he clearly begins trying to work out when and where you’d met before. 

“She’s a good girl,” Chucho remarks as they walk towards their trucks, “Made a decision similar to one of your own, but didn’t have the means to leave town.”

“I can't place her,” Javi admits with a hum, wondering what decision you had made.

“Sirenita,” Chucho says with a hearty chuckle, “The youngest Juarez girl.” 

“Oh shit,” Javi says, raising his eyebrow, remembering the nickname that had stuck, because you were always clutching a mermaid doll as a girl. 

**

The sun is no longer uncomfortably hot as Chucho turns the steaks on the grill, watching Javi silently plate up the precooked sides they had picked up from the store. 

“Other than that fence what else can we tackle before I head home? I was thinking we could replace the railings out front before I go… They’re not as steady as they should be, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re relying on them more than ever.”

“Eat.” His dad replies ignoring his son's concerns. “I’m.. I’m glad you’re back, mijo,” he sighs, “Even if it’s just for a few days. I miss having you around.” 

“It’s good to be back,” he half lies, he’s happy to see his father, happy to have the security that the four walls behind him provide, just not looking forward to the very real possibility of running into the ghosts of his past that seem hellbent on haunting his future.

**

“We should have just walked,” Javi scoffs as he attempts to find a space to park outside Rita’s. “I forgot how busy this place can get.” 

“If you didn’t spend so much time making yourself pretty, we would have gotten here with plenty of time to find a space.” Chucho remarks before pointing out a spot just a little further down the road.

They both hop out of the truck and slowly meander towards the bar, watching the small crowd of people disappear inside, “Before we go in,” Chucho says, “You’ve got to realize that the work you do down in Colombia means a lot to the folks up here. Shake their hands when they come up to you, accept the compliment and take a sip of your beer. You’re like Santa Claus to some of these people. A rare sight. And they just want to thank you.” 

“Pop—.”

“No, Javier, I know you hate it, I know it’s why you dragged your heels about coming tonight but just take it in your stride. For me.” 

Javier nods a few times before bringing his hand to the top of Chuchos back, leading him towards the bar and taking a large inhale as he enters the bar and headfirst into the chaos.

He does as his father asks, shakes some hands, gracefully denies the offers to buy him a beer and makes his way through the crowd with a smile plastered across his face.

“No, Chucho! Not there!” Your voice calls out from the side of them, “Figured the guest of honor would prefer a booth that’s a little more out of the way than your usual haunt.” As you point to the booth at the very end of the bar, situated next to the makeshift stage that you’ll be calling out the questions from. 

“Thank you, Chucho,” say as he greets his usual quiz team, watching with glee as they all greet Javi and give him their thanks and well wishes. 

“Two beers?” You ask Javi, who’s looking at you with a grateful smile.

“Yes please… Sirenita.” He smirks.

“Ugh,” you groan, “Did you figure it out or did Chucho give you a heads up.”

“My Pops,” Javi admits with a shrug, “I-uh- I’m sorry I couldn’t place you. It’s been a long time since I saw everyone.”

“Don’t apologize, I was still a kid when you left. Now I’m all grown and thankfully that terrible nickname has since been retired by the folks here.” You say with a giggle. “I’m sure you’ll hear that I’ve joined you in the highly exclusive ‘Lotharios of Laredo’ club.” 

He doesn’t have time to respond before you’re making your way back through the crowd and collecting two ice cold beers. 

By the time you make it back Javier is deeply engaged in conversation with one of his fathers friends, answering question after question about the Escobar operation with a slightly uncomfortable ease. 

“Good evening folks,” you say, before rolling your eyes at the enthused cheers from the audience, “Rita is on security duty, so if y’all even try cheating… Well lord, I, myself, will pray for y’all to have a speedy recovery. 30 questions. 3 highest scoring teams will win a prize. Let’s go!”

**

15 questions and multiple arguments across the table later a short intermission is called for bathroom breaks and beer refills. Javier sits quietly at the table watching you for a few moments. You’re still on the ‘stage’ and going through the sheets of paper with the next set of questions written on them. With a final chug of his beer, he pushes himself out of the booth and takes a few short steps towards you.

Clearing his throat he waits patiently for you to look up, “You okay there?” You ask with a smile, that makes his chest feel warm and fuzzy.

“Uh, yeah, I was just curious…” He says with a shrug, “This ‘exclusive club’, how exactly did a nice girl like you get inducted to it?” 

“Maybe I’m not a nice girl,” you tease with a wink, “Tale as old as time. Childhood sweetheart arranges the ‘perfect proposal’ in front of the flower stand at the farmers market so basically the whole town can witness it and so I couldn’t say no.”

“Oh, shit… but you did? You did say no?” He asks with a twist of his lips.

“No, no, I said yes. But after booking a venue and trying on countless amounts of hideous gowns I couldn’t take it anymore and called the whole thing off, only to find out that his Mom had sent the invitations I wasn’t aware had even been made.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “That shit with paired with people's small town mentality isn’t fun.” 

“It’s okay,” you say honestly, “They whisper about me more than you now, so at least this visit shouldn’t be so bad.” 

“We will see,” he chuckles before Chucho slides up next to him and hands him another bottle of beer, “Anyway I best go back to my seat, keep this one from causing chaos.” 

“Yeah. You should really keep an eye on that one,” you giggle, before scrunching your nose up at Chucho and grinning as he bops you on it. 

The rest of the evening goes by without a hitch, you find yourself stealing more glances at Javier, unable to ignore just how handsome he is and you catch him looking back at you a few times. Both of you simply smile at each other when you do. 

You announce the winners, happily to see the Peñas team came in third so have won a round of beers that they all seem thrilled about.

“Okay, I am asking everyone as nicely as I can,” you say with an inhale, “As I am the only one staying on to clean up tonight, please don’t leave your tables too cluttered tonight. Now go! Leave! Get home safely.” 

“They work you too hard,” Chucho says with a shake of his head, “You shouldn’t be clearing up by yourself. Me and Javi will stay.”

“No,” you won’t, you say with a head shake of your own, “Your back has been giving you trouble all week. Go home, Chucho.”

“She’s right, old man,” one of Chuchos friends says with a chuckle, “You’d just get in the way.” 

“I can help though,” Javi interjects, before turning to Mitch, “If you can drive my Pops home, I’ll stay and we will get it down in half the time.”

“You really don’t need-,”

“I know,” he says before tilting his head and leaning towards you and whispering, “But us ‘lotharios’ should look out for one another.” 

“Fine,” you say with a scoff, “But lunch for both of you is on me tomorrow. It’s Chuchos favorite barbecue.” 

**

You’re surprised at just how quickly you work together, you wash the plates and throw out the large collection of beer bottles as he clears the tables. 

“Could you stack the stools on the bar?” You ask, seeing that he’s finished with the tables. “I don’t vacuum until the morning, but it’s just easier to move them up the night before.” 

“Sure… How long have you been working here?” He asks, as he lifts up the first stool.

“Around six months… Rita hired me after the wedding shit. I wanted to pay back the deposits that his family had spent. I don’t need that shit hanging over my head.” You murmur, “People just love to throw that stuff back in your face around here… Figured if I paid it back, they couldn’t.” 

“Smart,” Javi murmurs, “You back living with your parents?”

“No.” You shake your head and place the final glass into the pallet before stepping out of the kitchen. “They barely talk to me, still furious over the whole thing. I live in the apartment above the bar. Rita really helped me out.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, “Yeah, I’m not surprised. She was never on board with me marrying Lorraine… I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you getting home,” he says with a kind smile. 

“No, just up the stairs. Thank you for staying and helping though. I really appreciate it.” 

“Yeah. No problem. I won’t be sleeping for a bit anyway, and Chucho will be snoring by the time I get back.” 

You finish up the rest of the clearing up with small talk, telling him the story of a few weeks back when Chucho had the entire bar participating in the most horrendous rendition of ‘La Bamba’ known to man and grinning at the way Javi snorts with laughter. 

Noticing it’s the first time that he looks genuinely relaxed, the smile on his face soft and not stiff. He looks younger, just as handsome but his big brown eyes shine a little brighter.

“Do you want to stay for coffee? Or a whiskey? Whatever you’d prefer.” A voice that sounds eerily like yours asks. 

He stares at you for a few seconds, weighing up his options before looking down and shaking his head, “I better not. It’s not that I don’t want to… But it’s better for you if I don’t.” 

“Oh,” you say, nodding your head before shaking it. “Why?” 

“You already know how people talk,” he says with a shrug, “A whole bunch of people saw me offer to stay and help you clear up. You don’t deserve—.” 

“I stayed,” you scoff, “If I cared about what people thought of me, I would have left. I would have found somewhere, but it’s fine, Javier, if you don’t want to stay… don’t.” 

“I said that it’s not because I don’t want to,” he repeats as you round the bar. Stepping toward him until you’re practically toe to toe. 

“Then stay,” you whisper, watching as his restraint snaps and whimpering as his hand shoots out behind your hand and drags you closer to him. His mouth covers yours in a needy kiss. He groans as he captures moans of your own, swallowing them down as he presses you up against the bar.

He’s only here for the weekend after all. 

#narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Pena #javier peña #javi peña #javi pena #javier pena x reader #javi pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x you #javi pena x ofc #javier pena x ofc #my fanfiction #javi pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javi pena smut #javier pena smut #tagging fics is a stressful #i suck at it

[joelsmochi]

Playing Dangerous

SUMMARY: female Reader, who works for the Cartel, received instructions to burn down a house for her boss. Javier went to arrest her, but once she realized he wouldn't play the same games as her, she knew she needed to offer up something else as her ticket to freedom... WARNINGS: 18+, no use of Y/N, power play, prostitution & bribery if you look close, unspoken degradation, handcuffs, unprotected piv sex, creampie, lots of good girl bombs, car sex (one day i’ll write good smut in a bed…one day) WC: 4.9k - It is finally here. The second story in my LDR series. So sorry for the long wait, but I hope you enjoy ♡

You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?

You were standing on your small porch with an admirably handsome DEA agent questioning you about a fire. You knew you had the upper hand here when you noticed his eyes casting over your half-naked body that glistened with a light layer of sweat.

“Do you know anything about that, ma’am?” He asked you softly; you knew he knew it was you, but what proof did he have?

You just smirked and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “No, sir,” you cooed while pursing your lips.

He cleared his throat hastily and his eyes narrowed. “Really? Because witnesses say you’re the one responsible.”

Apparently, he had enough proof.

You shrugged, maintaining eye contact with him. “Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.”

His body tensed at your voice’s softness but he maintained his composure for the most part. A breeze passing by gave your skin goosebumps and made your nipples perk up; he briefly daydreamed about his tongue twirling around it, feeling annoyed that he was thinking about something like that during a stressful time for him.

“It’s Agent,” he corrected.

Your eyebrows raised and you gave him a fake apologetic look. “Oh, my apologies.”

“So… It wasn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

And it was mostly true. You preferred a less obvious way of taking out enemies and outposts, but your boss’s boss wanted everyone to know who was still in charge here. You disagreed with the approach but didn’t argue. After all, they do pay your bills.

“Are you sure?” He edged, sensing how you wanted to play games with him. He was over it, and to be frank, your short and thin nightgown had his head full of inappropriate thoughts that made him want to hurry up and get home to fuck his fist.

He hated how pretty you were in the moonlight with your makeup from the day still on, but his wandering eyes saw how fresh your lipstick was. He perceived it as your way of trying to seduce him, or whatever officer came by, and being turned on by it pissed him off even more.

“I heard from the neighbors that the house was already on fire,” you said simply with a swift shrug, but his warm and inviting eyes suddenly turn shallow and cold; you were thrown off of your game of lies so you attempted to change the subject. “Gosh, I’m all exposed here in my nightgown… Do you mind if I go and cover up? You’re more than welcome to come inside.”

Yeah. Right. Javier may be attracted to you, but he’s not stupid. You could take this as an opportunity to shoot him or kidnap him.

As harmless as you look, you were still one of Escobar’s employees and they typically did whatever they needed to survive with confidence. This just wasn’t a chance Javier could take.

“Nice try. Come on, hands on your head,” he said contemptuously while unveiling his handcuffs.

You frowned feeling confused at the sudden shift of his energy, stuttering over your own words as you defiantly obliged.

His eyes avoided yours as he readied the cuffs and stepped closer to you to make the arrest official. He didn’t care to be gentle with you either — why should he?

After all, you did almost kill someone tonight.

His slender fingers jabbed at your ribcage as his hand forced your body to turn around; you felt a few knuckles crack uncomfortably from how hard he pulled your hands from above your head to the small of your back.

“Do you really have to put those tight handcuffs on me?” You asked when he clicked the cuffs a little too far. He didn't respond.

He tried to keep his eyes off of how plump your ass looked beneath the thin gown, but it was hard when the force of his hands moving your body as he cuffed you made your ass jiggle effortlessly.

But still, he maintained composure.

You accepted your fate, but you still wanted to try to earn your freedom. Something you’d never done before but weren’t ashamed to do. Not when a man this handsome wears his heart — or rather, his cock on his sleeve.

He pulled at your arm roughly and began walking you to his car. The lack of communication from him only prompted you to speak even more.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you said.

Still nothing.

“Please, officer, I will do anything.”

Fuck… How he would give almost anything to bend you over and—no.

He knew that you were just trying to get off scot-free, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t let that happen.

“Anything you like, sir,” you cooed oh so sweetly it nearly gave him a toothache.

He stopped you right in front of the car to glare at you. At least he tried to. Your smile was smug yet innocent, and your eyes expressed an eagerness foreign to him.

You weren’t a prostitute, and he knew that from your record. You weren’t the type to sell your body, so… Why do it now? He wondered if you were trying to be let go or maybe…? No, no, it can’t be that…

He realized he’d been in thought too long when he looked back into your eyes, and that eagerness hadn’t left. Was it possible you really just wanted to have sex with him?

The light in your eyes gleamed different than most of the women he’d been with — he just couldn’t put his finger on the particular emotion.

“Nobody has to know if that’s what you’re worried about,” you whispered as your eyes faltered to his partially exposed chest.

Oh.

The excitement and eagerness and anticipation he was picking up from you? It was rebellion. You didn’t want to have sex with Javier. What you wanted was to lay in bed with the enemy. It all made sense.

And it made him undeniably weak in the knees. His stomach flipped just thinking about it.

“Sounds like that’s what you’re worried about,” he retorted.

A flicker of vulnerability highlights your eyes that wasn't unnoticed by him. He didn’t understand why his body was under so much hesitation by your damsel in distress act.

Maybe it was how you called yourself a good girl even though everything about you screamed otherwise. Your short gown and your evilly beautiful smile… Your cockiness and playful personality…

Or maybe Javier had just gone too long without any.

“Let’s get in the back of your cop car, officer,” you keenly propose; though the repetition of officer had him gritting his teeth, he no longer wanted to hold off your fantasy of betrayal. “You can ask me anything you want.”

“Anything?”

You simpered at the way his eyebrows raised and nodded. “Anything.”

He didn’t hesitate with your negotiation, using his broody arm to swiftly pull you to the side of the Jeep before he opened the door for you.

He shouldn’t be doing this. No, Steve is gonna kill him. What kind of person takes sex from an arsonist as a bribe? Had his standards for morality really dropped that low? But he caught a glimpse of the still-burning fire in the distance and decided: what the hell?

He climbed in after you and shut the door, thankful you live in a more than secluded area. He could have been a gentleman and taken you to your bedroom. He just didn’t want to.

He studied you like any of Escobar’s other men — and you surprised him tonight. You were notorious for being hardheaded (that had only been proven correct tonight), but you also had the reputation of making men your bitch.

So he couldn’t help but wonder… What made him so different that you’d degrade yourself for an arrest that probably wouldn’t have even held up anyways?

Were you that desperate? Didn’t matter. He was going to find out.

“Do you have a girl?”

Your question threw him off. “Hmm?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” you said instead of repeating yourself.

“Uh, no,” he said though he wasn’t entirely sure what the truth was at this exact moment. “No Misses… Is that seriously where you draw the line?”

You grinned and giggled loudly, shifting to find comfort within your current restraint. “No, but that does make this a little less fun.”

He couldn’t ignore how his cock antagonized his jeans, enthusiastically twitching against his zipper. He cleared his throat and spread his thighs to try and give his member some room to breathe, to no avail.

His tone was mean and cold as he spoke. “Is that what this is? Fun?”

Your smile faltered almost entirely, replacing itself with a much more shy one. No man who was only minutes away from fucking you had ever spoken like that. You couldn’t deny the insecurity that suddenly rose inside of you.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said bashfully, unintentionally batting your eyes at him and cowering your head down. As embarrassed as you were, you almost enjoyed it: the shame and the submission eradicated any impulsiveness within you. 

This was no longer an escape plan but a mere effort to make him remember you.

“…I can ask you anything?” He asked after squinting at you. He tried his best not to smile when he realized he was getting to you.

“Anything you want,” you said just barely above a whisper.

He watched you look at him through your eyelashes with admiration glowing in your pretty eyes. He took your chin between his thumb and index finger to tilt your head up a little; he gave you a crooked smile before asking, “Are you a good girl?”

Your heart leaped inside your warm chest. You wanted to stoop to his level and be mean and taunting right back, but you just fucking couldn’t.

God, he was handsome. So dark yet so bright. With a mysterious charisma that no other man could possess, he had you wrapping yourself around his finger. So… You try to appease him.

“That’s what I said, isn't it?”

You didn’t hear how harsh it came out, so it was a surprise when his gentle fingers wrapped tightly around your jaw below your chin. You whimpered and leaned your chest to his forearm, giving him goose skin.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Shh,” he whispered, “I know.” He teasingly moved your head around and half-smiled again. “Did you set the house on fire?”

“I—“

His grip tightened, resulting in your cheeks and lips being squished up a little. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Y—yes. I did.”

“C’mere.” His hand remained clamped around your jaw while he managed to guide you atop his lap; he used his free hand to undo the button and zipper on his jeans and then reached beneath your nightgown and rubbed your panty line. “Good girl… Right?” You could only nod at his question, untrusting of your voice. His grip loosened so that he could trace his thumb over your tinted cheeks. “S’this what you really want?”

You gave him a daunting smile and nodded once more. “Yes.”

His hands disappeared below your gown; his right arm wrapped around your hips to lift you slightly while his left hand reached for his semi-hard length, pulling it out with a hard tug.

He kept his pouted brown eyes on yours the entire time, wanting to see every movement your face made. He pulled your panties to the side and let his swelling head meet your entrance.

Javier admired your patience — even dragging the head of his cock back and forth along your pussy lips for a minute wouldn’t make you act out of line. You wanted to prove to him how good you were so that he could forget all of the bad things you did.

He carefully placed his cock head at your entrance and slowly let go of your hips so that you could take your time to adjust to him.

A contentious sigh fell from his lips when he felt how tight you were compared to his girth. He took the liberty of undoing the rest of his shirt while you tried to gather enough stability to fully sink onto him, but with the lack of foreplay, a pain-filled hiss was heard by you.

“Take it slow,” he instructed confidently. “Take what you can.”

A sense of relief washed over you, and for the time being, you only took a couple of inches inside your needy cunt. You exhaled softly as you raised your hips kindly and slid back down.

Javier watched with attentive eyes, finding the little frown forming on your face adorable. Your eyes were shut with focus as you tried to maintain balance and a slow but consistent pace.

“Fuck,” you whispered, feeling the slight burning sensation of him stretching you out slowly dissipate into pure pleasure as your slick walls relaxed around him, allowing you to take more of his length in.

Even though his eyes were on your face, all his focus was on how tightly your sopping pussy squeezed around him. He loved how your pussy clenched around him to adapt to his girth. If your pussy felt this good now, he couldn’t wait to know how much better it’ll get when you come.

“Why’d you set the house on fire?” He asked randomly.

“What?” Your movements faltered, and you frowned at him. Is that seriously what’s on his mind right now?

“Did I say you could stop?” He said darkly.

You hesitated, stuttering out a, “N—no.”

But you were too lost in his stern eye contact to start riding him again.

So with one brief movement, he forced your hips down so that his cock filled you. A cry of pain left your lips, and you unintentionally tightened your knees against his thighs, which he didn’t seem to mind.

You were sure to not waste another moment, so you lifted your hips and took everything in again, but he filled you to your brim.

The bulbous head of his dick grazing against the peak of your cervix became more comfortable within a few more movements, and you finally gained enough composure to answer his question.

“I do everything the boss tells me to. Mnh…” You breathed heavily and settled at a steady pace, feeling your arms beginning to lock up behind you. “I don’t question it. I just do it.”

He surprised you by thrusting into you once as you were lifted, but he was careful not to go too deep. “Okay… I believe you.”

You grinned and sank onto him completely. “What’s your real name?” You asked him, leaning your face closer to his.

He stared plainly at your eyes and held his breath for a moment. “Javier.”

You rewarded him by going up…then down again. You watched how his body responded to the slow but forceful movement. “What a pretty name,” you complimented. “Do you prefer Javier… Or something else?”

“I’d prefer it if you stopped teasing me,” he groaned through clenched teeth. You felt his body tense up despite the lack of physical contact.

Your eyes battered back and forth in brief ponder. You wanted to tease him a little longer, make him beg for it even, but you had to remind yourself that he was in charge whether you liked it or not.

“Can you hold onto me for a second?” You asked, which he seemed happy to do.

Something about feeling up the smooth fabric that clad your body sent shivers down his spine and straight to his dick.

His long fingers found their way around your waist, and you trusted his grip enough to shift onto your feet so that you were squatting on him.

“Okay,  now I need you to put your arms under my thighs,” you instructed, praising him when he listened. “Just hold me steady, okay?”

You didn’t give him much time to respond before raising your body until his cock was almost entirely out of you, then you slammed your hips back down so that he filled you again.

He couldn’t prevent the pathetic and loud whimper that escaped his throat. The slight change in the position provided more than enough pleasure to make his entire body jerk. His hands instinctively grabbed the cuff of your ass as you repeated the motion at a relentless pace with an intense force every time you squatted.

At this angle, your walls gripped around him so much he grew afraid he would come too soon, but he couldn’t stop — he didn’t fucking want to.

Everything felt too good. You were so wet for him, and he felt your hot precum leak out of you and coat his balls. Your ass was warm but still covered in goosebumps from how his cock stretched you out so sweetly — nothing was painful anymore. Not even your handcuffed wrists.

Seeing the pure bliss spread across his face was motivating you to continue. His eyes were shut, and his eyebrows were raised with concern. You watched as his tongue flicked across his bottom lip between the helpless moans he let out.

When he noticed how quiet you were, he looked at you worriedly, but you were just focused on being good for him. He saw how heavy your eyes were and how you were almost biting back your moans.

“That feel good?” You asked when you saw him look.

His eyebrows stitched together as he profusely nodded and gripped even more of your ass. “Yes, fuck yes, keep going,” he encouraged.

The strap to your gown slipped down your shoulder enough to reveal part of your nipple. Javier was inclined to fully unveil your breast, but something about almost seeing all of you was more invigorating, at least for the time being.

All these feelings were too much: he had to come, but he didn’t want to stop. But your velvety walls only felt like they were getting tighter and tighter.

You felt him getting close with how his body kept twitching, flinching, and tensing up with every squat. His moans grew breathy and hitched rather than full of bass. He wouldn’t be able to hold off any longer.

He let you get him as close as possible. So fucking close. His body was on fire, and his head fell back against the seat again.

His cock was tortured by the slickness of your walls that dared him to empty himself inside of you, but when an inch of his orgasm had begun, he was quick to push your hips up and slip himself out of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he shouted. You chuckled, shifting back to your knees for comfort, then leaned forward to kiss him. He looked up at you again and gave you an embarrassed smile. “Fuck, sorry,” he laughed against your lips. His laugh was so sweet and gentle.

You loved the way he talked and how hollow his voice sounded. His words were bitter, but his voice tasted so sweet.

He gave you another kiss while lifting you off his lap; he guided your body so that you were on your knees facing the window before pulling your panties aside again to slip back into your glistening pussy.

You gasped at the newfound depth and rested your head on the seat, smiling when you felt him tug at the link connecting the handcuffs.

This was wrong.

The lack of respect you had for your colleagues and bosses got you here. Fucking ‘the enemy’. It felt so good to decide on your own, to betray them. It was like Javier took a lighter and ignited every flame inside of you again.

He pleased parts of you that he wasn’t aware of, and you couldn’t be bothered to let it end so soon. Not when rebellion tasted so sweet and fucked you so good.

Javier noticed you biting your lip again to quiet yourself — yet another habit you picked up on from previous partners — and hated it. He loved having vocal partners, even if words weren’t being said. He felt a little insecure, wondering if he wasn’t doing a good job, but your trembling body told him otherwise.

“Com’ere,” he said, lifting your upper half from the seat. His clad chest pressed against your back with the cool metal of the handcuffs hovering over your ass, and he kissed your jawbone before trailing a lick up your ear. “Don’t hold back for me, baby. Let me hear you,” he pleaded weakly.

Shivers trickled down your body, and you shuddered at the feeling. He smelled of expensive cigarettes, a light layer of musky cologne, and sweat. His scent was so intoxicating and made you even more needy for his touch. His calloused hands grazing over your ass beneath your pajamas tickled your skin and made you exhale loudly.

You felt his hand snake between your bodies before he lined his dick up with your entrance. He pushed it in at an achingly slow pace, making you whine and pout.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he said in a way that sounded like he was laughing at you. His hand palmed your hip as he began thrusting inside you, filling you up nicely each time. “That feel good?”

You nodded and held your breath, making him punish you by reaching around your hip to land firm a smack against your clit. You yelped and flinched, yet found the pain to be a turn-on.

“Yes,” you said, not wanting to be scolded by him any further. “Yes! It feels good.”

He chuckled wryly and began pounding into you at a relentless speed. His thighs slapped against yours, and his grip on your hip tightened.

You let out noises you didn’t even know you could make. Squeaks, yelps, falsettos — all this for Javier, and oh my God, did it bring him close to the edge again.

He wanted you to feel him, touch him. No. He needed you to. He needed your hands to undress him. To tug at his hair and claw at his back. He needed you to hold his face in your soft and clammy palms. He wanted to watch your pretty fingers work patterns on your clit while he bent your legs to your head and fucked into your stomach.

Then, suddenly he began uncuffing your wrists. You were thankful for the relief but tried to contain your excitement. He held the handcuffs in front of your face, then whispered, “You misbehave, and they go right back on. You understand?”

You nodded, shouting out, “Yes,” before gripping his hand on your hips as he still pounded your squelching pussy.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he began hitting your favorite spot at a new angle, fulfilling your need for pleasure in the deepest parts of your heart.

He moved his hand to grip your jaw and pulled your head back so your forehead pressed against his chin. Your back was in discomfort from the arched position, but his cock made up for it.

“Look at you…” He grunted. Your mouth was agape, and your eyes were clenched shut as your raspy moans filled his ears. “So fucking helpless,” he whispered, leaving soft pecks against your forehead. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby girl. Oh.”

You cried out his name as he continued to speak sweet nothings to you. Your nails clawed at his hand at the rise of tension building inside of your stomach.

“You treat me so well, Javier,” you breathlessly spoke. “That feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He kept his momentum up as best he could when he felt your walls flutter around his shaft. It made his head feel dizzy, and his cock ached from wanting to release inside you.

The pressure began to release itself, and you weren’t sure how much longer it’d be before you came. “Can I—fuck! Can I cum? Can I please cum?”

His plump lips neared your ear as he said, “Yes, yes, yes, you can cum for me, pretty girl. You’re such a good girl for me.”

You screamed embarrassingly loud as your pussy flexed and contracted against him at his words, amplifying the orgasm peacocking throughout your body. He released your neck and ran his hands over your shoulder blades as you bent over and fucked him back to ride out your orgasm.

He looked down where you two were connected and saw a thick, white ring of cum wrapped around the base of his cock. He listened to your lowering volume carefully, waiting until you were finished as he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

At least not yet.

“Good…” He paused to land a firm smack on your ass cheek. “…Girl.” Another smack.

You flinched both times, making you both lazily giggle. He nibbled at your earlobe and kissed your neck before directing you to lie down.

You made sure to slouch down a little so that your back was against the seat and your legs up in the air; he rid you of your panties before cupping the back of your knees. He kept your legs pushed back and spread wide open for him as he slowly dipped his cock inside you without assistance.

You watched in awe as he stretched you out again, humming when he filled you and yelping when he pulled out. You laughed when he repeated the action a few times: fill you up, leave you empty…

He loved watching your muscles twitch due to his movements, such as your clit throbbing and your entrance clinging to him.

Finally, he went as deep as he could reach and watched the peak of your belly rise a little. He looked into your eyes and gave you a reassuring smile.

“You okay?” He asked quickly.

“Yeah,” you assured, “that feels good.”

His smile turned to a smirk, and he rocked his hips slowly. “Yeah?” He laughed.

You reached out to hold his face in your hands while biting your lip. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. He allowed himself to fall into the euphoric feeling of you.

His mind wanted to remember how all this felt: your walls were so warm with soft edges, but your hands were so smooth against the grain of his beard. Your moans were intoxicating and addictive.

It was all he wanted to hear at this point in time. Who you were before didn’t matter anymore. Fuck no. You were Javier’s newly founded favorite priority, and he’d do anything to feel this good with you again.

He felt he was also rebelling against his morals and nature. How could he resist you, though? Standing there in your cute little nightgown and fresh lipstick on… So naughty and daunting yet so beautiful and obedient.

He reopened his lust-filled eyes and watched you moan and cry for him and for more. Your eyes were narrow, and your lip was swollen from where you were biting. You looked so pathetic beneath him, and it stroked his ego a little too much.

“Look at you.” He leaned his chest down to yours and gave you a sloppy kiss. “Look at you taking my cock like a good girl, hmm?” He laughed bullyingly and smacked the back of your thigh while he rose again. “Play with your pussy, baby girl,” he told you; you obeyed without a second thought and gave yourself the added pleasure. “That’s it, good job… Yeah, keep doing that. Oh-ho, you look so pretty like that.”

You rubbed your clit like you do any other time you touch yourself, but your nerves were already so overwhelmed that you went in a little more rough than usual.

You twisted, pinched, smacked, and rubbed relentlessly at your innocent clit, almost like you were punishing yourself. Javier saw how needy you were to come again and couldn’t hold out much longer.

He was preparing himself to ask you where you wanted him to finish, but he felt you gather some of your cum up from around him before you shoved your slicked fingers into your mouth while maintaining eye contact with him.

He couldn’t control nor stop it.

He was a whimpering and moaning pathetic mess above you.

He collapsed on top of you and finished his orgasm with lazy thrusts, feeling overstimulated sooner than he would have liked to admit.

He lifted his head shamefully and rolled his eyes when he saw your arrogant ass smile.

“Shut up,” he said though you hadn’t said anything. He felt guilty for not giving you a second orgasm, but you were already reaching for your panties and slipping them back on. He sat beside you and tucked his faltering erection in his jeans before zipping them up halfway.

“Gonna keep you inside of me as long as possible,” you whispered seductively in his ear after he lit his cigarette. He rolled his eyes more playfully this time and simpered bashfully. “You still gonna arrest me, Javier?” You chirped after facing him and sitting on your knees.

He breathed out the smoke from his lungs and looked at you while rubbing your half-exposed thigh. “I thought everybody said you were a good girl?”

You grinned, a blush spreading rapidly over your cheekbones. You responded to him by subtly nodding.

“Come ‘ere.” You two shared a kiss that was full of post-sex love and excitement. “If I have to put these handcuffs on you again, I won't be so nice."

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[ficjoelispunk]

Has the cat got your tongue?

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. Reader.

Wordcount: 5.8k

Warnings: flirting, kissing, smut, unprotected sex, guns, shooting

A/N: Well, I usually translate my fics, so this is a translation, English is not my first language, so I already apologize for mistakes, or confusions in the translation. This is my first Oneshot, I hope you like it. ❤️

As soon as you sucked the last sip of your drink, you looked around the bar looking for your friend, a faithful squire, when your eyes parked on the image of Jessica being cornered by no one else, none other than Javier Peña.

Obviously, at that moment, you were no longer fully aware of reality, as soon as the department ended the work, everyone had the brilliant idea of drowning stress and fatigue in some drinks. You didn't use to drink, so you settled for a single drink. Now holding a delicious non-alcoholic orange drink with tonic.

Jessica was are you roommate, and like always you were together. You decided to go straight to the pub for happy hour, and now it was past 10 p.m., so no doubt Jessica would already have her neurons cushioned.

You watched from afar the most scoundrel man in the department - yes, it is Javier Peña -, flirting with your best friend, and she laughing like a fool falling into his conversation.

Immediately you get away from the group of people you were talking to, walking towards Jessica and Javier.

You reach her arm, entering the middle of her and Javier, noding hard at him, turning to face her.

"Hey, girl! Time to go...”

Javier stands next to Jessica, looking at you. You had to look up to make eye contact with him.

"I can take her home" Javier put his arm over Jessica's shoulders.

“Absolutely not”

"Okay, if you want to join us, the invitation extends to you too, you will be welcome"

You open your mouth, surprised by the audacity of this man. You smiled ironically, shaking your head, while looking down.

“Come on, Jessica, let's go”

You help your friend get off the bank in front of the bar counter. She had definitely managed to send the stress and fatigue far away - after God knows how many - shots of tequila.

"Wait" Javier holds one of your arms "we were having a good conversation here, weren't we beautiful?" He speaks seeking Jessica's approval.

She is soft in your arm, completely drunk, the weight of her whole body under your responsibility.

"She is not in a position to say what it is or is not, a good conversation, if you will excuse me"

"Your jealousy? Calm down, sweetheart, you’ll also have your opportunity."

You hear a choir behind you doing a "wooow" by the agents who were with Javier. Automatically this arouses a ferocity in you, your eyes narrow for Javier. You feel the blood boiling in your body, radiating adrenaline into you.

It was as if he challenged you and you accepted. Put Jessica's arm on your shoulders so that she balances herself on you.

"Oh, honey… Do you think every woman wants to fuck with you, Javier? For God's sake, look in the mirror. You think you're hot, but you're forgetting a small detail, you have a huge list of women for your collection, which you pay for them. They're just doing their job. Has it ever occurred to you that they don't like you, but your money?"

Javier is paralyzed. It was as if the sound of the bar was diminished, and only you spoke inside the environment.

"What is it?" Do you provoke him "Has the cat got your tongue? You are so self-centered that you can't take the blood from your cock, and use your brain to really conquer a woman, you prefer to buy them. But there are some women who are not for sale. Grow up, little boy. Start acting like a real man."

Now the choir was for you. The agents were fervent. Javier was paralyzed. You turned your back and walked with Jessica out of the pub.

The wind outside the bar refreshes the fervent temperature of your face, calming the blush that your little discussion with Agent Peña installed on your cheeks. Your eyes started looking for a taxi but there is no car available in front of the establishment.

"Maybe we need to walk" Jessica said, sounding totally drunk.

You sighed. Jessica leaned against the wall. And he took one last look checking if there was no car arriving, usually they were waiting for the passengers in front of the pub, but today. No.

"I can take you"

The voice behind you, made you jump into a fright.

Javier.

"No, thanks" You talk while you were looking for a card from a taxi you had already taken, to call him.

"Look, you're not going to get a taxi now, and you live upstairs of my apartment. It’s dangerous to stay on the street at this time, and it won’t be a big deal... So..."

"Please, I need to go home... it's no big deal, let's just go home, please," Jessica murmured.

"God!" You close your eyes while throwing your head back.

Sigh.

"All right. But, it's just a ride. Understood?"

Javier arched his eyebrow. And he indicated the Jeep. You helped Jessica get in the car, and Javier opened the front door for you.

You two faced each other for a while. Without knowing, without understanding, if that was a favor, or if it was some provocation, you two were with the guards on alert and would not lower anytime soon.

Despite that, Javier was loving the idea of you being in his car. Breaking all the contempt you insist on showing whenever he is around.

Javier helped you take Jessica to the apartment, you took her to the room, and he stayed outside the apartment.

"Thank you"

He nodded. And turned around.

You were going to close the door but you hesitated.

"And..."

When Javier heard your voice he looked at you over his shoulders.

"I'm sorry if I was very rude to you earlier today... you pissed me off"

He smiles crooked.

"I deserved that"

You nodded. And closed the door.

Had I made too much effort to climb the stairs and there was little oxygen in your brain? Or were I starting to think Javier is handsome?

You chose the first option.

***

A few weeks later.

Your shift had ended earlier, and as today was Jessica's day off and she was the only one who had a license to drive in Colombia, you decided to leave walking, so as not to disturb your friend's rest. The apartment was not far from the base, and you really needed some time alone.

You walked down the street, distracted. Colombia was a colorful country, there were many colors on the streets, in contrasting with the war scenario that the cartels and politics waged at the time. It was hot, it was a hot day in Medellin. But sometimes the breeze hit your face, refreshing your body. You were with your eyes closed feeling the wind messing up your hair.

"Hey"

You opened your eyes. Turning your head towards the sound.

"Hey! Get in the car"

Javier had the car leveled on the sidewalk, driving to follow your step, glass lowered, looking a little nervous, gesturing for you to get into the car.

"Why?" You frowned, confused.

"Get in the fucking car" Javier was screaming, looking away from you to look into the rearview mirror. "Now!"

You held the strap of your bag, stopped walking, looked back.

Javier saw three men walking faster towards you, through the rearview mirror.

"Get in the car! Get in the car right now!" He screamed louder.

You saw the men taking out weapons that were hidden under their shirts.

Your eyes snapped, Javier was already out of the car, slipping through the hood of the Jeep, opening the passenger door, and pushing you into the car.

There was a shot. Your whole body contracted, tripping into the car.

Javier shot in the direction of the men. Running to the driver's side.

You lowered your head in the car.

"What's going on?" You asked with a slightly shrill but trembling voice.

"Where are you coming from?" Javier spoke loudly. While driving.

There were more shots towards the car, one of them hitting the rear window of the car breaking with the impact of the shot.

You screamed putting your hands in your ears.

Javier got his hand on your head, forcing you down, to protect you from the shots.

"Stay down. Where were you?" He was screaming.

"Stop yelling at me, I'm right here, next to you"

"Where were you?" Javier ignored your request.

"I... I... I was at the base"

You felt him making a sharp turn, your body being thrown to the side, he removed his hand from your head, to hold the steering wheel. You raised your head little by little, your hands still around your ears.

"Where are we going?" You asked, feeling the tears that you didn't even notice formed in your eyes, running down your face.

"I'll take you to a safe place"

It took you a moment to process the information.

"Wait, do they know where I live?" You held the sides of the seat, while Javier drove aggressively.

"Probably" Javier was attentive, looking everywhere.

"Jessica is at home, we need to get her out of there," you said a little desperate.

"Your safety first"

"No!" You said louder, "We need to go get her now!" You were holding the dashboard of the car now.

"If you didn't get home they know you won't be there, they were after you, not her, I won't put you at risk! You need a safe place"

You didn't understand what was going on.

"Put on your seat belt" Javier looked at you.

It was difficult to move, your body was rigid, he seemed not to obey your commands. Your hands were shaking, your breathing was completely irregular, only now you were becoming aware of the reactions your body had. An icy tingling ran through your body.

Slowly you managed to lean against the seat, you pulled the seat belt, but couldn't connect to the lock, Javier pulled the beam of your hands and locked the seat belt for you.

"Why were they after you?" Javier asked.

You shook your head.

Javier looked at you, completely overwhelmed by the state of shock.

"Sorry, I yelled at you. Did I hurt you?"

Tears flowed persistently down your face. You tried to contain them with your hand, while shaking your head at him, unable to speak.

"I hurt you when I put you in the car?"

You shook your head for him.

"Look at me" Javier asked, the voice calmer now.

You took a deep breath a few times, but obeyed his request.

Javier was studying your face.

"It's okay. You're safe now. Nothing will happen to Jessica. All right?"

You nodded to him.

Javier takes the satellite phone from the car console, his fingers agile dialing a number.

"Steve, I need you to go to Jessica's house with a patrol, there were three armed men in the region, they fired shots, there may be people hurt, maybe they can invade the apartment"

He made a silence.

"Yeah…” he looked at you “I don't know, but take her to a safe place"

And it hung up.

"Thank you"

He nodded.

"Do you know why they were after you?"

You shook your head.

"I have no idea..." you looked out the window for a moment, then looked at Javier again, "my father, he has political involvement..."

Javier looked at you.

"Political involvement? And why are you working on it?" He arches his eyebrows, his eyes snaps.

You frowned.

“Because I need to work to live?! My father is a politician, not me"

Javier shrugged. He kept thinking about how you could live a luxurious life, without having to work, just enjoying the money. But you decided to work. Worthy or did you just want to prove something to someone?

Peña parked in a motel. You tilted your body over the dashboard of the car to observe the location. Is this the definition of a safe place for Javier Peña?

"Sorry, we don't have any five-star option” Javier said as he got out of the car.

What is the need to be so annoying?

Already out of the car, he gestures for you to get out of the car, while lighting a cigarette. You go down, looking to the sides.

"Why are we here?"

"You need a place to stay," he said under his shoulders.

"I'm not going to stay here alone"

Javier looks back.

"We have no other option, until I can do the legal procedures and can request protection for you, no one will look for you here"

"No, so take me back to the base, I'll stay there, no one will look for me inside"

Javier looks at his feet, and puts his hands on his waist.

"We don't have time for this, come in, before someone sees us"

You sigh. Scared. Looking around.

"I don't want to be alone, I'm scared," you murmur, crossing your arms in front of your body.

Javier runs his hand over his face, scratching his nose.

"Ok. I'll stay with you"

You looked at him. Not that it would comfort you. But with him?

You scratched the back of your neck. Thinking about the alternatives.

"Let's go, come on" Javier pulls your shoulder, directing you through the enter of the door, his hand gently pushing your back. Without giving you many choices.

You continue with your arms around your body. While Javier checks in and picks up the room keys.

Wait. Room. One room?

Javier walks towards the stairs, goes up the first floor, unlocks the door.

"Go inside, lock the door, only open it if you're sure it's me, I'll be right back"

He gives you the key.

"Where are you going?"

He snaps his eyes at you and shakes his head. Ok. He wouldn't tell you where he would go. Because he doesn't owe you satisfaction. Because he's an idiot, insensitive.

"Close the door."

You enter the room, Javier is waiting for you to lock the door. You hear his steps moving away after hearing the second turn you take on the key.

The bedroom has a sofa. And a bed. Only one, with a mirror on the ceiling. But that's okay, because apparently he was going to leave you alone. And fuck if you're shitting yourself with fear. Fuck that there were armed men willing to shoot you, behind you. Fuck you.

Javier was Javier, and he didn't care about anything, just himself.

Never, not even in your worst nightmares, did you think that one day, you would be at the mercy of Javier Peña. There was no way you could get out of there, without him saying it was safe. There was nothing you could do but wait. Wait. For Javier.

The world really turns around.

The TV didn't work. There were no magazines. There were no books. You wouldn't leave the room. That was it. There was no food. There were no clothes if you wanted to take a shower. There was nothing. Nothing, just you. Your concern. Affliction. Nervousness. Anxiety. And fear. Oh, and of course, red and blue neon lights in the room. You rolled your eyes.

Three knocks on the door.

"It's me" the voice was familiar.

But was it correct to believe that it was safe to open even if it was him, and if he was accompanied, being threatened? Would it be prudent to take a test?

"What did I say to you on the last night we met?"

"Well, there were a lot of things, sweetheart." He took a break "but my favorites are that: I think I'm the verraco. That I can't think because my blood is all on my dick. And that I should start acting like a real man"

Ok. If he were being threatened, he wouldn't have been able to think of all this.

You unlocked the door.

Javier was leaning against the door, a cigarette on his lips, with several bags in his free hand.

You made the way for him to come in.

He put the bags on the bed.

"Did you talk to Agent Murphy? Is Jessica okay?"

"Yeah, Jessica is fine"

Javier looked at you, his eyes going down to your feet.

You crossed your arms.

He indicated with his head the bags on the bed.

"I bought clothes if you want to take a shower. There are some snacks if you're hungry. Water, beer and cigarettes"

You walked reluctantly to the bags. You opened some. Really, he had bought you clothes. Pajamas, pants and t-shirt, and... what? It can only be a joke!

You took it out of the bag holding with your fingertips, a black lace panties.

"Seriously?" You asked him.

Javier seemed to have fun, a funny expression on his face.

"I thought it would look good on you" he smiled.

You threw the panties at him.

He held back laughing.

“You pervert!"

You took the bag of clothes, heading to the bathroom, which, ridiculously, there was no door.

You grunted, Javier heard, stretching on the couch. Having fun.

"You stay there, and don't you dare come here until I authorize it"

"Yes, ma'am"

You turned on the shower, and took a quick shower. Javier heard the sound of the water stop, the shower turned off. He stretched out to look at the bathroom. He saw your silhouette wrapped in the towel, your wet hair, your legs, your bare shoulders, it was as if something burned inside him. His cock contracted in your pants. Making him fix it in his underwear. Straighten up on the couch.

Javier remembers perfectly the day he saw you for the first time in the department.

"She is not for your tipe" Steve said, while Javier almost broke his neck looking at you.

"I like to vary" he said.

Steve laughed, pushing his partner's shoulder.

Javier knew he would hardly have a chance with you. First, you hated him without much explanation. Second, you had a negative image of him, with your reasons. Third, you were a beautiful woman. Soot face, with strong and sensual features. Hairy lips, perfect hair. Intelligent, sophisticated, polite. He knew you wouldn't give him a chance. But since you were here, he would not miss the opportunity to do the only thing he could do with you, and successfully provoke you.

You wore the pajamas that Javier brought you - without panties - which had not yet been decided if it was good or bad, the fact that Javier knew that you were not wearing underwear. Or if by chance it was, it was the one he had chosen.

Javier was concentrated reading some papers when you left the bathroom. Shorts and tank top, the thin fabric of the pajamas following the curves of your body. He had never seen so much of your exposed skin as you is now. Your skin looked soft, smooth. He wanted to be able to run his hands through your body. Smell it. Kiss your nervous mouth. Make you feel good. Relaxed. Put you in his arms, make you get to where no other man wanted to have dreamed of. He was capable of that. He knew it. This was one of the qualities he was most proud of.

"What are you looking at?" You made him blink.

"You"

"I know, but why?"

Javier hesitated and turned his attention to the papers, without answering you.

You sat on the bed.

"When will I be able to leave here?"

"As soon as we get adequate protection for you, or we can find out why they were behind you, or when we can catch the men who shot you"

"Ok. And the estimate is of?"

Javier looked at you.

"I don't know, cariño. I'm doing what I can. You should rest"

You nodded.

Dictating yourself in bed, ignoring the mirror above you, pulling the pillow for you to hug and rest your head.

You heard Javier moving some bags, opened a beer. You would certainly take a long time to sleep. He was focused spreading the papers on the coffee table. At one point, you heard the water from the shower. You heard the click of the bathroom light going out.

"If you want, you can lie down on the other side. Just, don't... you know..."

He laughed.

"I'm going to stay on the couch"

"There's enough room for two"

"Do you want me to go to bed with you?"

You sat down, looking at him, furious. Javier smiled, having fun.

"No, I just think it's fair for you to feel comfortable. But now, stay on the couch."

"Believe me sweetheart, I would be more comfortable on the couch than lying next to you"

You frowned.

"What do you mean?"

He laughed, shaking his head. He didn't answer you.

Only then did you realize that he was wearing shorts, and a T-shirt. Stuck to his body, marking the broad shoulders, the muscles of the back.

You closed your eyes, biting your lips, trying to keep any invasive thought out of your head.

You lay down, angry, sinking your head into the pillow wanting to scream. What had you done to deserve to end up in a motel room with Javier Peña?!

You can't tell when you fell asleep.

But at a certain point, you felt someone holding your face. You started screaming for help. Now your arms didn't move. You fought hard to untangle yourself, let go, and push what was holding you.

You heard your name, several times being called as a background.

You recognized that voice. You screamed for help, it was Javier.

"Wake up, cariño, you're dreaming..."

You kept struggling to let go. But the weight of the person's body prevented you from moving.

"Wake up... babe.. wake up"

You opened your eyes, panting.

Javier was on top of you, with his knees around your hip, holding your arms next to your head.

Your chest was looking for oxygen.

"What..."

"You were dreaming, I think… Saying something, asking for help, when I tried to wake you up, you... are you okay?"

You were still trying to breathe. Javier was letting go of your arm.

"I... I... did I hurt you?" Since he held your arms... it was an acceptable assumption.

You started looking at his arms, ran your hand through his skin, felt the marks on your nails.

"I'm sorry, I... I..."

"It’s okay... are you okay?"

Javier was on top of you, his body big, strong and hot, heavy against yours. Looking at you deeply, worried.

You looked into his eyes, scouring his face, and for some reason, your eyes went down to his mouth. Your lips have separated.

Javier tilted his head to the side, a crooked smile.

"Are you going to answer me? Or has the cat got your tongue?"

Now, you no longer knew if your breathing was irregular because of the nightmare. Or for having Javier like that, so close. Touching you. Touching so much of you. Creating a discomfort in your body, a pain forming in the middle of your legs, in need of relief.

Javier smiled, and slowly approached you, still looking into your eyes. Your eyes fixed on his lips. As if begging for him.

"Yes" you murmured.

Javier went down until his lips touched your ear. You closed your eyes.

"Yes, what?" He murmured, with his lips rubbing against your lobe.

Javier felt you squeezing each other's legs under him, desperately looking for relief.

"Yes" you murmur "yes, I'm fine" you opened your eyes, the mirror reflecting the muscles of his back.

Javier comes back to look at you with a malicious smile. You are so close that you can touch your nose against Javier's nose.

"Good. You can use words, that's a good sign"

Your hand involuntarily touches his arms. Rigid, muscular, strong.

Javier closes his eyes with the feeling of your soft fingers tracing irregular paths through his skin. Going up the biceps. Gently. You feel his skin goosebumps.

Javier's head hangs, resting on your shoulder. His warm breath, panting, radiating on the skin of your chest.

You bite your lips, imagining what his mouth would be like on your breasts.

Your lips meet his ear.

"And you? Can you talk?" You murmur.

Feel his mustache pinch the skin of your shoulder, in a smile.

"Sorry cariño, I can't take the blood from my dick, and send it to my brain, so that I can say something coherent now..."

You laugh.

Turn your head a side, Javier's lips meet yours. The soft of his lip in contrast to the mustache that scratches your skin, your lip. You tilt your head so that your noses fit, your mouth opens up to him, and Javier finds your tongue to wander, moaning in you. Knowing your mouth, your taste.

While he kisses you, Javier leans on one arm, his legs release your hip, you can bring your legs out of him, slowly he presses himself against you, pressing your clitoris with his thick length, making you gasp.

His lip separates from yours.

"Is everything okay?" He asks pantingly.

"Yeah, don't stop" you pressed your lips on his again.

Your arms rise to curl around his shoulders, your hands merge with his hair.

Javier begins to move his hip, rubbing his cock, on top of where he knows you are writhing with desire, your body moves with his, at a perfect pace, Javier's free hand slides down your thigh, falling on your hip.

Slowly his fingers meet the hem of your shirt, and he dips his fingers inside it, in contact with the skin of your belly, he feels you tense yourself to his touch. Needy.

You don't stop rubbing yourself against his cock, looking for a friction that releases the growing pain of your pussy squeezing around nothing.

Javier raises his hand until he finds your breast. You moan, while for the kiss, to look at his fingers under your T-shirt massaging your breast.

"Take it off" Javier speaks in a low, serious tone, making you feel your pussy wet, ruining the fabric of your shorts.

You pull the T-shirt by your arms. Getting naked. Your exposed breasts. Your stiff nipples.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen" Javier speaks with both hands on your breasts, squeezing, while the lips pass through their skin, his tongue, until he sucks one of your nipples, his tongue dancing carefully, more exciting the pulsating nerve of your pussy.

Your fingers intertwine his hair. Your body arches for him. While he changes to the other breast. And repeats the same action in it.

You moan. Moving in him, looking for his cock.

"Javi, please, I need to..." you moan.

"What do you need, bebita?"

"Touch me, I need you to touch me"

Javier smiles.

His fingers circle the elastic of your shorts, you join your legs in front of him, he slides the fabric out of you. You open your legs to him.

Javier's hands slide through the skin of your thigh.

"Jesus Christ… You are so beautiful" he says as he looks at your shining pussy “fucking hell”

He takes off his shirt and his shorts. Releasing his dick. You lean on your elbows. You had already heard about Javier Peña's cock, but live, like this, it was something you had never seen before, it was beautiful too, big, the biggest you've ever seen, thick, it’s leaking precum already, the veins really occupying all the blood of his body. You smiled. You wanted to put it in his mouth. Feel how he would look inside your mouth.

You sat down, crawling towards him, as if you were hypnotized. The lips open, the tongue in the middle of the teeth.

"No, no," Javier held your chin.

You almost pouted.

"Another time, now I want to make you cum, so I can sink my cock into you..."

His words were like direct closes to your core. It was as if you were drunk by Javier Peña.

He bent down, fixing himself in the middle of your legs. He put your knees on his broad shoulders. You looked in the mirror, the image of Javier in the middle of your legs.

His fingers went through your greeting, you moaned. He circled your entrance, bringing your wet to your clit and sliding his finger in circles in your bundle of nerves, sending small spasms through your body.

Javier studied you, observing where he touched and how your face expressed itself with the pleasure that his touch provided, it didn't take long for him to understand where he should press, and how he should do it.

He slid two fingers into you, you closed your eyes, the feeling his fingers opening you, your hands went to your breasts, running your fingers through your nipples.

"Beautiful, you're so tight, goddammit..., relax, just relax for me..."

Javier bent his fingers inside you, pressing your inner wall, reaching a delusional point, when you felt his tongue in your clitoris, you moaned loudly. Your hand came down to hold his hair.

He was relentless, moving his tongue on his clitoris while his fingers built your orgasm.

You felt the pressure forming and the more Javier moved in you, his tongue moving in your clit, it was more difficult to hold, until you exploded in spasms of pleasure, came around him with a strangled cry.

Javier waited for you to come down from your orgasm to slide his fingers out of you.

"We don't need to do anything else, if you don't want to," he kissed the inside of your thighs.

You put a hand on his face, wiping with your thumb the stains you left on him. Your thumb slid down his lip.

"I want to" you murmured the voice still recovering from the pleasure of a few seconds ago “I want to tell you”

Javier smiled. How could he deny it?

He settled in the middle of your legs, you felt the weight of his cock on your pussy, and immediately opened your legs more.

Javier lay down on you, leaning an arm next to your head. The other went down in the middle of their bodies, to position his cock, at his entrance.

He kissed her lips. Take it. While rubbing his cock on you, still sensitive to your orgasm, moaning, and moving your hip to find him.

“So eager” Javier murmured.

He puts his cock at your entrance, and starts to sink into you. He is so big, you feel a pleasurable burning as his cock comes in and fills you.

Your lips open, you touch your forehead on his, holding his arms, watching his cock sink into you.

"Hermosa, you are so..." he moans a heavy sound "tight"

“Fuck!” You gasped while he was sinking into you. He could feel every detail of your muscles stretching around him “Fuck you feel... you feel...”

“I know cariño” holding himself inside you as he gave your channel a moment to adjust to the size of him. “Fuck, I know…” 

Javier begins to move, before he even reaches the end. You put your hands down to his hip and pull him against you. Getting more into you. You need to feel full of him. You need it all inside you. A sharp and pleasurable pain dominates you, when he is totally inside of you.

Your lips move around his neck, slightly biting his shoulder.

"Javi..."

He was getting used to being inside you. But you were desperate for him.

"Javi, I need you to move, I need to feel you moving inside me..." you murmur panting to him.

He smiles with a sigh.

"I like it when you call me that" he whispers in your ear "ask me for anything like that, and I'll do everything for you"

Sliding his cock on you. Almost leaving completely, and coming back to the end. At first slowly. But when you intertwine your legs around his body, Javier begins to increase the pace. You feel it stronger, sinking into you, your hips meet. The obscene sounds that their bodies make.

Javier kneels, and raises your legs between his shoulders, somehow causing him to get deeper into you. Sliding in faster movements.

The way he left your leg, tightens your clitoris, making you move looking for more friction. He realizes it. Pressing his thumb on your clitoris with your free hand.

"I want to feel your pussy come for me, c’mon Hermosa, doing so good, taking me so well…” 

Javier starts to get more desperate with his movements inside you, more irregular. He presses his cock deep on you, making you moan loudly, without you being able to control, you melt again on him, the body shaking while he fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own release.

He sinks more often, deeper, pressing against you, increasing your orgasm.

“Where? Tell me where...” he asks panting.

“Inside me” you murmur almost tearfully.

"Fuck!" He sighs “take it” with a tortured moan, holding his cock at the bottom of your pussy, you feel his cock pulsating on you, filling you, spilling onto his balls and legs before he was even finished coming. 

Javier lowers your legs, and lies on you, kissing your lips. Your hands around your face. The bodies calming down, the breaths organizing, you feeling it soften inside you.

"Do you usually have a lot of nightmares?" He asks, moving your hair away from your sweaty face.

You smile.

He comes out of you, pulling you to lie on his chest. You fall asleep like that, intertwined.

In the morning, Javier fucks you on the bathroom wall, pushing your body over the tile, squeezing your neck with one hand, while the other squeezes his fingers in the flesh of your ass so hard, that they will leave marks. His dick in this position hits places you didn't even know were possible. You moan loudly at the feeling of him inside you. Stretching your tight walls around him.

Javier receives a call informing you that an escort will come to pick you up. You would almost like it to take longer.

When they knock on the door, Javier holds the gun next to his body, slowly opening the door. He frowns.

"Agent Peña" Ambassador Crosby is at the door.

"Ambassador" he nods to the boss.

"Thank you for taking care of my daughter, you saved her life"

You watch all kinds of emotions go through the Agent's face. Fear, surprise, panic, doubt... he looks at you with his eyes half closed.

You smile gently, faking a false innocence.

"Yes, Daddy. This man is my hero" you say, standing on your toes to hug him, "you are running down my legs" you whisper in his ear, move away to give a small kiss on the cheek of Agent Peña who is now petrified. "What is it, Agent? Has the cat got your tongue?"

Ambassador Crosby, gives friendly slaps on the Agent's shoulder, going out the door as his arms pass through your shoulders, you look back and winks at Javier who is now with his mouth open, still paralyzed.

A/N: What would your best friend, Jessica, think about the fact that you stayed with her suitor? 🤭

#pedro pascal #narcos #narcosoneshot #narcos fanfiction #oneshot #javier pena x y/n #javier pena fluff #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena imagine #javier pena one shot #javier pena narcos #javier pena fic #javier peña #javier pena x ofc #j

[pascallatte]

Y/n and Lina’s memorable Narcos scenes (season 1)

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!reader

Summary: Narcos BTS part 3, a little throwback, more like a compilation of Y/n’s funny moments on set, for the se 1 of Narcos

Date: December 2015

Taglist: @benonlinear, @t-stark35, @heyitsme-2, @elleeeee21, @holmesstrange, @tagakalat, @flyestvenustrap, @oldermenaremyreligion, @cherryred444, @avengersheart, @guacala

A/n: this will be in both reader’s view and what can be seen during the episodes. Hoping you guys won’t get confused. 

Episode 1: Descenso - chimney with a moustache

Seated next to Pedro, you were holding your own fake drink waiting for the camera to cue.

“La Dispensaria?” Maurice said as soon as the cameras started rolling. “Listo." The camera signalled to both of you before the lens focused.

“Adivina quien era” stating his line as he gestures to you and Pedro. Raising your eyebrows, you tried to keep your look as serious as possible.

“Tu companero,” you shoved a couple nuts in your mouth as you shook your head, chuckling. “Me acaba de dar un regalito,” Maurice continued to say his lines while you tried to not be bothered by the way Pedro’s ‘smoke’ was directed at you.

“Pois-“ he was interrupted by your cough and wheezing, making both males turn to you.

Pedro cracked a small smile,” what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” looking around at the staff, “ The smoke just got too much I was like inhaling everything this chimney with a moustache was producing,” pointing to Pedro who broke into a laugh before pushing your face to the side.

Episode 2: The Sword of Simon Bolivar - Stumble-lina??

“And action!!” 

You watched from the entrance as Boyd and Pedro shook hands for the hundredth time for their supposed meeting.

“Javier?” Pedro only gave a nod in response, before he walked closer to you, hand still raised, “Catalina?”

“Yes,” shaking his hand. Raising his eyebrows. “American?” He asks.

You only stared at him and didn’t give him an answer, before looking behind him at Pedro. Nudging your head to the side as a signal for him to lead "Steve" inside the embassy.

—

“We’re going to Medellin?” Boyd asked Pedro as both walked in front of you, at a quick pace might I add.

Trying your best to keep up, you just focused on staying in character. You cleared your throat speeding up as you see the door you were supposed to enter to.

“Jarheads..” You walked inside, “this is-whoa!” And of course, you didn’t see the mat on the floor making you stumble down.

“Ok cut!” Screamed the director

Sitting on your knees, you looked up at them before crossing your arms. “Can I walk before you guys the next time we shoot this,” your scene partners both hid their smiles when they understood what you mean.

“ Guys, I can’t keep up, and if you want this part to finish, better put me in front.” You said getting up and breathing out a laugh, noticing the red faces of your friends as they stopped themselves.

Episode 3: The Men of Always - Pedro cam mess

“Hello, Pedro cam! I’m supposed to enter that scene behind me in a minute, I think, but in the meantime, I'm gonna hold on to this,” turning the camera back to them, they were seen sitting inside the small restaurant about to talk about the dead cat if you weren’t mistaken. You zoomed in on their faces, stifling a laugh when you got a clear view of Pedro.

Boyd who noticed your position, let out a subtle smirk before going back into character.

“Ahhh, look it’s Javier Penaaaa, the stupidly, hot, and annoying DEA agent who loves his moustache so much, but that might just be P himself”

Zooming in a little bit more, you tried to trace his moustache with your finger in front of the lens. Chuckling, you didn’t notice that a cut was called out, making Pedro look at you as you audibly gasped.

“You!” He pointed at you while you tried to run away.

“No, I didn’t do anything OIII”

“Get that camera away from me,”

“ What do you mean, there are cameras all over you, why won’t you stop them,”

“I won’t be explaining myself,” he takes the camera before facing it towards himself. “Ok ‘Pedro cam’ is no more.”

What you didn’t see in the back was Boyd stalking closer to the two of you, and as soon as Pedro finishes talking he scoops you up and places you on his shoulder running away.

Episode 4: The Palace in Flames - The blooper that was included in the episode

You were once again seated in a cafe with Boyd opposite you and Pedro on the right of you. Breathing out a sigh, you leaned on his shoulder, zoning out.

In spacing out for a few seconds, you didn’t notice the director yelling action. Which made you make a confused face when Boyd stood up to give Joanna a kiss, looking around you saw the cameras rolling. 

“Your girlfriend?” Ana asks Pedro while gesturing to you who was still processing what happened.

Figuring out that she was in character you cleared your throat and shake your head, “uhh No, I’m also CIA.”

“And cut!!”

Groaning you leaned your elbows on the table, covering your face with your hands, “I think I spaced out.”

“You think?” Pedro said laughing, before reaching out to ruffle your hair. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was muffled when you moved and planted your face on his chest making your scene partners and staff laugh.

Episode 5: There Will be a Future - the scene that proved the slow burn watchers was theorized when Netflix announced your character, Catalina, was to be Javier’s love interest.

“Was with my buddy, John. He was my best man. We were late,” sighing, Javier takes a sip from his beer, before turning to look at Lina through the mirror.

“It was fucking blazing outside, 110 degrees,” She was seen taking a long glance at him before looking out the window.

She listened the whole time Javier was telling his story, and never once did she interrupt him like she used to.

“Please don’t tell me you left her at the altar,” Steve grinned towards Javier.

Javier turns to look in Catalina’s direction only to see that she was already looking at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, as if communicating through their eyes, before Javier breaks it responding to Steve, “I….don’t know if she actually made it to the altar.”

“Well, you saved her a lifetime of hell.”

“Yeah, she forgave me. Eventually, married a stockbroker from Dallas” 

“Hm,” Lina lets out finding this part of his story funny.

Glancing at her, “Trust me, she’s better off,” 

“What if Father Sabrino talks?” Steve asks Javier as soon as he sees a car coming their way.

Sitting up, Lina checks her gun, before leaning on the centre console letting out a shaky breath.

Javier turns to her, answering Steve’s question but maintaining eye contact. As he slowly places his hand on top of hers.

Navegante enters their car eyeing Lina up and down before looking front. Noticing the exchange, Javier tells Steve to take Lina’s seat making her sit in front.

“Sorry, I’m late. I couldn’t came before.” Navegante’s broken English broke through the tense air.

“What’ve you got,” Lina asks him with a slightly shaky breath. Javier’s hand was on her knees by then softly stroking the part, trying to calm her nerves.

“Gacha’s going tonight to Cartagena,” the dealer says making all three agents look at him.

——

“Gacha….is in Cartagena. Tonight.” Lina repeated as soon as they arrived at Javier’s room. 

The thoughts in her head kept her pacing around the room. And all Javier can do is watch her.

“I-.. if gacha’s there that means, he’s there too right? Escobar? W-which means we can catch him, right? Now?” Turning towards Javier who was now standing behind her to her surprise.

Without waiting for a response, she takes her gun and checked if the mag is full, patting herself to see if she’d brought anything that can reveal her identity.

Lina kept mumbling to herself seemingly close to panicking because this was the closest they’d been to Escobar and his group since she’s arrived, close to a year ago.

Looking at him, “J-javi, check your gun, you have to” her rambling ceased as soon as Javier’s hands had cupped her cheeks tilting them upwards.

Shushing her, “Catalina, Lina, Hermosa. Calm down, nothing will happen ok?” He reassures her. Slowly breathing in and out, he guides her to follow his breathing.

“That’s it, it’s ok, yeah? Nothing will happen tonight, nothing will go wrong, you have to calm down,” Javier says softly, which is something he himself was unfamiliar with. He then leans his forehead on hers as he stared into her eyes to soothe her.

Nodding, she reaches up to hold his wrists and exhales before closing her eyes. Leaning forward to rest her forehead on his chest instead.

Episode 6: Explosivos - that was hot

“So I just push him right??” 

“Yes Y/n, cameras rolling in five, four, three..” 

You stand in position, getting in character.

“Get the fuck back, the fuck back,” you aim your gun at the person to your left. Before turning back to the actor you’ve thrown to the ground.

You kicked him once, before straddling him and inserting the tip of the gun in his mouth. Shouting, “Usted trabaja para mi, maricon!” holding the man by his hair. Hitting his cheek a few times, as you angrily stared at him.

“Si! Claro? Esta claro?” the actor nods shakingly. You let go of his hair and stand up. Spitting on him, “Fucking bitch,” you finished with a kick.

“Aaand cut!!!”

Running back to the actor, you asked if he was ok and if that was too much, you only received an appreciative nod for asking and a resounding no it wasn’t too much cause it was what was needed.

A large smile erupted on your face as soon as you turned back around, fanning yourself, “oh my gosh.”

“That was hot,” Pedro said standing up from where he was watching from the side before taking you in his arms.

Episode 7: You will cry tears of blood - y/n shenanigans

The camera zooms in on you is laying on the ground with a water bottle on your neck. You were seen fanning yourself, as you’ve just finished the chase scene for this part of the episode.

Pedro walked towards you, offering a hand to pull you up. Accepting it, you slowly stood up before resting on the wall behind you. You were seen conversing with each other but the camera was too far away to get something, the next thing you see was Pedro getting soaked and you running away from the irritated stylist, who was also seen laughing.

Episode 8: La Gran Mentor - behind the scenes of y/n’s disheveled look as Catalina.

Standing in the room, wearing a robe. Make-up smudged, hair messy, and with a look-of-content, the camera moves to show the room you were in.

“Hello Netflix, well, this is the look of my character, Catalina, after uhmmm- the scene” you looked behind the camera

“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say what scene and who I’m with, but this is the look, the room, and the vibe. And let me tell you, I am loving it.”

The view cuts to you in bed being fixed up by your stylists, waving to the camera. You joke a little, by slightly pulling the blanket down your chest which made the stylist slap your hand making you laugh.

Episode 9: La Catedral - we are all simps for Catalina

“Bueno, que piensa?” Javier asks the person behind the desk. Before looking around to see if Lina had followed them to the room. Well, what do you think?

The man takes a closer look at the pictures. Assessing them carefully before nodding to the three agents waiting, “Vale la pena revisar estas fotos. Investigarlas, y créame que lo voy a hacer.” Placing the photos back in the envelope. These photos are worth checking out. Investigate them, and believe me I will.

Lina stood up from her chair leaning closer to the desk in front of Javier, “¿Cuánto tiempo?” She asks looking at the man. How long?

“¿Disculpe?” Excuse me?

“¿Cuanto tiempo antes de que lo termines?” She said dragging her nails on the desk. how long before you finish it?

He thought for a moment, looking at his desk, “tal vez unos días o una semana?” Looking out to see Steve leaning close to the windows. Maybe a few days or a week?

“Pero no podemos esperar unos días, es urgente,” Lina said looking at her partners who were seen nodding at her comment. But we can’t wait a few days, it’s urgent 

“Bueno, lo siento, todavía tenemos cosas que priorizar, esto puede esperar,” the man insisted suddenly growing nervous as soon as her gaze was locked on him. Well I'm sorry, we still have things to prioritize, this can wait

Slowly walking towards him, Catalina takes the folder from the table before pushing it to his chest, “Oh, vamos, por supuesto, puedes priorizar esto. Quiero decir que somos nosotros los que pedimos tu ayuda,” she said slyly. Oh come on now, of course, you can prioritize this. I mean it’s us asking for YOUR help. 

Leaning backwards, he moves his head from side to side taking a look at the two other agents who were avoiding his gaze. Gulping, “Quiero decir, lo sé, pero como dije, no puedes hacer nada por ahora” the shakiness of his voice was evident making her smirk grow wider. I mean I know, but as I said you can’t do anything for now.

Reaching to run her hands on the collar of his button-up, she leans closer before whispering, ““Estas seguro”. Are you sure?

“Seguro de que?” Sure of what?

“¿Que no puedo hacer nada? Estoy seguro de que me conoces, ¿verdad? Haré cualquier cosa por ti, entonces, ¿qué tal si primero haces este archivo antes de hacer cualquier otra cosa? ¿Sí?”  Lina locks eyes with the man leaning closer to his face. That I can’t do anything? I'm sure you know me right? I will do ANYTHING for you, so how about you do this file first before DOING anything else? Yeah?

“mhmm si,” he nodded quickly, taking the envelope in his hands.

Quickly moving back, Lina clasps her hands with a wide smile, ¡Genial, gracias!” Great, thank you!

“Uh, Vuelvo enseguida.” Lina nodded as she waved goodbye to the man who sped right past her. uh, be right back.

Javier and Steve look at each other in disbelief watching Lina take a seat, smirking. Laughing, Steve walks to you and massages your shoulder a bit.

Sitting back Lina uncrosses her arms high giving Steve, “damn this girl can do things right.” He said shaking Javi on the shoulder and walking out of the room

"Uh..nice going Lina,” "

"that’s all?" she asked peering up at him from her chair.

“Huh? What do yo-"

“What I mean is, that's all you can say after I gave you a hard-on, no offence boss but you’re gonna have a hard time hiding….that, smirking Catalina slides her hand from his chest up to his neck before following Steve out the door.

Episode 10: Despegue - take 100??

As soon as you heard a knock, you reached for the door. Expecting it would be a serious scene you put on your game face. Opening the door, instead of facing a “scared, disheartened’ Javier Pena, you were met with the “teasingly, goofy” face of Pedro Pascal.

Bursting out in laughter you hold you stomach leaning on the wall, “Pedro, you’ve got to stop doing” you told him out of breath.

“Oh please, I don’t even know why you’re trying anymore y/n. He’ll never stop as long as you’re the one to answer the door.”

“Alright, come on up!” He said, arms under your pits helping you up, as you recovered from laughing.

Playfully hitting his cheek,” I’m serious though, this is like our 10th take, I don’t wanna be stuck opening doors the whole episode.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x actress!reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x ofc #javier peña

[cutesyscreenname]

A Cowboy Like Me : Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Series summary:

I've had some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Javier Peña is a playboy, sleeping his way across Bogotá, never settling down. And he's used to being the only one. What happens when he meets his match? A friendly challenge between friends couldn't hurt, could it? Unless that friend is you...

Chapter Summary:

Javi is your friend, your coworker, your neighbor and a royal pain in your ass. He always thinks he has the upper hand but he doesn't know you have a little secret.

Pairing: Javi Peña x f reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, allusions to sex, drinking alcohol/being drunk, not much really

Notes: This is my first fic, I actually started another one but this Javi idea snuck into my head and we'll here we are. I just kept thinking, what if Javi was down bad for a fem reader who is as much of a slut as he is? A little turning of the tables? And what happens when they finally collide 👀 I don't have a concrete plan for how things end up where they're going so bear with me. I hope you enjoy it!

Playlist:

Rain assaulted the panes of your bedroom window seemingly from nowhere, a blitz attack to break through the standoff between humidity and air pressure. If it wasn’t so frenzied it would feel like a release.

You couldn’t take your usual leisurely stroll to the office this morning, considering the current weather. You silently thank the DEA’s preference for efficiency and budgeting as your corner apartment was sandwiched between those of your fellow agents, Murphy across the hall and Peña to your right.

Your appreciative mood sours when you get no answer from Steve Murphy’s door, realizing he likely had left already to afford his wife the same respite you were seeking from the rain and drive her to work at the clinic. You knew Peña would still be home, the catch was you didn’t know if his (very noisy) overnight guest would still be lingering this morning. Maybe it was just the expected awkwardness of meeting a coworker’s hook up or perhaps it was having to stifle the urge to look at them with pity when they practically purred to him “call me, Javi baby” as they carried their heels down the apartment staircase; either way you didn’t exactly enjoy meeting his conquests.

Preparing for whatever scene lurked behind his door that it was still too early in the morning to witness, you rapped three times on the wood beneath the peep hole. The tension in your shoulders subsided when, as soon as your hand pulled away, there he was in the threshold fully dressed and seeming to be on his way as well.

“Buenas, chiquita. Looking for a ride?” his small smirk and the spark in his eye letting you know he was expecting you.

“I don’t know, Peña, did you tire yourself out giving someone else a ride last night? Your friend sounded so grateful."

"Oh I’ve got plenty of energy, muñeca. You looking for a different kind of ride?” He stepped what would appear, to the layman, uncomfortably close to you but you don’t waver. It’s all a part of the game.

“En tus sueños, Javi,” you almost whisper before turning on your heel and bolting down the stairs as you yell behind you. “Last one to the car buys coffee!”

“Mocosa…” he mutters to himself, following behind you. He slides two fingers into the pocket of his button down shirt to find nothing there. You lifted his smokes before bolting to the car.

He sighs and shakes his head when he slides into the driver seat of his car that you’ve already let yourself into, both of you drenched just from the sprint to the vehicle. You think you catch his eyes gliding over your soaked blouse but quickly decide it’s more likely a glare of annoyance at your early morning antics. Javier didn't see you that way.

“You sure about that energy, Peña? Better hit the coffee shop post haste.” You tip the pack of smokes toward him in an offer, as though it’s yours, a lit cigarette already dangling lazily from your lips, a small smile tugging at one corner of your mouth.

Javi plucks the whole pack from your fingers and lets out a low chuckle, lighting one for himself before slipping them back into his shirt pocket.

“Fine, pendeja. The first round tonight is on you, though.”

And this is the way it was between you, a never ending game of wit and sarcasm, playing chicken and skirting the edges of propriety. Always in jest, always reigned in long before invisible lines were crossed, made easier by Steve playing mother hen to the two of you.

Always just a stupid game.

Sliding into the curved booth that evening at your favorite watering hole, you finally took what felt l like the first full breath of the day since stepping into the agency this morning. The moment your toe touched the speckled tile you and Javier’s easy expressions turned to grimaces at the mountains of paper work on each of your desks.

“Settle in, kids,” Steve grumbled from behind his own paper piles, “we’re gonna be here a while. I made coffee.” Endless stacks of red tape redundancies and dead end phone tips had your neck sore, eyes strained, and a dull ache settling between your temples.

You take a deep, cleansing breath as the time worn cushion gives way to your form and the dim lighting offers reprieve to your tired eyes. This is just what you needed after today.

“First round on you, kid, don’t forget.” Javi chides as he observes you sinking into the booth, Steve taking a seat next to you.

“Tell you what, Peña. I’m not moving for at least 20 minutes so why don’t you be a lamb and go grab those for us?” you say. It’s a statement, not a request and he rolls his eyes as you slide a few crumpled bills to him at the end of the table. “Quick like a bunny, sweetheart, or I won’t tip ya.”

Steve does nothing to hold back his laughter at his partner’s expense and Javi sends the both of you a death glare before snatching the cash and walking away to the bar.

“You sure know how to ruffle his feathers, man.” Murphy shakes his head lightly and chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

“Ah it’s too easy, he’s such a delicate flower.” Your eyes drift shut as you take another deep breath, enjoying the soft upholstery beneath you and inhaling the pleasant mix of liquor, leather, and smoke that permeates the small bar.

“Maybe more than you know.” Steve mutters quietly. You couldn't even be sure you were meant to hear it until you crack an eye open and see him looking at you with an expression that’s almost…solemn.

You open your mouth to ask what the hell he means by that but the words die on your tongue as Javi reappears, three whiskeys in hand and confusion painted across his strong features.

“Damn, Murphy, I leave for two minutes and she hurt your feelings already?” he throws a conspiratorial wink at you and slides into the booth on your other side.

The blonde agent’s face softens and he recovers from the moment so quickly you think you must have imagined it.

“Ah you know I’m sensitive, Javi. And this one’s just so damn feisty.”

“Yeah she is.” Javi pinches your cheek and you swat him away.

“Hey man I was napping!”

“Ah, ah, ah, cariño, I need my wing man awake.”

“Oh so I’m just dead weight?” Steve gasps, feigning offense.

“Second string, Murphy. I’m the MVP.” You jest, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid in your glass.

“Well now you’ve both hurt my feelings.” He pouts while you and Javi snicker.

The truth was, Javi didn’t need a wing man. Women seemed to clamor for a chance to fall into his bed; a never ending parade of Bogotá’s finest ladies rotating in and out of his apartment, keeping you awake with their…appreciation. It annoyed you endlessly, your precious sleep stolen as you lie awake thinking there’s no way he’s THAT good.

This is why you never brought your own conquests home. Why deal with the intrusion of your space, the prying eyes of your nosy partners, and the inevitable task of shooing them off? No reason to when you could simply whisper ‘lets go back to yours’ and get a night away from Javi’s theatrics before sneaking off to work early and slipping into the fresh shirt from your desk before Thing 1 and Thing 2 arrive to the office.

While Javi’s reputation was public knowledge, your escapades remained confidential and you preferred it that way. It kept things easy between you and the two men that had become your closest friends, maintained the dynamic that worked so damn well. Not to mention, you didn’t need it to be broadcast around an agency of frustrated men that you were no stranger to a one night stand.

You don’t consider yourself a centerfold by any means, but you know you must have a certain allure from the way that you never had to go home alone if you so chose. No need to give cause for the DEA bachelor’s club to start making pit stops at your desk to ask the time and look for files that don't exist.

You liked your little secret night life anyway, always one to keep your cards close to your chest, but after a couple more whiskeys (and a shot of tequila somewhere in between) your lips become looser.

“You know the more you two drink the more you start soundin’ like me.” Steve teases from his spot in the booth. As the alcohol warmed your cheeks and loosened your vocal chords, you and Javi both let your Texas drawls slide thickly over your words like honey from a road side stand.

“Hey now-“ Javi starts, but you cut him off.

A little more sauced than your cohort, and somehow even spunkier than you usually are, you point your finger at Steve with purpose. “Look it here, pal, we don’t sound nothin’ alike. Texas is a whooole different ball game. Did Tennessee used to be it's own country? Hmm? I didn’t think so.” You said with determination and a slight slur, ending an argument you were having with no one.

“I reckon she’s right.” The brunette man slung his arm around your shoulders in solidarity. Steve raised his eyebrows and smirked at the spectacle of drunken Texas pride before him, entertained by his friends that were much more inebriated than he was.

“Should we tell him?” Javi whispers to you loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Well bless his little heart, he don’t know?” You don’t know either, but you can see that it’s a part of the bit so you’re going to play along anyway.

Javi takes a dramatic breath before looking at the other man solemnly, “I didn’t wanna offend you, bud, but…”

He steals a glance at you and throws another wink your way, “turns out everything’s bigger in Texas.” Javi waggles his brows suggestively and you dissolve into a fit of giggles together.

“That’s what they say, isn’t it?” Steve leans back in his seat and sips the beer he’d switched to earlier in the night.

“Oh it’s what they ALL say, I hear ‘em every time I try to sleep at my place.” Both of the men next to you shoot you a surprised look, wondering what would come out of your mouth next.

“That can’t be true, I don’t have a guest every night,” Javier offers, “gotta sleep occasionally.” He's quipping back, playing the game as usual, but you’re just getting started.

“Well, seems like. I guess your nights off are just the ones when I’m not home, Casanova.” You tease, casually taking another pull of your drink that was mostly melted ice now.

“Not home?” Steve looks at you with his head cocked. “What’re you doin', playing secret agent without us? Girl’s out to catch Escobar all on her lonesome.”

“Nah, nah, naaaah. I’m doin’- like Javi does,” you stumble over your words, “entertaining my companions. He’s a cowboy. Like me.”

You miss the way that Javi’s jaw nearly hits the floor, unable to control his expression with the liquor coursing in his veins. Steve doesn’t, though.

“Well I’ll be damned, chica, who woulda thought it.” Steve laughs, still keeping a steady eye on his partner’s reactions.

Javier didn't expect you to be celibate, and maybe it was bit archaic to assume, but he never imagined you to get around like he did. And he really didn’t want to. Pushing the imagery from his mind, Javi set aside his shock and the little antagonistic twinkle forming in his eye has Steve standing up to try and wrangle you both home before something stupid falls out of his friend’s mouth. But it’s too late.

Neither of you are moving to follow him and before Steve can start his rounds of ‘its getting late’ and ‘let’s call it a night’ Javi pipes up.

“I don’t fuckin believe you, cariño.” He takes a thoughtful drag from the cigarette between his plush lips before tapping it on the edge of the ashtray. After a brief but pregnant pause he continues. “In fact I think you’re home every night. Ear pressed to my fuckin wall, apparently.”

Anger bubbles up hot and sudden in your chest. He was still playing, still jesting. So why did red suddenly paint your complexion and creep over your field of vision? This cocky bastard. Pendejo. You’ll be damned if Javi gets the last word here, especially if that last word insinuates that you sit like a sad puppy next to your shared wall eavesdropping on his sex life.

You lean in close to the man, catching the musk of cologne and sweat radiating from his warm body. His shirt is unbuttoned into a deep v, skin glistening from the humidity and the alcohol. Javi watches as your pupils expand just so, the slightest shade of blush blooming across your cheeks.

Doubling down, you poke his exposed chest with two fingers. He shivers and you think it must be your hands, cold from wrapping around your low ball glass.

“I’ll prove it to you.” You reach up to pat his cheek before leaning back into the booth with resolve. “After this next drink.”

When you stand to cross the room and falter it’s Javi’s strong hands that fly to your waist to steady you. A burning sensation flutters beneath your skin where he holds you in place. It feels like a leather car seat on a summer's day back home. The sear of the supple material, jarring at first on the skin that peeks out from cut off shorts, soon absorbs and melts into you, sweet like sunshine, until you have to peel yourself away at your destination. Like you have to peel away now from his grip.

Seeing his opportunity Steve takes your hand and begins ushering the two of you out towards his car. Javi, seeing that his ride is leaving, gives in as well.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can have another drink when we get home. Tell Connie all about your secret love life, how’s that sound?” your friend coos to you in an effort to put you in the car willingly.

“Steve - I fucking love your wife.” You manage as you all but fall into the back seat behind where Javi already sits in the passenger.

“Same here, kid. ‘swhy I married her.”

Before Murphy can even choose a radio station a faint snore floats up from the backseat, your eyes glued shut as sleep takes you. The men stay silent on the drive home.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for this series, I'm starting a list ☺️☺️

#javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javi pena #javi x reader #narcos fic #javi pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena #javier pena x y/n #javier pena x ofc #friends to lovers #narcos fanfiction #cowboy like me #dont blame me #look at this godforsaken mess that you made me #dont call me kid #romance #first fic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro x reader #Spotify

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite JAVIER PEÑA Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 1/3

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Just Friends & More Than Just Friends - @darkroastjoel

Bailé Con Mi Ex - @darkroastjoel

There Ain't Room In This Pontiac For The Two Of Us & There Ain't Enough Room In This Twin Bed In Our Shitty Bogota Apartment For The Two Of Us - @chronically-ghosted

Going Slow - @ezrasbirdie

Let Me & Use Me - @swiftispunk

The Night Has Opened My Eyes - @wannab-urs

Nowhere To Run Series - @mvtthewmurdvck

Casual Part 1 & Part 2 - @angelickks

Heat Series - @furious-rogue-stuff

Cravings - @notjustjavierpena

Exposed - @atticrissfinch Dark/Professor!Javier

I Just Had To Let You Know You're Mine - @tulipsbymybed

I Put A Spell On You Series - @iamdesibell

Cereza - @lucyeyelesbarrow

Gonna Make You Sweat - @mypoisonedvine Dark

Work For It & Not His Type - @l0ngschl0ngking

Salvatore & Playing Dangerous - @devilmademewriteit

Jealous Girl - @devilmademewriteit

MIA - @itsharleystuff

Es Tarde Y Te Necesito - @gar6agef1r3

All Roads Lead To Someone - @notjustjavierpena

Jealous Javier - @gracieispunk

Beg For It - @gracieispunk

The Performance - @gracieispunk Dancer!Reader

Carry Out - @soullumii

Late Night Texts Series - @mvtthewmurdvck

Name - @joelscruff

Sweet Dreams - @javiscigarette

Arepas - @mvtthewmurdvck

Just A Little Game - @walkintotheriveranddisappear

You're My Home - @javierpena-inatacvest

Jealousy, Jealousy - @violentdelightsandviolentends

Little Games - @loquaciousferret

A Warm Welcome - @mellowswriting

It's Never Too Late Series - @javierpena-inatacvest

Just Keep Breathing - @swiftispunk

Bad Idea - @tremendum

Cigarettes & Feelings Series - @tightjeansjavi

Javier Masterlist - @tightjeansjavi

I Got You - @yeollie-plz PlusSized!Reader

With Or Without You Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3 - @jksprincess10 Featuring Frankie Morales

Steve Will Kill Me - @talaok Age Gap

Deserve It Series - @creedslove

An American Whore - @louswrld11

The Crush Series - @the-ginger-hedge-witch

Somewhere To Start Series - @chloeangelic

Why Don't You - @lavendertales

Javier Masterlist - @boliv-jenta

Rendezvous - @frannyzooey

#pedro pascal characters #fic recs #javier peña #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #javier pena x reader #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #Narcos #narcos #javi pena #javi pena x reader #javi peña #pedro pascal character fics #pedro pascal narcos

[insxghtt]

any other man — javier peña x reader

She was already getting too used to it, but maybe he just wanted to be like any other man.

warnings: implied smut but nothing explicit, angst i guess, +18

idk what this is ok i have insomnia and this just came out of it. also, english is not my first language so i apologize in advance. tell me if you like it please, leave a comment or something if you want me to continue. i really have no idea if i am good at writing or if this was all just an illusion and in reality i suck at it. idk i am really depressed lately and i am doing mY BEST OK

She was used to it. Javier called her so many times in the middle of the night, desperate for a warm touch, she even lost the count. They didn’t talk much, but she still knew him better than anyone. Better than him, even.  

Javier was one of her favorite clients. He was kinder than most men, always made sure she felt as much pleasure as he did. He also didn’t just fuck her. The first time he asked her to only sleep with him, she found it so fucking weird, even a bit creepy to be honest. After a while, she understood why. Javier was surrounded by a world that sucked all his energy. He couldn’t give himself the privilege of loving someone for free and put them at risk. 

Still, he was a human. So, she did that for him. She was the only one he didn’t fuck every time he met, and she learned to like it. Sometimes when he was gone for too long, she even missed him. 

Although, she was not used to him being so fucking cold. That night he was different, she realized it from the moment she heard his voice on the phone asking her to come over. Maybe after fucking everything out, he would go back to being the Javi she was used to, but that didn’t happen. 

After he reached the peak of his pleasure, he lay down next to her naked body. She, with a soft smile on her lips, rested her head on his chest. They stayed like that for a few minutes, their bodies still sweaty and hot. She looked at him, waiting for him to ask her to stay. Instead, all she saw was his cold expression. 

“What is it, Javi?”, she whispered. He loved that voice, the accent, the tone, everything about it. 

Yet not even her voice was enough for him to respond. She refused to give up, of course, and started to leave soft kisses on his chest. For a moment, he closed his eyes and tried to forget everything, but things were just not that simple. 

“Stop”, he said while getting away from her and standing up. That was not good. He was not a very healthy man, mentally speaking. He was a fucking DEA agent, damnit. It would honestly be concerning if he was totally okay. 

“Javi...”, she tried to speak, but he was quick to interrupt her by getting out of bed and starting to look for his clothes around the messy room. 

“You should go.” 

She laughed. Not a loud laugh, but a weak and low one, not funny at all. Nothing about that moment was funny. Still, she tried to joke. “So now you’re back to treating me like a whore?” 

“I had a tough day, alright?” 

“So now we’re back to square one because you had a bad day at work?”, she said calmly, still trying to understand. 

Her accent, her fucking accent. He could fall in love with her just by hearing it. Except that this time, the words that came with it were slightly brutal. 

“It wasn’t just a fucking bad day, damnit”, he sighed. 

After finally founding his jeans, he put them on and searched for a cigarette on one of the pockets. After finding one, he reached for the bedside table and took his lighter. 

“You’re home now, baby, you can relax.” 

He lit the cigarette, but not even a long nicotine puff was enough to make him calmer. “Don’t call me baby, you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the money.” 

“Well, shit, were you expecting something different? Guess you’re looking in the wrong place”, she laughed sarcastically. “You don’t have to ask twice, alright? I’m just doing my job.” 

He didn’t answer, so she just stood up and faked a smile for him like she would smile for any other man. She got dressed without giving him a single look, just like she would do in the presence of any other man. Most importantly, after getting ready, she turned to him and extended her hand waiting for her payment, just like he was any other man. 

He gave her the money. He always paid her, but why it hurt so much receiving it this time, she did not understand. 

She turned his back on him and walked to the door feeling his stare. 

“I killed a kid today”, his words were enough to make her stop immediately. “Fourteen years old. They told me I did the right thing. It still doesn’t feel right.” 

She didn’t look at him, but she also didn’t move, like she was waiting for him to continue. 

“Ask me to stay”, she whispered loud enough for him to listen, almost like she was begging for him to let her in. 

How could he? How could he do that to her? 

“I can’t.” 

“I’m not asking for you to pay me...” 

“I know.” 

She would’ve, she wanted to. Hell, he wanted it.  

“You know...”, she said turning to look at him again. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his jeans, no shirt on, the cigarette between his fingers. God, she could stare at him the whole night if he only asked. “Every day I realize more and more how... dumb men are.” 

Javi didn’t interrupt. He continued to pay attention to every single one of her words. Partly because he loved to hear her talking, partly because he didn’t really want her to leave. 

“You build this world... this horrific, terrible and cruel world. With your own rules, with your own ideas, all of it just so you could be the ones to dictate what’s right and what’s wrong”, she had tears in her eyes, but she did not cry. She would never cry in front of him. “And at the end of the day the very same world you invented is the one torturing you.” 

She sighed, swallowing the tears while watching the one man she always thought of as unbreakable, tearing up in front of her. 

“If only you could see the real world behind the one you made up, you’d see that there’s no good or bad”, she gave him a sad smile. “Don’t worry, Javi. None of us are going to heaven.” 

And after she closed the door behind her, he felt the loneliness hit him like never before.  

#javier pena imagine #javier peña #javier pena x you #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #narcos #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal is daddy #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x y/n #tlou cast #pedro pascal characters #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier peña angst #javier pena x reader #javier pena x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #pedrito #daddy pascal #writing #writers on tumblr #please leave a comment #imagine #fanfic #angst is my thing now #angst

[chronically-ghosted]

you call and I come running

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a drunken confession leaves you and Javi on unsure ground. When an on the run narco douses you in an unknown, off-market drug, Javier has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

warnings: sex pollen, dub con due to sex pollen, minimal plot scaffolding to hold up a gratuitous amount of porn, minimally edited, feral!javi is best javi, the barest hint of breeding kink, not really butt stuff more like butt touching, light angst, no use of y/n, spanking

a/n: comes from @perotovar 's ask for my 100 follower milestone event: hi there! congrats on your milestone!! i saw your prompt list and saw "I’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit." and "A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips." and thought it would be a really good combination for either javi p or max p? which ever one you feel fits better! 😊 (as for smut, only include it if you think it works!)

🤍Masterlist 🤍AO3 Link 

Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty. 

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension. 

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees. 

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said – 

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen. 

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him. 

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part. 

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all. 

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine. 

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?” 

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin. 

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.” 

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed. 

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.” 

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?” 

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has. 

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.” 

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.” 

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat. 

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod. 

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places. 

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway. 

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him –  running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night. 

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense. 

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips. 

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win. 

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest. 

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet. 

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest. 

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates. 

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper. 

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you. 

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough. 

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.” 

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this. 

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass. 

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command. 

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you. 

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall. 

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing. 

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need. 

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks. 

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him. 

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?” 

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh. 

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.” 

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs. 

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!” 

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles. 

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life. 

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.” 

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor. 

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more. 

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.” 

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing. 

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all. 

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in. 

If you just –

“Come for me.” 

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot. 

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck. 

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again. 

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down. 

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely. 

But that is something he is not capable of right now. 

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse. 

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them. 

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days. 

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open. 

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off. 

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over. 

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest. 

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.” 

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.” 

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission. 

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands. 

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again. 

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you. 

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to. 

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you. 

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.” 

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end. 

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him. 

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips. 

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick. 

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you. 

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,” 

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.” 

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips. 

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb. 

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls. 

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning. 

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs. 

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth. 

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth. 

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?” 

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.” 

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.” 

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s. 

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted. 

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open. 

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week. 

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you. 

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release. 

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.” 

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking. 

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted. 

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his. 

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken. 

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels. 

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake. 

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away. 

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek. 

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change. 

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs. 

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles. 

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock. 

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.” 

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you. 

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession. 

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?” 

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck. 

“Not at all.” 

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while. 

Noonan is annoyed. 

Murphy is not. 

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.” 

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.” 

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

“Not at all.” 

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix #this is my first time writing sex pollen did i do okay?

[chronic-ghost]

Javi is tickled pink that you want to read this fic.

However, It's moved! Find part one and part 2 over on my pedro boy fan/fanfic account, @chronically-ghosted

thank you!

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena fic #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix

[pedropascalsx]

The Beginning. {Javier Peña x F! Reader.}

Summary: You’d follow him anywhere. And so you did.

Warnings: Some angst, some concerns for the future, leaving a job without any plans, p in v sex, male and female masturbation and some soft!Javi. Please tell me if i forgot anything.

Word count: 1798.

Authors note: The plan is to follow up with their start in Laredo if people want it. Enjoy!

His fingers interlaced yours as you gently rested your head on his shoulder, he was quiet, but quiet in a way you had never seen him before. It was the kind of quiet that only comes when years of burden are thrown off of one’s shoulders, and the only weight that brushes the surface is one of gentle hands softly working out the knots that had formed over countless restless nights.

It was over. And after years of being held hostage by a battle that was continuing to rage on, he was finally free. Free to look back on the good he had done, instead of tormenting himself by focusing on the bad. Finally free to make a home after spending years trapped in a house and finally free to give the parts of himself to you that he feared you would find too ugly or too damaged to love.

But the moment you followed him into that office, and handed over your badge and gun without a second's hesitation he knew he had nothing to fear, you walked out of that building with your heads held higher than ever and your hand resting gently in his.

Javier peered out the plane window, the streets of Colombia feeling further and further away as the seconds dragged into minutes. Less than twenty minutes until the runway would be thousands of feet beneath you both and the roaring sound of the plane's engines would be an unofficial soundtrack to the new life awaiting you both.

“Are you sure your dad doesn’t mind?” you ask quietly as you nuzzle your face against his neck, “He hasn’t even met me and I’m going to be staying in his home.”

“He can’t wait to meet you,” Javi replies before placing a quick kiss on your scalp, “He’s going to adore you. Just try to sleep, baby.”

You don’t argue, you simply try to get as comfortable as you possibly can against the warm sticky leather seat and take a large inhale, flooding your senses with his warm welcoming scent.

‘Home,’ you think silently to yourself, maybe right now you don’t technically have a place made of bricks and mortar with a legal document declaring it as your own; but you have him and that’s all that matters at this very moment.

The reassuring squeeze of his hand as the flight attendants finish their safety demonstrations and the captain informs everyone on the aircraft that their seatbelts must be fastened squashes some of the anxiety burning in your tummy.

Sleep comes easily once you’re in the air, his shoulder making a comfortable headrest as he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, peppering the occasional kiss as you succumb to your slumber.

You’re gifted vivid memories and flashbacks of their previous night as Colombia becomes a distant blur beneath you both.

[THE EVENING BEFORE]

He gripped your thigh the entire drive back to your apartment building, refusing to let go for a single second. It was almost like he feared you’d float away or drift away from his reach if he dared to.

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleaded as the car approached your building as if you’d ever consider spending the night alone after silently confessing that you’d follow him anywhere.

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, your stomach twisting at the desperation that dripped off each word he muttered to you. It was hard to not plead with him to tell you what you could do to quench the anxiety that was clearly consuming him, but you couldn’t find the words. So you rested your hand on top of his hand that was squeezing your thigh, returning the favour by squeezing three times.

He parked his Jeep in its usual spot, immediately jumping out from the drivers side and rounding the car to open your door. His hand found yours straight away as he helped you out and led you up the steps towards the door.

“Do you need to get anything from yours?” he asked as he unlocked the door and you simply shook your head. He hummed in response before pulling you towards his apartment.

The second you were inside he finally felt comfortable enough to let your hand go, but not before bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on it. He poured a large glass of whiskey for himself and poured an equally large glass of wine for you before walking over and pressing his lips to yours.

“They won’t take long cancelling our visas,” he said with a shrug followed by a gulp of his drink.

“It probably would be wise to leave before that happens,” you mumbled back before gulping down your wine, “I don’t think it’s wise to wait around until it happens.”

You watched as he rolled his jaw, his teeth biting down into his lip as if to stop himself from speaking.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you admitted with a twist of your lips, “But I do know that I'm not ready to say goodbye to you, Javier.”

Two words fell from his lips before he was crashing towards you, his lips possessively covered yours as his tongue pushed its way inside your mouth. His hand pressed against the back of your head as he continued kissing you and his other hand rested on the small of your back. ‘Then don’t.’

You smiled against his mouth as your fingers searched for the buttons on his shirt, as usual he’d left the top few unfastened… something you were grateful for as it meant getting him undressed quicker.

He tugged at your shirt before pulling you towards his bedroom and you took the hint and immediately pulled it off. By the time you’d got to the end of hall, you’d both left a line of discarded garments and were only wearing your underwear.

“Get on the bed,” he growled against your lips and you happily obeyed.

You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d found yourself in his bed over the past six months or so. The first time it had happened you both promised yourselves that it was a one off and would never happen again. And then that very same evening he had fucked you so hard into the mattress that you were boneless for the rest of the night.

You never discussed stopping again. Instead you gave into all of the urges and the tension and the yearning. Being snuggled up against his warm chest every night simply became routine. The only thing that hadn’t happened was a much needed discussion about what you are to each other. Both of you secretly terrified that it was just a fling of convenience so you both refused to bring it up.

“Take off your panties and spread your legs for me,” he ordered as he watched you from the doorframe, his boxers pooled at the bottom of his feet as he languidly stroked on his cock.

You lifted your hips and rolled your panties down your legs kicking them off the edge of the bed before opening your legs. Arousal had spread throughout your folds and down your legs, your pussy glistening in the streaks of light creeping in through the crack in the curtains.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he slowly made his way towards you, “So fucking pretty.” His hand slowly glided up and down his cock as he kneeled between your legs, “Rub that pretty little clit for me, baby.”

Obeying his command your fingertips circled your bud of pleasure as you kept your focus on his hand. The sight of him stroking his cock was one you could never tire of, the soft grunts he let spill from his mouth as he squeezed his hand up and down himself were enough to make you cum alone.

You quickened the pace on your clit as he moved forward, gently nudging your hand away as he dragged the tip of his cock through your folds. Bringing it back up to tap in on your clit a few times before lining himself up to your entrance and sliding in. He pushed himself in slowly, taking a few seconds to let you adjust to the heft of him and once he’d filled you to the hilt he pressed a kiss on your lips and started rocking his hips.

Every roll of his hips was in perfect rhythm, his cock dragging against that spot inside of you without fail every time. Reducing you to a whimpering mess beneath him, keening at every drop of praise he lathered in you as he effortlessly pulled your first orgasm from you. Grunting in delight as you flooded his cock with your cum. “So perfect for me,” he mumbled as his thumb found your clit, drawing perfect circles as he continued to thrust in and out of your heat.

“Let’s make that pretty pussy cum again,” he gritted out as his pace fastens and every punch of his hips threatens to knock the wind out of you.

“Javier,” you chanted over and over as your hands grabbed at the sheets beneath you. His never ending stream of praises filled your ears as you clenched down hard around him as the stimulation on your clit became too much and not enough all at once. You came with a scream of his name.

Half a dozen thrusts later and Javier followed suit, pulling out and coating your swollen clit with thick warm ropes of his seed.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he watched the soft rise and fall of your chest as your came down from your high. He allowed himself a few minutes to take in the sight of you, sated, coated with a thin sheen of sweat and dripping with both of your arousal.

By the time he pulled himself away to get a damp cloth to clean you up with you were snuggled up against his pillow and dreaming peacefully.

[END OF FLASHBACK]

You woke with a jump, the flight attending announcing your imminent arrival sending a shock throughout you.

Javier’s hand tightened around yours as he chuckled at how adorable you looked with an expression of shock and annoyance splashed across your face at being disturbed from your peaceful sleep.

“I slept the whole flight?” you asked as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder.

“Pretty much,” he said back before pressing a kiss to your scalp, “Clearly needed it.”

You hummed gently in agreement before gently taking the tumbler of whiskey from his hand and taking a small sip.

“Ready for a new start?” you asked as you handed him back the cup.

“Yeah,” he said back with a slight twist of his lips, “I’m always ready for anything with you by my side.”

#pedro pascal #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x y/n #javi pena fic #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier peña x you #javier peña #my fanfic #my fanfiction #narcos

[lundenloves]

couples counselling II

Did someone say angst? Gimme an A, gimme an N— no? Okay. Listen I never claimed to be happy, and this is further proof. Welcome new readers, *leans on doorframe alluringly* I love writing character demise. Happy reading, kids.

↳ angst, angst and angst | 2.1k

part one | masterlist

javier being dismissive and nonchalant again. everyone calm down and stay together, this is a guided tour, follow the red flag i’m holding as we explore the peña mind.

The first seven days: in a word, torture. Well, not quite but it certainly came close by the amplified scoffs, sighs and arguments. Javier hadn’t managed to let go of the fact this whole thing was Aleta’s actual idea, a poor one at that, mumbling profanities to himself the moment he had stepped out the door. She followed behind him, refusing to walk by his side when he was being such an ignorant fuck about the whole thing.

“You want this to work?” He stopped, turning to face her in the middle of the parking lot — palms faced up in question. The sun had caught his glare, somehow injecting it with an extra dose of inconvenience just to add salt to the wound. “Huh, pateadora?”

Aleta cringed at the derogatory nickname he had used. Kicker. He’d coined it in El Paso following an onslaught of kicks to his shin under tables for inappropriate conversations, and he couldn't resist but stamp the name onto her. Like a medal to an athlete. She fucking hated it. “Get off the fucking road, pendejo.”

“Then walk with me.” His eyes followed her, condescendingly shaking his head when she’d pushed him from his stoppage. “Hardly asking for salvation, here.” Aleta groaned frustratedly at his mutter, rounding the car to enter the passenger side.

“No. You’re asking for death.”

Javier leaned his head against the steering wheel, finding his shoulders vibrating in laughter. This really was fucking ridiculous. He hit the dash with a thud, sitting back in his seat and pushing arms across his broad chest.

“This won’t work, you know.” He said, eyes fixed onto the near empty parking lot ahead of them.

Aleta studied his features, sighing at the familiar crease by his eyes and the way it loosened when he’d momentarily lifted his brow. The finger that traced across his bottom lip, then down to his jaw, smoothing over his cheek in visible stress.

“That’s only because you don’t want it to work.”

He’d snorted at that. “I’m paying two-hundred an hour for it, Aleta.”

“Fucking show interest then.” She berated loudly.

And to be fair, they’d tried. They really had tried on the task given to them. But staring at someone who literally boils your blood with a snap of his fingers was hard to do, Javier likewise, finding anything a better option than conceding to the request.

And admittedly, he’d been ducking out of it a bit. Purposely staying later at the office and tiptoeing around the house so as to not wake her when he had eventually gotten home late. He knew it would result in a chewing next Sunday at the session. He just didn’t care.

So one night when he had come home to find her sitting in the kitchen, it was endgame.

“Shit.” He dropped his jacket to the kitchen table, clutching a hand to his chest. “What the fuck are you doing?” A deep frown set across his brow, opening the fridge for a bottle of water before turning to look at her over his shoulder.

“Sit.” She near ordered, pushing out a chair for him with her foot.

He turned around. “Why.” Eyes cast downward to the floor with a sharp exhale before placing his hands on his hips purposefully. “It’s late.”

“Puto, sientas.”

Javier stared at her for a moment, his eyes twitching at her energy. He kicked the chair further wide of her leg, sitting down with his hand centre on the table. She locked eyes with him and he let out a long sigh, dropping his head to hang between his shoulders.

“You’re not trying. She asked us to try.” Aleta leaned forward onto the table, watching as he swiped his hand back toward himself.

“And you’re pushing mountains?” He quipped, sitting back and planting his feet a far distance from one another. “This isn’t a one way thing.”

“That’s what i’m fuckin’ saying, pendejo.”

Javier rubbed his face, dragging his skin down in fatigue before turning to her. “Well then let her deal with it.” An accusatory palm had been gestured toward the door, as if the Doctor was standing outside. “I don’t know why you're so insistent on us. We can’t even fucking look at eachother.” His arms thrown ahead of himself to emphasise the point.

“Fuck you.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong.” The side of his lip tugged upward at her lack of reaction, both of his hands landing flat on the table. And for a moment, a slight moment — Aleta had thought that was it for them.

And it would've been if she couldn't read Javier well, the minute flaring of his nostrils and the way he inwardly sighed, his features softening and passing as eerie hostility to anyone but the woman opposite him.

He was scared of it all.

And that’s exactly what the Doctor had clocked onto in that session come Sunday. Her notes were pointedly placed by her chair instead of her lap. It was the first thing Javier had noticed when walking in, failing to hide the crease between his brows.

“Mr and Mrs Peña.” She nodded with a stiff smile.

Javier sat back on the deep sofa, maintaining the same distance to his wife as before and looking up to the ceiling in anticipation of more headaches. The muscles in his arms flexed when his hands had been pushed through his hair, joining at his nape. “Mornin’.” He grumbled.

The Doctor took a moment before clearing her throat. “How did you get on with what we discussed?”

“We tried.”

“No we didn’t. Not really.” Javier spoke, receiving a lengthy glare from his wife.

“We did.” She bit back, wasting no time. “He’s just scared of it all.” Her words came like a dagger to Javi’s masculinity, like she’d just clawed it back and shoved him in front of a crowd. He returned his eyes to the scene before him, looking at her like a kicked dog. The Doctor tilted her head at Aleta’s words before looking to Javier.

“Does loss scare you?” Her soft tone angered him.

“No.” He replied dryly, shifting in his seat.

The Doctor allowed for his denial, her eyes flitting to Aleta who had subtly nodded as if to confirm he was lying. “He picked up extra hours. Again.”

“I already had those hours.” His arms crossed tight over his chest again in self-preservation. “I told you, I don’t know why we’re still trying. This is fucking stupid.”

Aleta bit on her lip, a projecting smile forming. “You’re the one who's paying.” Her attempt to mask the brewing anger was not working. Javier sat forward, looking toward the Doctor to ignore his wife.

“I’m paying because all you do is fucking complain.”

“And you believe the love isn’t there anymore, Javier?” There came an interception from Aleta’s pending bite, flicking a few pages deeper in her notes before looking up to him.

“No, it’s gone.” He cleared his throat while resting his elbows on his knees, looking to the floor over joined hands.

“Is that what you want?”

Javier's jaw ticked, rubbing the back of his neck before shrugging silently. His face remaining stiff, eyes stuck to the vinyl flooring as if a certain death would occur upon his looking up. “I don’t really care.” The nonchalance in his voice was expected.

“That’s bullshit.” Aleta interrupted strongly. “You fuckin’ know it is, Javi.”

He looked back at her. “Is it?” A hand ran up his neck and over his hair with a grin, her sudden reaction setting him off. “Or is that what you want? You want this whole thing to blow over?”

“That’s not what we’re here for.”

“No, we're here to waste time.” He silenced her, shaking his head before looking back to the Doctor who gave a weak smile.

“This won’t work if both parties aren’t cooperating.” She only added salt to Aleta’s wounds, the pressing of her lips rounding the words off like a fucking punch to the gut.

Javier clapped his hands once, dropping them to his thighs. “That’ll be us then.” He said, digging into his pockets to source a cigarette.

“Will it shit.”

His wife’s tone was brash, her pupils blown in impatience as he caught eyes with her. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip before sticking the cigarette to it, “I can smoke in here, right?”

The white coat opposite him nodded, shifting a few papers across her lap and back to the table. Shaking her head, she asked, “What’s the ideal outcome for you two.”

“To not kill each other.” Javier mused like this whole thing was a joke, tapping the heel of his boot on the floor. A long trail of smoke danced above his cigarette, absorbing Aleta’s attention more than his remark.

“Aleta?”

“For him to stop lying.”

She hadn’t blinked, still in a daze for the smoke.

Javier only looked at her, his eyes squinting before taking a slow drag in thought. Knee once again betraying him for the way it bounced up and down, and the quietness of her voice tightening his jaw.

“I think you two need to talk. With no avoidance.”

He snorted.

“Here. You’ll talk here.” She clicked her pen on a notebook that had been opened to a fresh page. “Javier, tell Aleta something you like about her.”

The instruction made him sigh, sitting back on the sofa and looking up in contemplation for a little too long. “Her lips.”

“Vice versa.”

“I like his eyes.”

“Who loved first?”

“Me.” Javier answered shortly, his eyes shifting toward hers for a split second.

“Recall it.”

Aleta figured out what was going on pretty quickly. It was a solemn attempt to reignite the memories in Javi’s head, maybe create a spark for a flame of their marriage to continue on.

He puffed out a breath, dropping his shoulders and looking back up toward the ceiling. “She didn’t like me, kept pushing me away.” The smoke of his cigarette came with the words, exhalation pushing them up to cloud. “But I was persistent. I wanted her.”

“Why did you want her?”

He sat forward, almost laughing with a tilt of his head. “She made me nervous.”

Aleta’s eyes averted to the floor.

“No one made me feel like that.”

The room fell quiet and for the first time, it was allowed. The white coat encouraged the way they stared at one another. Javier rubbed at his temple, leaning forward but looking back to his wife who stared down at him.

He was a stoic person.

And the breakdown of their marriage forced him to close back up. The feeling of losing that primal safety contributing to the resurface of nonchalance and disinterest.

He knew that she was aware of it.

Which only pushed him further off that cliff.

“Why did you give him a chance?”

Aleta laughed. “I don’t know.” Her smile slowly faded into a shadow, nostrils flaring in evidence to her upset.

No one had asked that before.

“How about we wrap this one up…” A smile came empathetically, closing her notebook and the matching folder titled Peña. “I just want you two to talk. That’s all.”

Javier stubbed his cigarette out in the provided ashtray, rubbing his face. “Alright.” He answered for his wife.

“And what I asked last week too. Maybe try that again.” Aleta nodded absently, unfreezing from her trance and standing up to follow Javi who held the door open. “See you next Sunday.”

Fuck. This.

It felt like Deja Vu by the time they had reached the parking lot again. Javier stood in the middle of it once more, a cigarette clung to his lip while looking back at Aleta. The long inhale he took felt futile by the way it was instantly sighed out, hand placed on his hip.

“I told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Ten years. Javier. Fucking ten years.”

His eyes looked black from where she was standing. And the calmness of his movements was telling against her building rage for every passing day, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want her.

“You really don’t want this?”

One side of his lip turned downward for the nod he gave, as if this is what he was trying to say all along. He shook his head, “No. I don’t.” Arms dropping to his sides in defeat.

He just wasn’t scared enough.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

taglist? fill out this form.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena imagine #javier pena angst #javier pena headcanon #javier pena x ofc #javier pena smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal

[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 &lt;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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[keylimebeag]

OMG.

someone.

anyone.

please write a fic where Javier Peña has a beagle 😍

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