#pickledpeña writing challenge

[undercoverpena]

pickles, peppers and photos

javier peña x f!reader

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

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

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

When he enters the kitchen it’s a mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he knows why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I ask?"

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

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

"Funny," you snort, shaking your head.

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

Because how did he get so lucky?

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

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

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

Javi does know you like peppers, though.

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

‘Porque eres la sal de my pimienta.

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

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

"How long you been up?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hate pickles.”

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

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

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

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

He shouldn’t smile, but he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swallowing, he smiles. “Yeah.”

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

“You sure, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

"That would be cruel."

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

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

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

“Pimienta…”

And you grin, wickedly.

And fuck does he want a photo of that too.

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

#pickledpena #pickledpeña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #pickledpeña writing challenge #javier peña x f!reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pickled-peña #pickled-pena #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

[pickled-pena]

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

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

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

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

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

Happy reading Pickled-Peña Friends! 🥒💛

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

🥒Landslide - @frenchiereading

🥒Pickles, Peppers & Photos - @undercoverpena

🥒Toast - @secretelephanttattoo

🥒Pickled Interruptions - @avastrasposts

🥒In A Pickle - @inept-the-magnificent

🥒These Foolish Things Remind Me Of You - @maggiemayhemnj

🥒Chucho's Magic Pickles - @nerdieforpedro

🥒Javier Peña The Pickle Thief - @connectioneverywhere

🥒Good Impression - @pedroshotwifey

🥒More - @toomanystoriessolittletime

🥒A Cup Of Kindness Yet - @ladamedusoif

🥒Resolutions - @trulybetty

🥒A Bear Of A Night - @rhoorl

🥒Old Acquaintance - @alwaysbethewest

🥒Aisle Seven - @goodwithcheese

🥒Save The Last Dance - @linzels-blog

🥒Getting In A Pickle - @ladybess-a03

🥒Close Up The Hole In My Vein - @imalrightllama

🥒For The Record - @drabbles-mc

🥒Happy New Year - @djarinmuse

🥒Holsters, Lies & Videotape - @sin-djarin

🥒Break My Heart - @megamindsecretlair

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

🥒Bailando - @lwfics

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

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

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

#pickledpena #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pickledpeña writing challenge #pickledpeña #javi peña #javi pena #javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fluff #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #pickles

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

More

My entry for the @pickled-pena challenge!

Summary: You meet Javier Peña on a New Years Eve party. A year later you're still together, making plans for the future.

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: M

Warnings: falling in love, fluff, pregnancy, dumb puns, kissing, suggestive language, awful lot talk of pickles

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

A new year always seemed to come with expectations. You never really understood why everyone was expected to celebrate the changing of the years. Why everyone expected everyone to be in a good mood and wanting to celebrate the changing of years.

All New Years eve to you was, was your parents now not needing an excuse to get drunk and party when you were growing up. They were young when you were born. Just out of high school. And they tried, at least in the beginning from what you could remember. 

You did not like New Years eve, and you hated new years resolutions. They never worked for you you, so you didn’t bother. And you did not celebrate New Years.

That was until last year when your best friend dragged you to a house party, making you wear a dress you didn’t like but according to her making you look like a dream. 

You never really went out, too busy with work and spending time in bed reading. 

But his night, maybe after a couple of drinks you made a vow to yourself (not a resolution mind you) to be more open, to get out more, to maybe even find love. 

That it would happen on the same night was not something you could have ever imagined. 

You and Javier met twenty minutes after midnight. 

He invited you for a free drink after saving you from the drunkest man you had ever encountered with the most stupid pick up line ever. You thought he was just being nice to you. It would take almost three weeks for you to figure out that he was genuinely interested in you. 

You were more or less inseparable ever since. 

It was a whirlwind, falling in love with Javier Peña. 

He was still fighting his own demons, having spent years in the drug war in Columbia you only read about in the newspapers about. He had moved to Portland, Texas to be close to his father, but also have a new start where nobody knew him. 

He told you almost everything about his time with the DEA, wanting you to know what kind of person he was, his mind made up about not deserving something good, something to love, to be loved. 

It took some time to make him understand that you were in this for the long haul.

Something that came even more apparent when you found out your were pregnant just five months after making things official with him. 

It’s how you found yourself six months pregnant on a ranch in Laredo, Texas on New Years eve. Javier’s father had invited you both to spend the holidays with him, wanting to get to know you, and while you were hesitant at first because of your past with your family, you quickly found yourself wondering if this was what the future would look like. 

Lazy Christmas mornings spend with Javier in bed before you made breakfast. Chucho insisting on making the whole Christmas dinner, shooing you out of the kitchen everytime you even intended to help. 

Presents wrapped under the Christmas tree.

It was like a dream. 

Javier was out to help his father take care of the animals while you were preparing some potato salad for lunch. You were looking for the glass of pickles (well one of them, you had to have at least four different sorts in the house all the time because you had been craving different kinds) when the door opened behind you. Looking over your shoulder you saw Javier walk in, brushing his hands over his jeans, wearing a Cowboy hat on his head, before he gave you a small smile. 

„Whatcha up to baby?“ He asked, walking over to you. 

„Searching for the glass of pickles I need for the salad,“ you hummed, still on your tiptoes as you looked inside the fridge. 

„Any specific kind?“ He asked. You felt his hand on your back and sighed. 

„The ones with the red label on the jar?“ You said, still looking. They had a shitload of Garlic in them and you were craving garlic pickles. For the salad of course. Just for the salad.

He hummed, pushing the fridge closed and you pouted and turned around, finding him smiling down at you. 

„If I remember correctly you ate the rest of those last night,“ he hummed, wrapping his arms around you. 

You widened your eyes. 

„I did not,“ you hissed.

„Did so. Found the whole jar empty this morning, next to an almost empty bottle of whipped cream,“ he nodded, trying to lean in to kiss you but you narrowed your eyes, bringing one of your hands up, your finger tipping pointing against his chest. 

"You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?“ You asked and he huffed, still smiling. He leaned in, his lips at your ear. 

„I was trying to get some sleep after you jumped me and made me made you cum four times,“ he whispered and your lips parted in mock shock, releasing a shaky breath. 

„I made you? If I remember correctly you were very much into it, Mr. Peña,“ you teased and he shrugged. 

„Never said I wasn’t,“ he finally kissed you and you hummed against his lips. 

„Where’s your dad?“ You asked against his lips. 

„Going to the store to get you your pickles,“ he grinned and you laughed. 

„So that means… We have an empty house to ourselves for what? An hour?“ You asked. 

„He’s gonna visit his brother too, so more like three hours,“ he nodded. 

„Hmm…“ you hummed, bringing our arms up, your hands crossing behind his neck. 

„Mhhh…“ he hummed back, his lips slowly wandering down your jaw. 

„What… ever will we do with all that time?“ You asked innocently. He grinned at you, slowly turning you and walking you towards his bedroom, his lips on yours. 

„Wanna check how often I can hide my pickle inside of you?“ he asked and you both started laughing seconds after. 

„You did not just say that,“ you giggled, shaking your head. 

„Yeah I can not believe I just said that either,“ he shook his head, helping you sit down on the bed when you made it to the bedroom. 

You let yourself fall back, sliding into the middle of the mattress, looking up at him. 

„Only you could say something this stupid and still have me dripping for you,“ you sighed, parting your legs. Hungry eyes followed your every move, your fingers as the slowly pulled on the dress you were wearing, revealing more and more of your skin to his eyes. 

„Yeah?“ He asked, his voice dark.

You let your eyes wander the length of his body, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, his cock already hard inside his jeans. Still wearing that cowboy hat.

„Wanna eat my pussy?“ You grinned and he groaned. 

„Fuck yeah.“

It was in the early morning hours of the new year that you found yourself in front of the fireplace next to the Christmas tree, laying with your back against Javier’s chest.

His father had gone to sleep shortly after midnight, leaving the two of you alone. 

„Any resolutions for the new year?“ You asked him, his hand slowly rubbing over your growing stomach. 

„Many,“ he said, his lips close to your ear. 

„Me too,“ you nodded. 

„Wanna share?“ He asked. You shook your head no.

„Don’t wanna jinx it,“ you said and he sighed. 

„Yeah, me neither.“

„Got one I wanna share though,“ you hummed, a smile playing on your lips. 

„Yeah?“

„Gonna love you even more this year than I did last year,“ you whispered, feeling his arms tightening around you. 

„Still love you more,“ he hummed and kissed you neck.

#my fic #javier peña #Javier Peña x fem. reader #Pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #pickled peña #pickledpeña #pickledpena #pickledpeña writing challenge

[avastrasposts]

Pickled Interruptions - a Pickled Peña Production

Hello!

As you've probably seen, we've been gearing up for a writing challenge these past few weeks - Pickled Peña! A brain child of some of my lovely friends here on Tumblr. Anyone who joins in will be added to the Pickled Peña Master List over at @pickled-pena and I cannot wait to see what everyone comes up with based on the prompts that were randomly selected.

Below the cut is my contribution. I ended up using an OFC I created for another fandom but there's no need for prior information about her to read this fic. I just wanted to bring her out to play again because she's such a firecracker and would give Peña a challenge.

There are no warnings for this fic, it's just a bit of spicy fluff, mentions of pickles, sticky floors and Peña's half hard dick because...you know...

“Daniels! No fucking pickles in the vodka orange!” Eve snapped at the new bartender on her shift as she grabbed a pair of tongs and picked the sad, floating cucumber from the orange juice. 

“Who the hell even hired you?” she growled at him as he shrugged and slid the drink over to the disgruntled looking patron on the other side of the bar. 

Eve sighed and went back to serving her side of the bar, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye. It was New Year's Eve, the busiest night of the year in any decent club but instead of making drinks and getting big tips, she was now babysitting the dumbass newbie. The imbecile further down the bar had been hired just yesterday to cover for a skinny kid, Lenny, who’d suddenly called in and claimed he had a broken leg. 

And she could see why Daniels had been hired, the cluster of women surrounding his section of the bar made it very evident. The man was undeniably good looking, his broad shoulders and narrow hips emphasized by the uniform worn by all the bartenders at the club, tight fitting black slacks, a white shirt open at the neck, rolled up sleeves and a black vest. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t say she was tempted, but she pulled her eyes away from his butt as he bent down to pick up a tumbler he’d dropped. It was a very good butt, but she had a job to do, and she could see almost every woman, and some of the men, stare at it when he turned around to grab whiskey from the top shelf. 

“Daniels!” she yelled, making him jump and almost drop the five hundred dollar bottle of bourbon he’d just grabbed. “We do not put JD Gold Medal in a fucking Jack and Coke,” she hissed at him as she took the bottle from his hand, “get a fucking grip, regular JD is just fine.” 

“Yes, boss,” he replied, grabbing the right bottle this time, pouring a much too generous measure into the glass as Eve rolled her eyes. 

“Put this back on the shelf when you’re done,” she snapped, “Considering your name I really thought you’d know more about Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels,” she scoffed at him and went back to her section of the bar.  

Javier Peña seethed under his breath as he poured the Coke into the glass, trying to remember his bartending crash course from two days ago. Who’s stupid fucking idea had it been to give him the alias Jack-fucking-Daniels? This last minute undercover thing was dicey as fuck as it was, even if was just to be reconnaissance to figure out when the next drug shipment this club was a front for would come in. He just needed to get a look at the office in the back, but so far the bossy know-it-all they’d stuck him with at the bar had gone back there herself every time something was needed from storage. 

He glanced over at her, she was leaning over the counter, smiling at some clearly drunk blonde guy, the open buttons of her white shirt straining against her cleavage, giving the man a perfect view. And he was taking advantage of it, not even attempting to hide the way he was staring at her breasts. But judging by the generous tip he gave her when she passed him his drink, it had been worth it. And he had to give it to her, she had the looks to make all the men at the bar hang on to her every movement as she swiftly made their drinks. He had noticed that most of the men were on her side of the bar, and the women on his side. He didn’t mind, he just wished he was as fast as her when it came to making drinks. He fucking hated having to ask her for instructions, her barely contained eye rolls becoming more and more pronounced the further the night went. But she was right, he wouldn’t have fucking hired himself either, the only drink he knew was whiskey, neat. 

Javier had tried flirting with Eve, hoping to get some information from her while she showed him where everything was in the bar before opening on his first night the day before. 

“The ice is here, it usually needs to be refilled once a night if it’s busy. The big ice machine is next to the storage room out back,” she thumbed behind her to the door, “but I’ll handle that. You just keep the patrons happy for now.” 

“How about keeping you happy,” he smiled, wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, “I don’t mind carrying the heavy stuff for you, cariño.” 

“Yeah, thanks, I can handle myself,” she snorted, turning away from him and nudging the bar fridge with the toe of her shoe, “This is where we keep any garnishes for the cocktails, we’ll need to cut up some more during the night so keep an eye on how much we have left.” 

“So, you’ve been doing this long? You seem to know your way around a bar,” he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, making sure he was down on her level as he smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of her copper red hair behind her ear. She swatted away his hand and he chuckled, “Feisty, jus-” 

“If you say what I think you're about to say about redheads and temper, just shut it,” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing, “I’ve heard every possible variation.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he grinned, holding up his hands in surrender as she turned on her heel and stalked off to the other side of the bar, grabbing the dish cloth and throwing it at him with a flick of her wrist. 

“You’re on dishwasher duty, don’t fuck up.” 

He caught it mid air before it hit his face, sauntering after her as she pulled up the hood of the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be less predictable in the future,” he grinned and changed his tact, giving her a softer smile this time, leaving some space between them, “I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, never dated one though,” he said, tilting his head as she scowled. He was making sure to keep his eyes on her face and not let them drift down to where the shirt of her uniform opened up. 

“Good for you;” she replied, pulling out the tray of clean glasses and pointing to them, “They need to be dried or they’ll have water stains, get to it.” 

“Yes, boss.”

“And put them with the other clean glasses when you’re done,” she pulled down the hood again and started turning away but Javier put his hand out to stop her.

“Wait, I apologize, I was an ass, I didn’t mean to come on so strong,” he gently put his hand on her upper arm, careful to not grab her, just let it rest there as he gave her his most sincere look, “but if you get an evening off, I’d like to make it up to you and take you out, just for a drink or something.” 

He smiled at her again, keeping it soft and honest looking as he removed his hand from her arm, “I’m serious, you’re a beautiful woman and clearly a much better bartender than me, and I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me.” 

He kept his eyes on her as he stopped talking, reading her face for any tell tale signs of her softening but she wasn’t budging. 

“I don’t date bartenders,” she smirked, picking up an empty tray and leaving the bar area. 

“Make it your New Year’s resolution to try something new and date one?” he called after her with a grin as she began collecting dirty glasses

“Not dating bartenders is my New Year’s resolution,” she threw back at him over her shoulder. 

The first night at the bar had been a disaster and the second was shaping up to be even worse. The bar was quickly getting packed with people out to celebrate New Year’s Eve and it was all hands on deck. Eve cursed as she saw Daniels attempt a gin and tonic, adding far too much tonic as the guest protested. To adjust he poured more gin into the tall glass and made the G&T strong enough to knock out a bull. 

“Daniels!” Eve called, jerking her head in the direction of the back door, “We’re gonna need two new kegs of Stella, get ‘em for me. Patty, take over for Daniels, we’ll be faster without him.” 

Javier tried to look pissed off but in reality this was what he’d been hoping for. Handing the G&T to Patty, who gave him a dirty look, he left the bar and hurried towards the backdoor. If he moved quickly he’d get a few minutes to snoop around. 

The backdoor led to a large storage room, the kegs were stacked in a corner. But at the other end of the room was another door that led to a hallway, and at the end of that, the office. Javier knew this since they’d managed to pull the blueprint of the building from city hall, and now he quickly grabbed a keg and brought it back to the bar. 

“Gonna take a few minutes for the next one, I knocked some shit over, I need to clean it up,” he told Eve, shrugging as she rolled her eyes at him, handing a patron a bright cocktail. 

“Just hurry up, Daniels.” 

“Yes, boss.”

Javier turned and hurried back to the backdoor, closing it behind him and shutting out some of the loud music from the night club, the dull thud of the base reverberating through the walls. 

The office was locked but the cheap mechanism easily gave in and Javier slipped inside, scanning the room for any paperwork. He quickly got to work and flicked through a stack on the desk, moving on to opening the drawers when he found nothing. Next was a thick ledger on the bookshelf and bingo! Tucked between the pages were several shipping manifests, certain rows underlined. The next ship was due in three days. With a satisfied grunt Javier slapped his hand on the ledger. 

The door to the office swung open and Javier froze by the desk, staring at Eve who looked at him with annoyance written clearly across her face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, her hand slipping behind her waist in a movement Javier knew far too well, his hands shot up immediately as she pulled a gun from the back of her pants. 

“Nothing, boss, I was just looking for the pay statements, I think Patty’s stealing my tip,” he bullshitted and he knew she hadn’t bought a word. 

“Bollocks, Peña, you’re fucking DEA and you’re messing up my case.” 

Javier felt his mouth fall open as she moved across the office, coming to stand next to him and looking at the shipping manifest. 

“How the fuck do you know?” he finally spat out as she ran her finger over the rows he’d just scanned. 

“Because I’m CIA, and you’re the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever met.” 

“That doesn’t explain it,” Javier replied, “How are you CIA? You’re a bartender!”

“I wasn’t always CIA,” Eve tapped one of the rows, “This one, that’s the one I’m after, and I’m guessing they’re bringing in drugs on it too? Since you’re here?” 

“Yeah, that’s one, the same one we’ve seen three times before. Just didn’t realize it’d be coming in this week.” 

Eve looked over at him and rolled her eyes, “If the DEA put a bit more effort into their cases you’d know that this ship comes in exactly every twenty-one days, always from one of three ports. But they rendezvous on international waters with a ship from Colombia and transfer over their goods. We’ve had our eyes on the girls they bring at the same time, usually about ten poor things dreaming of a better life, but it makes sense for them to bring in drugs the same way.” 

“But how do you know I’m DEA?” Javier asked again and Eve closed the ledger with a snap and put it back on the shelf. 

“Because Lenny ‘breaks his leg’ and you’re magically available two days before New Years, the busiest night of the entire year. Any bartender has been booked months ago. But you’re also the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever seen,” she shook her head, tucking her gun back in the back of her pants. “So I lifted your prints and did a run, Javier Peña, DEA. I like to know who I’m working with.” 

“Well, fuck…” he huffed, “let’s hope no one else is a thorough as you, CIA.” 

Eve gave him a crooked smile, “No one rarely is, Peña.” 

“So these guys traffic women too and that’s why you’re here?” he asked as Eve moved to open the office door and he followed behind her. 

“Yeah, my boss has been on them for months and got a tip off about this place a few weeks ago, I’ve been undercover here since.” The hallway was empty and they moved out, Javier carefully closed the door behind them, making sure it locked again. 

“You had me fooled,” he chuckled, “I thought you were in with them, that’s why I asked you out, to see if I could get you to spill.” 

“Sure that’s why you asked me out,” Eve smirked, “Had nothing to do with the fact that this ridiculous uniform shirt is open halfway to my belly button.”

“That may have been a deciding factor in choosing my mark,” Javier grinned as they started making their way back to the bar. Suddenly the music from the club increased in volume, the door of the storage room was thrown open and over the sound of the music, they heard heavy footsteps. 

“Shit,” Eve hissed, “we’re not supposed to be back here! Quick, in here!” She grabbed Javier’s arm and pulled him in through a door halfway down the hallway and quietly closed the door. The room was a small storage space, jars of cocktail garnishes mixed with cleaning agents stacked on the floor. The space was cramped and Eve found herself pressed up against Javier’s chest as he squeezed in and closed the door quietly behind them. 

“You’re on my foot,” he hissed, shifting, his hands on her hips to move her to the side. 

“Stand still, they’re coming,” she whispered back at him, grabbing on to his arms to keep her balance as her foot knocked against a jar on the floor. The footsteps echoed through the hallway and passed the door, as they held their breath. 

“Wait outside,” came a gruff voice that Eve recognised as Mason’s, the guy who ran the club and was, supposedly, second in command. 

“Yes, boss,” came the surly reply as the door to the office clicked open and shut. Eve tried to keep her breathing as quiet as possible as she and Javier listened to the shuffling boots of the henchman outside the office door, efficiently trapping them in the storage room. 

Javier was uncomfortably aware of how her soft breasts were pressed up against his chest, her hands on his arms to keep her steady. The top of her head was just by his cheek and with each inhale he could smell the light flowery scent of her shampoo. It reminded him of springtime back home and without meaning to, he inhaled deeply and held his breath, closing his eyes. He shifted his body weight, his hands on her hips sliding up every so slightly as the warm press of her body made his cock twitch. 

She shifted next to him, her hips brushing against what could only be his half hard length, hearing a low intake of breath from above as he adjusted his stance. Pressed up against him, her nose was right next to the soft looking skin of his neck, a smattering of freckles visible in the dim light. She could feel him inhaling softly above her and she did the same, catching his aftershave and fresh sweat from the long shift. She carefully tilted her head up, watching his lips part as his tongue came out to wet his plush bottom lip, before he slipped it back inside, meeting her eyes as he looked down at her. 

In the hallway the office door opened and closed again. 

“Alright, all under control for tonight, get Jones and head on over there an-” 

The crash of a glass jar interrupted the man’s orders as Eve cursed under her breath, somehow the stacked jars by their feet had toppled over and now the vinegar smell of pickle juice filled the storage room. 

“What the fuck is going on, check that room, Mendez!” 

Javier grabbed Eve’s face between his hands and pressed her against the wall, his lips on hers a split second before the door was yanked open. He groaned loudly into her mouth, rolling his hips into her soft belly and thanked her quick mind as she pulled him closer by his arms, whimpering against him.

“I don’t fucking pay you for fucking in the storage room!” Mason yelled and Javier yanked himself away from Eve as if they’d just been caught red handed. 

“S-sorry, boss,” Eve stuttered, smoothing down her shirt as Mason growled. 

“Clean this fucking mess up and get back to work, I’m docking both your pays for this. And for the pickles!” 

The door rattled as he slammed it shut, leaving the two of them in the dark again. Javier still had his hands on her face and she was holding on to his arms, exhaling slowly as the footsteps faded down the hallway. 

“Quick thinking, Peña,” she said, looking up at him in the dim light with a smile.

“I hope you won’t judge my kissing skills on that,” he grinned, “I had planned to give you a much nicer first kiss if you’d said yes to that date.” 

“You’re telling me that wasn’t your best work?” Eve asked, taking in the way his eyes dropped to her lips before finding her eyes again. Her hands were still on his biceps, the warmth from his body seeping into her palms as his muscles flexed and moved.  

“Not even close, honey,” his smirk was audacious as he leaned in again, bending down towards her lips, waiting for her to make the final move or pull away. He didn’t need to wait long, her grip on his arms tightened as she moved closer. Her lips were soft when she pressed them against his, parting slightly as he gave her a light kiss, capturing her bottom lip between his own, moving slowly. He felt her open her mouth for him, her tongue touching his lip and he pulled her closer, his fingers sliding into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss and she responded with a moan. 

The small space reeked of pickle juice, it was sticky under her shoes, she could hear Peña’s shoes slosh in it as he pushed her up against the wall. But his big hand, cupping her head, his warm lips over her own, all conscious thought melted away. Even those about how he really was a DEA prick who couldn’t mix a drink to save his life. At the back of her mind, her conscience hissed at her; ‘unprofessional’. But a much larger part of her brain was drowning in the way his tongue licked into her mouth, and the way his hands felt holding her against him as the evidence of his own excitement grew between them. 

He groaned into her mouth, rolling his hips against her and she gasped for air, before pulling him closer. 

“Please, cariño, tell me you’ll let me take you on that date,” Javier mumbled against her as she kissed the corner of his mouth, moving her lips along his jaw, “I’m not about to fuck you in a storage cupboard, so I need to take you on that date.” 

Her teeth scraped across his neck and he hissed as she sucked a mark into the thin skin, his fingers digging into her hips as he sought out any friction he could get. 

“I don’t think we need a date, Peña,” she mumbled, letting him tilt her head back and reciprocate the mark she’d left on his neck. He pushed her shirt to the side and found the soft skin over her collarbone hidden just out of sight. Eve curled her fingers through his hair as his mouth made her gasp into the dim light of the small room. 

Javi pulled away and straightened up, his hand sliding down from her hip, grabbing the round shape of her ass, pulling her core closer and letting her feel how hard he was as he looked at her, his dark eyes half closed, breathing heavily. 

“Javi,” he muttered, bending down to her open mouth again, “it’s Javi.” 

“Javi,” she mumbled, “I don’t think we need a date, but…” she trailed off as his teeth closed over her bottom lip and gently sucked it in as she moaned into his mouth. He shifted his weight, lifting his shoe from the sticky floor and pressed his leg between her thighs, feeling the heat of her core through the thin fabric of their uniform pants. 

“Fuck, Javi,” she gasped, the pressure of his thick thigh rubbing just where she needed him the most, but with a groan she pulled away from him, putting her hands on his warm chest and pushed him back, “Fuck, don’t, we’re never getting out of here if you do that.” 

“What’s the rush?” he chuckled, “Are you really gonna finish the bartending shift now that we have the shipping info?” 

“If we don’t, we’ll raise suspicion, better to finish it and leave normally,” Eve replied, trying to catch her breath as his dark eyes continued to trail over her lips, down her neck and the shirt he’d pushed open. 

He inhaled slowly, thinking while he lifted his hand and ran the tips of his fingers down her cleavage, caressing the soft skin, finding the lacy edge of her bra, the same white shade as the shirt. 

“You’re right, we should finish the shift,” he sighed, reluctantly removing himself from her warm body, carefully stepping back across the wet floor, “I’ll clean up in here, you get back to the bar, they’re probably swamped.” 

Eve nodded as Javi opened the door, letting them both out into the empty hallway, his hands still on her waist, reluctant to let go of her, now that he’d had a taste. 

“There’s a mop in the other room, and some rubbish bags,” she said as he followed her back towards the club, feeling him caress her hips, cupping her ass as they walked, giving it a light squeeze that made her throw a smile back at him over her shoulder. 

“Be careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass.” 

“I won’t, I’ll see you out there.” 

Javi cursed the sticky pickle juice, and sloshed water over the floor to get it all up once he’d picked up the pieces of glass. He glanced down at his watch as he tossed the trash bag in the bin and opened the door to the nightclub again, it was getting close to midnight. 

The place was swamped, people packed in on the dance floor, pushed up against the bar, where he could see Eve holding up a shaker, the vigorous movements making her breasts shimmy under the white shirt. The movement wasn’t lost on the three men hanging on the bar, all three of them clearly transfixed by her cleavage as she prepared their drinks. Hot jealousy shot up Javi’s spine, making him take longer strides, stepping up behind her as she placed the shaker on the bar counter. He scowled at the three men, staring them down as they pulled their eyes from Eve and were faced with his furious face right behind her. 

“Patty, quit slacking,” Eve called out, glancing over her shoulder down the bar where the tired looking brunette was leaning against the till, arms crossed, waiting for the bar helper to cut up orange slices. 

“I’m waiting for the oranges,” she snapped back at her as Eve accepted the bills from the three men and deftly took another order for a round of complicated sounding cocktails. 

“So take another order while you wait, the line is a mile long, how did it-” 

“What the fuck, you stand there and accuse me, but where you all this time?” Patty’s voice cut through the music of the club like a shrill fog horn, “You two were gone fucking ages, while we had to fight off this crowd!” She gestured at the throng of people by the bar, some of the patrons watching her angry face with glee, spoiling for a good shouting match behind the bar. 

Eve bit back her retort, Patty was right, she and Javier had been gone much too long and she knew the rest of the bar staff noticed. 

“It was my fault,” Javier said behind her, “I knocked over a couple of jars of pickles, had to clean them up and that pickle juice is a bitch to get off the floor.” 

Patty growled and swiped the orange slices off the cutting board, nearly knocking it to the floor as she stomped over to her section again. 

Eve put the last few drinks on to the bar as champagne corks started popping and the music was turned down. Across the nightclub people started to cheer as the manager, and a few of the  waiters, began handing out flutes to the guests as midnight approached. There’s temporary reprieve at the bar as the guests turned towards the small stage in the corner where the manager stood, next to the big screen tv streaming live from Times Square. 

Javier found Eve’s hand out of sight from the rest of the staff and pulled her with him, around to the back of the bar. Guests were still milling around but they’re all focused on the screen as they started chanting, counting down from ten. 

“A kiss at midnight, cariño?” Javi asked, pulling her into his chest, hands landing on her waist and her cheek, sweeping away a damp curl from her forehead. 

She didn’t reply, instead she smiled at him and cupped her hand around the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers. Around them the crowd shouted but the noise fades as he parted his lips and let her tongue in. She tugged gently at his curls, angling her face to better reach him and he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her up on her tiptoes so that he could taste her properly. 

The crowd cheered, loud yells of ‘Happy New Year!” erupted as the ball dropped, but it faded into the background as she let a low moan escape into his mouth and he felt her tongue lick into him. The music kicked off again, people began to dance, clinking glasses, hugging and kissing, but Javier let his hand cup her cheek, stroking his thumb over her soft skin, her body warm pressed up against his. Neither of them paying attention to the man who’s just spotted them from across the club as Patty waved at him, pointing in their direction.  

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” Mason yelled as he grabbed Javier’s shoulder and yanked him away from Eve, “You’re both fucking fired, and you can kiss your pay checks for the night good bye.”

He raised his hands to shove them both in the direction of the staff changing rooms, but pulled up short as he saw the furious look on Javier’s face, Eve’s hand on his arm to hold him back. 

Mason settled on growling; “Get the fuck out of my club, you fucking slackers, go make out on someone else’s dime.” 

“Gladly,” Eve scoffed, her hand sliding down and grabbing Javi’s, tugging him along as he scowled at Mason. 

It didn’t take long before they were both outside the club, back in civilian clothes, their bartending uniforms left behind. 

“So, any plans for the rest of the night, querida?” Javier asked, sticking his hands in his leather jacket, fishing out a packet of smokes. 

“A bodega sandwich and falling asleep on the couch,” Eve replied, shaking her head as Javi offered her a cigarette. 

“I was thinking,” he said, taking a first drag, “you said your New Year's resolution was to not date bartenders?” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a smirk as she chuckled, realizing where he was going with this. 

“Yeah, no bartenders,” she smiled and he grinned back. 

“Well, it seems I’m no longer a bartender…” 

“Thank god, worst bartender ever, Javi.”

“So how about that date, cariño?” 

#pickledpena #pickled peña writing challenge #pickled-pena #pickled peña #javier peña fanfic #javier peña #pickled pena #pickledpeña writing challenge

[pedroshotwifey]

Pickled Peña Challenge 2023

Good Impression

Pairing: Husband!Javier P. x GN!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags/Warnings: Nothing really, fluff, lil bit of angst (silly angst tho), reader and Javi have a dog, Chucho being hella cool, kissing, cussing, vivid descriptions of fried pickles, wifey being actually stupid

Summary: You really wanted to bring something for Chucho's new year's party...

A/N: Hey, y'all! This is my contribution to @goodwithcheese's Pickled Peña Resolutions Writing Challenge! It's kind of stupid but it's what I've got lmao. I can't wait to read everyone else's Peña stories (please feel free to tag me in them)! Unfamiliar with this challenge? Read more about it here! @pickled-pena

*****

“Shit!”

You curse as you watch a pickle slice splat wetly onto the kitchen floor, jumping back to avoid it landing on your bare foot. Max, your golden lab (who was oh-so-creatively named by your husband) is quick to clean it up not a second after it falls. 

“Goddammit, Max,” you scold as you watch him scarf it down without shame. “That’s your fifth pickle today.” 

Hell, it might be the sixth. You usually aren’t a super messy cook, but it’s a different story when you’re in a time crunch. You need to leave the house in about an hour, and the fried pickles you promised to bring for Chucho’s new year’s party are only half done. 

Javier walks in then, chuckling slightly at the interaction he just witnessed. You give him a pointed look before getting back to the task at hand, smothering pickle slices in the flour mixture you had made up. 

“Oh, come on now, sweetheart,” Javi says as he walks up behind you to glide his arms around your waist. “Don’t be like that, we have plenty of time.”

You roll your eyes and half-heartedly shove him off of you as you dip the first batch into the oil on the stove. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, Javi, I still have to fry every single one of these slices, and then let them dry and cool before we can leave. Plus, I still need to change my clothes, and we have to pick up a gift for Chucho on our way there.”

Javi presses a kiss to the top of your head, humming in response to your explanation. 

“I think we’ll be okay. Chucho isn’t going to mind if we’re a little late.” 

“I know,” you whine. “But I still hate not being–”

“I promise you, baby. As long as I show up with ‘that pretty partner of mine’, there’s not going to be an issue.” He pinches your hip lightly as he quotes his father’s words from a few days earlier. 

You can’t help the faint smile that crawls across your face at that reminder. You had been so worried about Javier’s family not liking you, but it turns out that they adore you just as much as he does, just from what he’s said about you. It’s nice to know you’ll be welcomed so warmly even though they had never met you previously. 

The two of you had met in columbia by chance, hooked up, and things spiraled from there. As much as he tried, Javi just couldn’t tear himself away from you. A year later, the two of you were married, and a year after that, you both moved back to Javi’s hometown in Texas, where you’re now, finally, about to meet everyone you had heard so much about. 

You had told Javi that it’s your new year’s resolution to make a good impression, but you doubt that’s going to be very hard. You’ve already made a good impression in their book just by marrying the man.

“How about you go ahead and get changed, and I’ll do what I can here?” Javi suggests. 

You scoop out your pickles and lay them on a rack to dry before turning around and planting a kiss on Javi’s cheek. 

“Thank you, baby. That would help a lot.” 

“No problema, mi vida.”

He grabs your wrist to pull you in to press his lips against yours. You smile against him before pulling back and planting a final, light kiss on his lips. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” you tell him as you back out of the doorway. 

***

It doesn’t take too long for you to get dressed. Javi is just finishing the pickles as you walk back into the kitchen. 

“Should be all set,” he says as he wipes his hands down with a paper towel. You lean on your toes to kiss him again.

The two of you have everything cleaned and packed up within another few minutes. You glance at the clock, which tells you that you should be right on time by the time you’re walking out the door. You grab the container of pickles to take with you to the hall table by the front door. 

Javi mumbles something from behind you and then walks into your room, patting his pockets as he goes. You almost laugh under your breath at his forgetfulness until you realize you left your keys in the bathroom. 

You place the container down and walk down the hall, not noticing how precariously balanced the tub is left. You snatch your keys up at the same time you hear a crash. You gasp at the sound of what can only be a plastic lid breaking off to spill your hard work all over the floor. 

Your fears are confirmed as you quickly make your way back to where you left them, only to find Javi hovering over the mess. When looks up and immediately catches your stunned expression, his entire body freezing as he does so.

“Baby,” he starts slowly. I swear it wasn’t–”

“Javier. F. Peña,” you seethe, each name spat out as its own individual sentence. “You did not just knock that down,” you almost dare him to contradict you. There’s absolutely no way for you to make another batch right now. You don’t have the time nor the ingredients. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Javi retorts defensively, holding up his hands as he takes a step toward you. “What makes you so sure that it was me? I thought it was you until I got out here!”

“Me?” you gawk at him, offended. “Unlike some other people I know, I’m not that fucking clumsy!” 

“Woah, you stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?”

Just then, Max slinks into the hall, drawing both of your attention to his guilty movements. His tail wags hesitantly behind him, his head ducked. The fact that he’s not all over those damn pickles tells you all that you need to know. You sigh in frustration, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

You look back up at Javi, and you can’t miss the glint of amusement in his eye. A smile peaks out as you lean down to Max’s level. You don’t scold him, instead gently grabbing his collar to lead him to your room before shutting the door so you can clean the mess without interruption. 

Javi’s already on it, sweeping everything into a dustpan. You lean against the wall as he finishes up. 

“Guess we’re going to have to stop by that burger joint in town,” you say, sighing again. Javi watches you, sending you a sympathetic smile. He knows how much you wanted to bring something homemade, how much it meant to have something to offer, no matter how small. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart. Maybe next time we can invite Chucho over for dinner next week, make up a big meal for him.”

You smile back at him. He always knows what to say. He walks into the kitchen to dispose of the contents in the dustpan, and you to your room to release Max before rejoining each other in the hall.

“Ready to go, my little chef?” 

You roll your eyes at him with feigned annoyance as you take his hand. 

“Let’s go, Peña.”

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #fluff #javier pena fluff #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javi pena #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #pickled peña #pickledpeña writing challenge #writing challenge #narcos #pedro pascal fluff #javier pena angst #javier peña x reader #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javi p #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic

[drabbles-mc]

For the Record

Javier Peña x GN!Reader

For @pickled-pena's writing challenge!: resolutions, pickle/jar of pickles, "You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?"

Warnings: 18+, language, mentions of injuries, angst/arguments

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This was such a fun challenge! Thank you to the mods for putting it together! It's also been a while since I've written for Javi so that was a treat too haha. Happy New Year, y'all! xo

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @boomclapxox @nessamc @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @il0vebeingdelulu (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You were standing in the kitchen, holding the refrigerator door open as you looked inside it for the fifth time since you’d gotten home less than an hour before. No new food had appeared there in that span of time but you still kept coming back to check anyway just in case. You weren’t even actually hungry, although you should’ve been with how hectic the day had been and the fact that it led you to not being able to eat anything since your coffee and half of a pastry on the way to base that morning.

If you had still been back home, you would just be enjoying No Man’s Week—that week between Christmas and New Year’s when not much of anything gets done by anyone even if they have the best intentions. But you weren’t home. So instead of staying home and ditching work completely, or sitting in an office pretending to work but really getting nothing of the sort done, you had been running around the streets of Medellín trying to catch Escobar’s men and trying not to get shot in the process. Much less relaxing.

Along with your day being the opposite of relaxing, you also weren’t successful in either of the things that you had set out to do. The information that you’d been gathering had gotten you pretty far, but not quite far enough. The member of Pablo’s team that you’d been tracking for weeks slipped through your grasp, although it wasn’t without a fight. That much was evident because of the bullet that had gone clean through your bicep, and the other that had buried itself in your tac-vest. It was not a successful day.

Now, on top of your day being unsuccessful, everything else was infinitely more difficult to do when you only had full use of one arm and hand, and of course it wasn’t your dominant one. You should’ve taught yourself to be ambidextrous.

Then, as if all of that wasn’t enough salt rubbed into your very fresh wounds, you were about to make a final decision on what was going to pass for a very sad dinner when the lock flipped on the apartment door. You heard the click and you let out a sigh purely out of reflex as you let go of the fridge door to let it fall shut. Your jaw was clenched tight as you heard the apartment door swing open and quickly slam shut. Dramatic. He was always so dramatic.

“What the fuck was that?” he said as he started to storm into the kitchen.

You turned around to face him, your face as neutral as you could manage it. “Lock the door, Javi,” you instructed, purposely ignoring the question he’d just thrown at you.

He froze for a moment, hesitating. It took a second for him to process what you’d said, realizing that you weren’t giving him the argument that he’d been gearing up for the entire drive back to your place. He obliged, albeit begrudgingly. He was shaking his head the whole time, about two seconds away from stomping his foot like a toddler in the midst of his tantrum.

“Well?” he dove right back into it once the lock was in place.

“Well, what?” you asked, tone even as you turned back around to the fridge to open the door again, this time just to have an excuse not to look at him.

“You know what.” He wasn’t yelling, too exhausted for that, but even with how low his voice was it still held plenty of anger, still sharp enough to feel like it was cutting you. You heard his footsteps behind you even as you kept your eyes glued to the inside of the refrigerator. When he spoke up again you could practically feel his breath against the back of your neck. “You never should’ve been out there alone.”

You refused to turn around and look at him. “Some things can’t wait. You of all fucking people should know that. Plus it’s not like I didn’t try to get you to go with me, but no,” you dragged out that last word to twist the knife a little more. “Only you’re allowed to do that apparently.”

He scoffed. “What’s that supposed—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your laugh cruel enough to put you on even footing in the argument. “Don’t insult either of us by finishing that question.”

There was nothing in your fridge that would even come close to constituting a meal. You’d been living on takeout for the last few weeks because of how hectic everything had been. No time to grocery shop and definitely no energy left to cook. But you didn’t want to leave your apartment now that you were home, so you were just going to suffer through by grazing on the scraps that you had. You reached for the nearest jar on the refrigerator door, grabbing it with the one hand you still had full use of.

Javi watched as you side-stepped your way out of being boxed in by him. You moved to the side and set the jar on the counter, and Javi waited a second before he moved right along with you, trapping you between him and the counter now instead of the fridge.

As much as Javi wanted to plead ignorance, he knew exactly what you were talking about. It wasn’t something you brought up often, saving it for times when you needed a good card to play. This was one of those times. He was angry about it but he’d done it to himself in a way—he knew that. He tried to come to his own defense. “That’s not the same. You know that. What I did—”

“Was fucking reckless,” you snapped, slamming the jar down on the counter, not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make both you and Javi flinch. You tightened your grip on the lid, not even trying to open the damn thing, just trying to channel all of your anger and exhaustion into something that would cause minimal damage. “You can’t stand there and be pissy at me for what I did today when your track record is what it is. It’s not,” you scoffed, “it’s not even fucking close.”

“You got fuckin’ shot!”

You turned around to face him, stanced up like you were ready to fight despite the fact that you were bandaged up and strapped down in a sling, a last-ditch effort from the doctors to try and remind you not to move your arm if you could help it. “And you got Steve fuckin’ kidnapped!”

Javi flinched at the accusation, the truth of it stinging just as much as the rest of it. “It’s not—”

“And, for the record,” you turned back around and set back to work on opening the jar on the counter, “I tried to fucking tell you. You didn’t wanna hear it. You didn’t think that I had anything. So don’t stand there and act like I just up and out of the blue decided to go rogue. I tried to make sure someone had my back and you bailed on me.”

You didn’t touch him. You weren’t even looking at him and yet he found himself taking a step backwards like you’d shoved him with both hands. “Hey.”

“No,” you refused to turn around and look at him, dedicated to the tear that you were about to go on, “no don’t give me that. You feel shitty about it? Good. You should feel shitty. Because it didn’t have to go down like that today. You wanna come in here and yell at me and say that I was acting stupid and reckless and I just—you didn’t leave me any other choice!” You tried and failed to twist the lid on the jar, only adding to the frustration that was stacking endlessly on your shoulders. “You stand there and accuse me of all this shit, but where were you at the time? What else was so promising that you just fucking hung me out to dry?”

“If you knew I couldn’t be there then you should never have gone out on your own.”

“But you could’ve been there! You were supposed to be there!” You wanted to throw your hands up in exasperation and you couldn’t. You turned around to look at him, hating that you could feel the tears in your eyes. “You promised. You can’t just treat your promises to me like, like the bullshit excuses you give our boss. They’re not just some red tape you have to find a way around. You owe me more than that.”

He frowned, the response that he’d been building up in his head evaporating completely the more he listened to you, not just to your words but to the sadness in your voice, the dejection. He never wanted to make you feel like that. Until recently he hadn’t ever been in the position to make someone feel that way—his relationships never unfolded the way that yours had.

He still wasn’t ready to spit out an apology, though.

“I don’t think they’re red tape,” he finally said. He took a deep breath as he reached around you and took the jar off the counter.

“Javi—”

“Let me finish,” he stopped you before you got on another tirade. He easily twisted and popped the lid off the jar you’d been struggling with before setting it back down on the counter. Neither of you commented on it. “I should’ve listened back then. But you didn’t say a damn word to me today once we left here. I had no idea where you were until I heard a call on the radio saying you got fuckin’ shot.”

“Would you have even shown up?”

“How can you ask me that?”

“Because you blew me off once.”

“In a fuckin’ meeting! In a conference room! I would never—” he stopped short, getting himself together. “No one goes out alone like that.” He paused, hurt crossing over his expression for a moment. “I don’t let you go out alone like that.”

If you hadn’t been so exhausted, you would’ve had more angry things to say. More cutting comments to make. But as it stood, you just wanted the day to be over with, wanted the argument to be over with or at least paused. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to keep hashing it out after a decent night’s sleep. You were trying to figure out a way to say all of that when the sound of your stomach growling cut through the tense silence of the apartment.

You sighed, about to cobble together a sentence of some kind when Javi spoke up for you. “Eat. Get some energy to yell at me more later.”

Despite the exhaustion and the stress, you managed a smile. “Tha—”

“That all you’ve had today?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said, your tone markedly different than it had been a few moments before, “but sort of, yeah.”

“I don’t think pickles count as dinner after the day you had.”

“Well,” you reached into the jar with your good hand and carefully pulled one out, “I don’t think that you brought home dinner.” You took a bite of it. “So this is gonna have to do.”

“I can run out and grab something,” he offered, not quite an olive branch but something close.

You appreciated the offer but you still shook your head no. “It’s fine. We’re both home. Let’s just…yeah.”

He knew that he should’ve fought you on it, gone out and gotten something more passable for dinner anyway despite your protest, but he didn’t. Of all the arguments the two of you were bound to get into, he didn’t think it was worth it to make this one of them.

“We gotta get better about cooking,” he said as he stepped over, reaching in and taking a pickle out of the jar.

You let out a tired laugh. “Next year, maybe.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Thought you didn’t do resolutions?”

“I don’t. But, you know, still sounds good.” You paused for a brief moment. “Yours should be to listen to me more.” There was no real malice behind it, almost like it was a real piece of advice.

He took it as such as he leaned back against the counter beside you, studying your sling, your face, your everything. “You alright?”

It wasn’t funny, per se, but you still had to laugh at the fact that it took you both this long to get to the point in the conversation where he was asking you that. Typically that’s the first thing someone asks when they hear you got shot.

“I will be,” you told him truthfully.

You leaned, letting your head drop against his shoulder. You let out a deep sigh, one that he mirrored soon after. Part of you felt like maybe there was something else that you should be saying, but when you felt the kiss that he pressed to the side of your head, you figured that whatever was left to say could wait until later.

#pickledpena #pickledpeña writing challenge #pickledpeña #javier peña #javier pena #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #x reader #x reader fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[rhoorl]

A Bear of a Night | Pickled Peña Writing Challenge

Summary: Javi returns home from ringing in the New Year and finds a surprise. He’s getting too old for this shit. (AO3 Link)

Rating: M

Word Count: 920

Warnings: This is honestly a pretty tame story, just some swearing and allusions to smut. Hopefully a bit funny too.

A/N: Happy 2024! I decided to take part in the Pickled Peña writing challenge. What is this? Well, it’s a way to show off the different ways writers can tackle the same character/prompt - we all have our own style and perspectives! Javi is one of my favorites to read and I never thought I would actually write for him. But, here we are. Check out @pickled-pena or search the tags to see who else is participating and what they’ve come up with. If this sounds like fun and something you want to try, feel free to post your own fic throughout the month of January!

Javier parked the car and rested his head against the headrest as his eyes cast down to the clock in his truck.

1:45 a.m.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He was late and knew he was about to get the silent treatment.

Javier wasn't one for big celebrations with lots of people, always choosing to duck out of any department party as early as possible. But when several colleagues decided to spend New Year's Eve out at a bar, he thought why not? It was an early jump on his resolution for the upcoming year. It was simple really. He just wanted to try. To try and open up more. To try and let someone in. To try and be present.

And tonight, he actually found himself having some fun. The latest newbies to the department reminded him of when he first started decades ago. Young, idealistic, and ready to do some good. He tried to not let his jaded side influence them too much, but his colleagues found it amusing to mess with him nonetheless.

But the “old man” still had it and managed to pull the glances of several women at the bar, including the bartender who had practically eye fucked him all night as she poured him drinks (which she didn’t charge him for). That's part of the reason why he lost track of time. She decided to spend her break with him in a bathroom. He rang in the new year partaking in one of his favorite activities – buried deep inside a woman, making her scream his name. 

Back in his car, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands and sighed. He knew he was about to be read the riot act. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, already knowing he was primed for a terrible hangover come the morning, or at least later that morning.

He trudged up his driveway and unlocked the door. The TV was still on, but faint. Tossing his keys onto his entryway table, he stilled, waiting. He didn't hear anything, so he kicked off his boots and continued padding down the hallway.

“B?” He called out, walking into the living room. “Hmm, where'd you go,” he muttered to himself.

He continued through the house towards the kitchen when he felt it. His socks wet as he saw the pool at his feet.

“Goddammit,” he gritted his teeth. “Fuck, really?!”

And that's when he heard the jingle and padding of feet coming down the hall. 

“Seriously?” Javier caught the eyes of his English bulldog, Bear, who walked in and sulked in the corner with an even more grumpy look than normal.

Javier adopted Bear when he was just a puppy thanks to the incessant encouragement of Steve. His former partner could hear how lonely Javier was over the phone, so he suggested a dog could help keep him company. Little did both of them know, Javier would end up with a dog who was basically him with four legs. Bear was a bit of a curmudgeon but once you cracked him, he was very affectionate and loyal.

Although initially resistant, dog ownership came naturally to Javier. Growing up on a farm, he knew how to care for animals and he had a soft spot for them. Bear forced Javier to focus and take care of something. And although he hated to admit it to Steve, he rather liked having someone to come home to. When Bear heard the jingling of Javier’s keys, he would make his way up the hallway to greet Javier before turning around and heading to his bed at the foot of the couch. 

But tonight, Bear was mad. Javier stayed out later than planned so he decided to show his discontent on the linoleum floor in the kitchen.

Javier sighed as he took off his socks and walked to the sink to grab some paper towels and some odor eliminator spray. He returned and got on his hands and knees to start cleaning up. As he sprayed the floor he looked up and saw Bear, sitting on his back paws.

“Don't look at me like that. You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time when I asked if you wanted to go out, huh? Oh, I remember. Gnawing on a bone, couldn't be bothered.”

Bear sighed and rested his front paws on the floor, giving Javier a look.

“The puppy dog eyes? Really Bear? Por favor.” Javier rolled his eyes with a huff as he finished cleaning up. 

He groaned as he braced himself to get up off the ground. The beginning of a pounding headache was starting to take root. 

Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, and it honestly made his stomach turn a bit, he pulled out a jar of pickles from the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Old Forester Statesman Bourbon from the counter along with two shot glasses. 

“I’m already going to have a hangover, what’s one more,” Javier said to himself as he poured the bourbon and drained the shot, a slight hiss as he felt the warmth in his throat. “Here’s nothing,” he shuddered as he took down the pickle juice with a grimace. As he put the shot glass he looked down at his feet to see Bear plop down and rest his head on Javier's feet.

He chuckled, the smallest smirk coming across his face. “Happy New Year to you too bud. Let's get to bed.”

A/N: There's my silly little entry in the challenge. Take a look at @pickled-pena or the tags to see other entries. I hope we get to do this again sometime, this was actually a lot of fun to do something totally different and outside of my comfort zone.

#pickled-peña #pickled-pena #pickledpeña writing challenge #javier peña fic #pickledpeña #community over competition

[trulybetty]

Pickled Peña | Resolutions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#pickledpena #pickledpeña writing challenge #pickled-pena #pickled-peña #javier peña fanfiction #javi peña x you #narcos fanfiction #javi peña x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[sin-djarin]

Holsters, lies, and video tape.

Javier Pena & Tim Rockford (plus a special guest.)

Rating: M

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Things go awry for Javi on New Years Eve. And there are pickles. Because of course.

Warnings: Swearing, Becca bastardizes police interrogations, mention of Tim Rockford's gun holsters, mention of tight jeans and straining buttons.

A/N: Disclaimer: for fic purposes, we're pretending Tim and Javi work together in this universe. Don't ask how I got here, for I do not know.

This fic had to include a pickle/pickles and the following line of dialogue: "You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?"

Enjoy this hasty silliness and forgive typos. Happy 2024! (@pickled-pena)

Detective Rockford stands outside the interview room, a clipboard full of blank notes in one hand and a sealed brown paper evidence bag in the other. This is the last place he wants to be this evening. Realistically, he should have been at home hours ago but duty called. 

Rolling his head around on his shoulders, he gathers his resolve and pushes down on the door handle. As the door swings open, he enters the brightly lit interview room. His suspect is already present and waiting. Pulling out a chair, he takes a seat opposite the suspect, noticing that this person doesn’t fit the typical profile of criminals he’s used to encountering. The man is clean cut and put together, if a little frustrated. 

Under a furrowed brow, the suspect's eyes dart after his every move. He watches wide eyed as he places the bag on the floor and stares at his thumb pressing down on the record button of the tape recorder. The echo of the click hammering home that he is in fact here and this isn't some sort of dream before the detective begins his customary introductions. 

“The time is 19:37, on December 31st. My name is Detective Tim Rockford and I work for the Los Angeles Police Department. I investigate robberies, and theft.” he begins, his voice carrying an air of authority. “I’m going to advise you of your rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say can be used as evidence against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney of your choice and to have an attorney present before and during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, you are entitled to have one appointed to you. You may stop answering questions or ask for an attorney at any time during questioning. Do you understand each of these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”

The suspect feigns interest as Detective Rockford effortlessly recites his rights. He stares at the glossy surface of the table that separates them, wracking his brain to figure out what exactly he did to end up here. He’s heard the same sentences hundreds of times to the point it became difficult not to say them along with the detective as he reaches the end of his spiel. 

“Yes.” 

“And having been made fully aware of these rights, do you voluntarily wish to answer questions?”

“I do.” 

“Can you please state your full name for me, Sir?”

The suspect hesitates for a second before answering, “Javier Peña.” 

“Okay, Javi-” the detective clears his throat before correcting himself. “Javier. ”So, I’ve had a look at your case. It seems like you’ve fallen on hard times. Is that right?”

“Yes.” Javier admits, his voice filled with resignation. 

Detective Rockford's gaze softens, recognizing the difficult circumstances the suspect finds himself in. “Can you tell me a little bit about it?” 

Javier closes his eyes as he attempts to get his story straight. Finally his mouth opens, voice cracking as he uses the only weapon he has left - reason. “I um…I just moved back to the States. I thought I’d have a job by now but things haven’t worked out the way I wanted them to.” he admits. 

“Right. And what about earlier today? Can you tell me what happened?”

Heaving a deep breath that threatens the buttons of his white shirt, he recounts his movements. “I went to the store to buy groceries. And I paid for my food and left.” 

“That was the first store you went into? You didn’t go anywhere else?” 

“No. That was the only one.” 

“And what happened when you went inside?”

Annoyance starts to seep into his voice as Javier replies, “I just told you.” 

“Have you done anything like this before?” 

“No.” Javier repeats through gritted teeth. 

“And you weren’t scared?” 

“I wasn’t scared because I didn’t do anything.” Javier insists. 

Detective Rockford leans back into the plastic chair, taking a moment to process the response before shifting the focus of his inquiry. 

“Okay. Okay." the detective nods, absorbing his story so far. "Do you remember what you bought?”

“Groceries…um…cheese, meat, bread.”

“Anything else?” the detective probes further. 

Javier takes a moment to collect his thoughts, focusing his gaze on the lens of the camera that’s not so discreetly positioned in the corner of the room. He stares at the flashing red recording light, allowing the image of it to burn into his retinas. The pulsing rhythm of it becomes almost hypnotic as he thinks about how absurd this whole affair is before turning back to face the detective who awaits his answer. 

“No.” 

“Did you speak to anyone?”

“Just the cashier.”

“What did they say? Do you remember what they looked like?”

“I don’t know. ‘Thank you?’ ‘Have a nice day?’ She had nice nails, though. Fuck.” Javier sighs in defeat. “This is crazy. Can I have a cigarette?” he pleads. 

The room feels stifling and Javier can feel his blood pressure rise at the detective’s ridiculous enquiries. It’s certainly not the first time he’s been in a room like this but his palms grow clammy behind his back as he muses over the stupidity of the situation he finds himself in in between questions. He shakes his head, wondering how much longer the detective can prolong this and how much longer he can go without a cigarette.  

“We can talk about that later. Did she give you a receipt?” 

“Probably.”

“Probably?” 

“Yeah, probably.” Javier scoffs with his patience continuing to wear thin. 

“Do you have it?” 

“I don’t know you took all my shit when I got here.”

“Easy,” Detective Rockford soothes, holding up a hand between them. “I’m just trying to help you out here. I need to get a full picture of what happened. You said you don’t have a job, correct?” 

“Right. No job.” Javier confirms, rolling his eyes. 

Detective Rockford’s questioning continues, delving deeper into Javier’s financial situation and the source of the money he used to pay for the groceries. As the interview progresses, Javier’s irritation continues to rise. He swears the room is getting hotter as every minute passes. The bright lights bouncing off the white brick walls are making his eyes ache. He can feel droplets of sweat roll down his back at the lack of air conditioning and the sharp metal of the cuffs bite deeper into his wrists when he struggles against them. 

This is exactly what the detective wants. He’s conducted hundreds of interviews with thousands of perpetrators and he knows Javier is close to boiling point, knows that he would rather be inhaling smoke and lining his lungs with nicotine and he knows that if he keeps straining, he’s definitely going to pop a button on his shirt. Still, he remains calm as he scans Javier’s face for any clues of deception. He’s already picked up on the ticks in his jaw, the twitching of his mustache and the flaring of his nostrils when he lies. 

“Listen. I get it. Times are tough for you. If I was in your shoes I’d have probably done the same thing. Everyone needs to eat, right? There’s support out there for families in need of assistance. Maybe you just forgot to pay for some items.” the detective proposes. 

“Fuck you. You don’t know shit. Just because I don’t have a job doesn’t mean I can’t pay my way.” Javier exclaims, unable to contain himself any longer. 

The tip of his boot hits the flimsy leg of the table, making it rattle violently. It’s this that makes the detective change tact. He bends forward over the table, locking eyes with Javier. 

“I know more than you think.” Detective Rockford asserts confidently. 

Javier spits back with defiance. “Prove it.” 

“I have a witness that described you down to the last detail. Mustache, yellow sunglasses, jeans that are too tight and a little dated - her words, not mine.” he assures Javier who glares at him upon hearing the words. ”She says you walked out of the store with something under your arm.” 

“That doesn’t prove anything. Million guys like that out there.” he shrugs off the comment. 

Detective Rockford remains poised and pulls out the evidence bag, hoping that whatever is inside will implicate Javier in the crime he’s been accused of committing.  

“What exactly are you accusing me of, detective?” 

“Theft.” he answers. 

“Of the things I told you I paid for?” 

“Those. And,” the Detective opens the bag and peeks inside and his eyes widen at the sight of the contents. He exchanges a worried look with his suspect, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard before stating, “Pickles.” 

“Pickles?” Javier asks, now equally confused as the man tasked with questioning him. 

“Pickles.” the detective confirms, lifting the large jar out of the evidence bag. “Kosher dill pickles. Look familiar?” he squints, reading the white label. 

“I don’t even like pickles. This is fucking insane.” 

Detective Rockford maintains his professionalism, presenting the evidence to Javier as best he can. “It is. It really is. Especially considering you don’t like them. None of it makes sense. But maybe you were distracted. Like I said, maybe you forgot to pay for them?” 

“How would I forget to pay for something I don’t even like?” 

With his curiosity piqued, the detective arches his eyebrow and says coolly, “You tell me. The jar had your fingerprints all over them.” 

“Bullshit.” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at the statement. 

Javier knows that it is bullshit. He knows it would take longer than the hour he’s been sat there for for a lab report to come back with a full analysis of his fingerprints. There’s not even any residual dust on the glass of the jar from what he can see. 

“Mr. Peña, intentions and motive aside, stealing is stealing. You could have avoided all of this by just paying for it..” 

Javier finally relents. He can’t take another minute of questioning, can’t take another second of listening to the detective’s fingertips tapping the table. 

“It was a mistake. Can we settle this without making it a big deal?” 

“Unfortunately, that’s not for me to decide. I have a responsibility to uphold the law. I’ll send in my colleague to come in and speak to you about where to go from here. I’m glad you talked, Javier. Take care of yourself.” he says softly, bidding Javier farewell with genuine concern. 

The detective stands from his seat and walks towards the door with his notes still as empty as they were when he walked in. 

“Aaaaand cut!” an enthusiastic voice yells from the other side of the room. Both men's shoulders drop, heaving sighs of relief in unison upon hearing the words. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. Pickles?! Rockford, get me out of these fucking cuffs.” 

Tim retrieves the keys from his pocket and quickly releases his colleague from the handcuffs that bound him. The two men turn their attention to the director dressed in a loud orange shirt. Stepping over cables and ducking under lamps, he begins walking towards them across the small room while his camera assistant starts to disassemble the intricate lighting setup.  

“You two were amazing! You, with the holsters and everything.” The man beams at Tim, almost awestruck as he gestures at the black leather strapped tight around his shoulders. “And you too of course,” he grins, turning to Javier to sing his praises next. “You looked so pissed off! I really felt it.” 

But the compliment is only met with a grimace from Javier. 

“What’s your name again?” Tim asks the director. 

“I am Javi. Gutierrez.” he nods vehemently. 

“Nice meeting you, Javi. But maybe try a different prop next time. A bottle of liquor, some electronics, you know? It might make it a little more believable. Nobody really steals pickles.” Tim advises the man who is responsible for them being at work on New Year’s Eve. 

It was probably something agreed to absentmindedly when they were both neck deep in actual investigations, but somehow the two men had forgotten that they had consented to star in a demonstrational video on interrogation techniques. 

Both of them studied similar instructional videos on their own rises through the ranks; what to do and what not to do - although much lower budget and lower resolution. Neither of them could have foreseen the Hollywood-esque setup that had been arranged in such a small interview room at lunch time or the exuberance of their European director. 

“Rockford, let's get out of here.” Peña sighs, patting Tim on the arm and dismissing his director. 

Both men exit the cramped room and start to navigate the maze of corridors to the entrance of the building. Javi places a cigarette between his lips, ready to light as soon as they step outside but even the taste of the filter is just as sweet. The scowl painted across his face at having pulled the short straw as to who got to do the questioning hasn’t quite worn off. 

“Beer?” Javi suggests. 

“Yeah. You’re buying though. You got us into that mess.” 

“You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?” Javi stops walking, placing his hands on his hips as awaits a response to his own accusation. “I wasn’t going through that by myself.”

Choosing to ignore it, Tim turns to him and shifts his focus to the unlit cigarette dangling from Javi’s mouth. “Maybe you should try giving up for the new year. That’s the longest I’ve seen you go without smoking.” 

Javi snickers and rolls his eyes, “Yeah, and maybe you should take up acting. I don’t know how you kept it together.” 

“Better yet, I say we both start reading our emails properly and avoid this next year. Fucking pickles.” Tim grumbles over the spark of Javi's lighter. 

#javier peña #tim rockford #pickledpeña writing challenge #pickled peña writing challenge #pickledpeña

[ladamedusoif]

A Cup of Kindness, Yet

Part of the Pickled Peña Writing Challenge

(Challenge graphics and images by @musings-of-a-rose and @trulybetty - thank you!)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count: 2191

Warnings: Alcohol; smoking; strong language (it’s Javi); post-S3 of Narcos; no physical descriptions of Reader; no use of Y/N. 

Rating: Teen

Summary: Another Auld Lang Syne in Laredo, two decades after you last saw in a new year with Javier.

A/N: My submission for the Pickled Peña Writing Challenge organised by @goodwithcheese and the rest of the @pickled-pena collective - thank you for organising this event, everyone! I can't wait to read all the different submissions for these really challenging prompts, and hope you enjoy my contribution.

(PS: if you enjoy this story please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications - I'm also on AO3.)

“Well? What do you think?”

She twirls around in a black velvet dress, its long sleeves sprinkled with little rhinestones. You have to hand it to her - for a widow in her sixties, your mom still knows how to do glamour. 

It’s a pity the same can’t be said for her daughter. You’ve been schlubbing around the house all throughout the holidays in sweatpants, slouch socks, and your oversized college sweatshirt: the perfect “so your fiancé dumped you just before the holidays” cliche. 

“You look great, mom. You always do.”

She casts an eye over your attire, your messy hair, your bare face. “You could get dressed and come with me, you know. Might meet someone new? You never know on New Year’s Eve…”

You roll your eyes. “Mom, if you think I’m going to meet the love of my life on New Year’s Eve in Laredo - correction, in Laredo at the community dance - then have I got a bridge to sell you. You’re likely to be one of the hot young things there, going on the usual crowd it attracts.”

She swats at you with her black clutch. “I beg your pardon? I am one of the hot young things.” A final check in the mirror, a final pat to her perfectly-lacquered blow dry.

“All I’m saying is, you never know.”

“And all I’m saying is, this year I’m sticking to my New Year’s resolution: no more men.”

***

“Alright, pop. Have a good time - and no making out with girls down by the river!”

Chucho Peña shakes his head and smiles as he gets out of Javier’s truck, parked outside the community centre. “A pity you won’t join us, mijo,” the older man says, placing his stetson on his head. “You could do with the company.”

Javier shakes his head. “I’m fine, pop. You go and enjoy yourself. You know I don’t like New Year’s, anyway.”

He doesn’t. He never really did. As a kid he liked watching the countdown on TV with his parents and extended family, as a teen the last day of the year became a competition to find someone to make out with as the clock struck midnight. (Javi always excelled.)

But there was always something uncomfortable about the event, something that preyed on the melancholy aspects of his character. Maybe it was the forced celebrations, or the strangeness of marking the passing of time, or the pressure to be someone new - someone better - in the new year ahead. 

He’d been trying to be someone new for years, now. He never succeeded.

Back at the ranch, he flips idly through the TV channels and finds nothing to watch. A rumble in his tummy has him peering into the cold light of the refrigerator, confronted with a few cold cuts, cheese, and a half-eaten jar of pickles that’s been there forever. A solitary bottle of beer lurks on the refrigerator door. 

“Fuck this.”

He grabs his jacket and keys and heads for his truck.

***

The cashier rings up your two bottles of wine and places them in a plastic carrier bag. They’re young, probably not much older than sixteen, and their New Year’s Eve shift at the convenience store clearly isn’t setting their world alight. 

“Havin’ a party, huh,” they mumble as they hand you the bag. 

“Oh yeah,” you respond in a tone dripping with sarcasm, unable to keep your sass-mouth in check. “I’m having a huge party, with my two bottles of cheap Californian white.”

“Just makin’ conversation, lady. Y’all have a good night at your wine party, or whatever.”

You huff as you shove the plastic bag on the passenger seat and hop into your car, still rolling your eyes in misplaced frustration at the young cashier. You knew you were in the wrong, taking your heartbreak and loneliness out on a spotty kid working minimum wage. For a moment, you consider driving to a bar, seeking some sort of solace in the company of strangers.

But every bar in town would be celebrating, you remind yourself. The last thing you want is to ring in the new year being felt up by someone’s greasy uncle in an ill-fitting denim shirt and bolo tie, reeking of cheap whiskey. 

In that moment, the yellow glow emanating from the signage over the branch of Danny’s Restaurant, across the street, catches your eye like a beacon. 

Perfect.

***

Javier’s truck pulls into the parking lot of the convenience store, pausing to let a woman driving a beat-up compact pass on her way out. He’s got his heart set on a half-pounder and fries from Danny’s - extra pickles, extra mayo - but wants to pick up some beers and cigarettes first, to keep him going for the rest of the night.

The cashier rings up his six-pack and Marlboros, sighing as they place them in a bag. “Havin’ a party, huh,” the kid mutters, barely making eye contact with their customer.

“Pretty mean party, just a six-pack and a box of smokes,” Javier responds.

The kid stares up at him. “Whatever. Smokin’s bad for you, anyway.”

Javier wheels around as he exits the store. “I know. Don’t care. Quitting’s my New Year’s resolution so I gotta make the most of them tonight.”

***

“So that’s a Danny’s Special, hold the pickles, extra lettuce, and a Diet Coke?”

You nod up at the waitress and hand her the menu with a smile. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window of the restaurant, and for a moment you don’t recognise the woman you see.

When did you get so old, you wonder? Where did you - or at least, the you that used to be - go? 

Still, at least you’d put on some 501s, a fresh white scoop neck top, and a long-line cardigan for your first venture outside your family home in several days. Sure, it might just be for a trip to the convenience store and Danny’s, but even you had standards.

The waitress returns with your drink and the usual complimentary tray of chips and salsa. The restaurant is probably a little quieter than usual for this time of the evening: a couple of families in booths here and there, a few lone diners at the counter. As you nibble idly on the chips, you half-notice a dark-haired man coming through the door a little after you, placing his order quickly at the counter before he’s even been seated. 

It was just what you were after: no countdowns, no forced merriment, no crowds, but just enough hum and background noise to break up the silence that otherwise awaited you. 

“One Danny’s special.”

You thank the waitress and sigh with anticipation as you lift your burger, take your first bite, and find your mouth filled with the overpowering taste of pickles.

***

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Uh, I think my order got mixed up - I asked for no pickles, and this burger has…”

You become aware of the dark-haired man signalling to another staff member behind the counter, pointing at his burger in much the same way as you. 

There’s something familiar about him - about his body language, his profile, the way he carries himself. 

And then it hits you.

“Javi?”

***

How long has it been? Twenty years? Twenty-five?

No matter the number, when the shock of recognition has the power to jolt you back through time like this. Back to another New Year’s Eve, someone’s shitty house party, most of your senior year classmates wasted on cheap beer and tequila. Still an hour or two before midnight and already the party has split into two camps: the lovers, making out on every conceivable surface, and the fighters, yelling and screeching and walking off.

And then there were those who combined both roles, whose loving felt a lot like fighting and vice versa. 

Like Lorraine and Javi.

In your mind's eye, you're back in the upstairs hallway of that house, wearing your new flared jeans and ditsy print blouse and picking your way over classmates and half-drunk plastic cups of beer as you seek out the bathroom. 

A couple is rowing in one of the bedrooms, the door ajar enough for you to be able to peek in. 

You know you shouldn’t, but…

“You’re such a dick, Javi! You know what you did!”

Ah. Lorraine and Javi. Lovers and fighters.

“You stand there and accuse me, Lorraine, but where were you at the time?”

Lorraine tosses her perfect blonde hair indignantly.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Fuck you, Javier.”

She doesn’t even notice you as she flounces out of the room. Same as it ever was. You’d always had a tendency to blend into the background. 

Javi notices you, though. “Did you enjoy the show?”

You step around the door and look in at him nervously. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but you guys were pretty loud…”

He’s got his back to you as he sits on the side of the bed, impossibly broad in his tight, striped shirt. 

You wander into the room and closer to him, emboldened by a couple of weak beers. “Are you okay?”

His dark eyes look into yours in surprise, as if he’s unused to being asked the question.

“I guess… it’s just - ah, fuck it. She seems to think I’m always cheating on her - and I’m not, I swear - but won’t explain why she’s gotta spend so much time ‘revising’ with other guys.”

“Maybe she’s just helping them prepare for the SATs?”

He looks at you, and you notice the sadness in his eyes. “Maybe. I dunno. She shouldn’t go off on me about this stuff, though.” He takes a swig from a bottle of beer and exhales. “Fuckin’ hate New Year’s.”

“Me too.” 

He huffs a laugh and smiles at you. “I’m in good company, then.”

You see in the new year sitting side by side on the back porch, sharing a small bottle of cheap bourbon and swapping stories about your plans for the future, your hopes and dreams.

Javier Peña tells you he’s going to change the world.

And then school starts again, and Lorraine and Javi make up, and that’s the last time you talk to him other than a mumbled “Hi” in the hallway now and again. 

Until tonight.

***

He slides into the seat opposite you and shakes his head with a smile. “All these years, and it took a mix-up about pickles to bring us back together again.”

You shrug, taking in the man he had become: handsome, charming, cool, even, but with the same lingering sadness haunting those beautiful eyes. 

“Of all the family restaurants in all of Texas,” you offer.

“You had to walk into mine,” he responds, taking the bait. “Or into this branch of Danny’s, at least.”

You tilt your head to look at him. “What’s a hero doing alone on New Year’s Eve, anyway?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not a hero. And don’t you remember? I don’t like New Year’s. Fuckin’ hate it, in fact. Told you that, all those years ago.”

“You did, didn’t you?” 

The waitress returns carrying your two freshly-prepared, correct orders and a large helping of apologies. “We’ll be sure to bring you over some more chips, too, and the drinks are on the house.”

Javier clinks his glass off yours. “Maybe this year is looking up already. What about you, anyway - what brings you back home?”

“My fiancé dumped me four days before Christmas,” you explain, dipping a French fry into a pot of chipotle mayo. “So what else is a girl to do but run home to mama, legal career or no legal career?”

“Fuck, that’s rough.” Javier seems genuinely sympathetic. He takes a bite of his burger and chews it thoughtfully. “So no New Year’s parties for you either, huh?”

You shake your head. “I would rather be dipped in boiling oil.”

He laughs, revealing the crinkles around his eyes that only serve to make him even more handsome as he enters middle age. Why do these little signs of ageing always look good on men, you wonder, but make a woman feel like she’s failed?

“Would you be opposed to a party for two?” he asks quietly. “Theme is: Fuck New Year’s.”

You grin. “Just like old times. Count me in.”

***

You hear the bells of San Agustín ringing in the new year from the back porch of your mother’s house. Javier clinks his whiskey tumbler off your glass of white wine. 

“A happy fuck new year’s to you.”

“And a happy fuck new year’s to you, too. You got any resolutions, Javi?”

He takes a long, satisfying drag on his cigarette before handing it to you. “Quit smoking. You?”

“No more men. Think you’ll stick to it?”

He raises an eyebrow at your resolution and smiles as he looks out into the night. “We’ll see. Hearing good things about those nicotine patches.” And then those penetrating, sad eyes are on you. “What about you? Think you’ll stick to your resolution?”

You meet his gaze and give him a knowing smile. “We’ll see. Might find someone worth breaking it for.”

#pickled peña #pickled peña writing challenge #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #pickledpeña writing challenge #pickledpeña #pickledpena

[nerdieforpedro]

Chucho’s Magic Pickles

A Pickled Peña Fic

Javier Peña x Luna (plus size OFC)

Fanfiction 18+

Javier Pena Masterlist / Main Masterlist / A03 link

Word Count: approx 3.2k

Warnings: Chucho is his own warning (we kinda see where Javi gets it from), food (besides the pickles - this is me people), father/son time, overuse of pickles, angst, cursing, fluff

Summary: Javier Peña had something that he wanted to discuss with Luna. His father’s been mentioning it every chance he gets. Chucho sings of the wonders he has found with his jar of gherkins.

Notes: I actually had a difficult time coming up with an idea for this fic because I haven’t written much for Javi P. I enjoyed giving him a bit of comedy because my other fics with him were angsty. Hopefully I can write some more fics for him this year. 😎 I dabbled in Canva for the graphic and the banner. 💚

Luna knew several things:

Her coworker Anna needed to come back to work to pick up her part of this project.

Her boyfriend’s father was the cutest old man who seemed to call every woman at the clinic he went to “Bonita (pretty)” and reserved “Hermosa (gorgeous)” for the older receptionist, Maria, who she may or may not have seen at his house when she dropped off food to him on occasion.

She wasn’t sure if she should tell her boyfriend about this, but she did encourage Chucho to talk to his son about it.

She’s been with her boyfriend for two years and she’s very happy with that. She doesn’t want anything to change. It’s the happiest she’s been in years.

Chucho sat on the couch, patting his thigh. He’d just come in from brushing the horses when he heard a truck pull up. It belonged to his only child Javier. He was happy to see him, they agreed to have lunch twice a week now he was home from Columbia and retired from the DEA. There were many things said about his son, some of which he’d heard from a few of his lady friends. They said that he was a coward for running away from his then fiance at the time, all the way to Columbia. They also said that his son had quite a way with women, not unlike Chucho did back before he met his dear late wife. He took all these with a grain of salt, especially when he finally returned to the United States.

He worried for his son, who he thought may remain unmoored while back in Loredo. It turns out, it was for naught as Javier worked with the sheriff’s department. He had responded to a sighting of a fugitive which didn’t pan out, it was an overeager young cop who thought they saw someone on the most wanted list but it was really old man Loggins who hadn’t been by the barbershop in two months due to a fishing trip and not wanting to leave his house.

As Javier walked up the steps to his father’s porch, he carried some lasagna that he was handed in town to deliver to his father from one of Chucho’s lady friends Ms. Lucia. It reminded him of when he met Luna, his girlfriend, she had been eating the same meal that day.

Two years prior…

It was a blistering hot day in Loredo, temperatures were over one-hundred degrees in the direct sun and even in the shade, they hovered around ninety-five degrees. Despite Javier forgoing his tan jacket to match the tan pants and shirt that went with his uniform, he still had large wet spots under his arms and around his neck. He stopped in Ms. Lucia’s restaurant hoping she’d take pity on him and not charge him for some iced tea. He wouldn’t be getting any whiskey until after he was off duty. His drinking had significantly cut down due to his hours, but his smoking not so much. Thankfully, Ms. Lucia gave him the water and iced tea in exchange for saying hello to his father for her. His father was popular with the older women despite spending most of his time on his range with the animals. The restaurant was fairly full for the lunchtime crowd and there weren’t really any open seats, Ms. Lucia walked Peña over to a table and sat him down across from a woman in a baby blue sundress.

He saw a woman who had a sheen to her skin from the heat despite the air conditioning. It was likely from the number of people in the restaurant, talking, eating, laughing and the like. She had a head full of hair and a mouth full of pasta when she looked up after hearing something across the table he assumed and covered her mouth as she was confronted with a grinning Javier sipping some cold ice water, feeling a few drops dribble down his chin and chest. It felt refreshing in this sweltering heat. The woman swallowed her food, her wide eyes trying to figure out who he was. He didn’t recognize her so she might be a transplant, just moved back or someone who came after he left. She cleared her throat and sipped some of her own water that some of the ice had melted clearly.

“Sorry about that. I didn't expect Ms. Lucia would sit someone at my table. I thought she’d give me a warning at least.” She smiled softly, clearly a little embarrassed but he found it endearing that and the small splotch of tomato sauce that was on the corner of her mouth. Peña grabbed a paper napkin from the dispenser in the middle of the table and tapped her cheek, wiping inward toward where the sauce was. He surprised himself by the action, he’d meant to hand it to her and point it out, but his hand moved on its own. What surprised him more is that she didn’t move, she just let him wipe her cheek, closing her eyes for a moment until he pulled back.

“Did you get it all?”

“Yes I did. Are you typically a messy eater?”

A soft chuckle rolled from Javier as he sat back, setting the napkin on the table. The woman folded her hands and sat a bit straighter, exposing that her sundress was form fitting on the top, hugging her chest, while it looked like the bottom flowed out from under her bust, it had short sleeves that stopped short of her elbows and were similarly stained as his shirt was.

“I can be at times. The lasagna here is delicious. Thanks for wiping that for me.” He saw her move a non-existent piece of hair behind her ear, probably a nervous habit. “I haven’t seen you here before? Do you know Ms. Lucia?” She asked, drawing him back from watching her movements.

“Yes, I knew her from when I was little and she’s aquanitted with my father.” A sentence Javier never imagined saying, he’d found that he’s said it a times about several women his father knew. He found himself wondering if this is how people thought of him, in Columbia and when he was last in Loredo. Her brows furrowed, did she know his father too? Normally Chucho went for age appropriate women, this would be a first that his father had a lady friend in his age group.

“Is your father Mr. Chucho? I see him sometimes at the market a few times a month. I remember him because he always had his large white hat on and a big smile. You guys have the same mustache.” A loud giggle made her body bounce. Javier shook his head and smiled, but was still unsure if he liked being compared to his father or not.

He nodded adding, “I don’t know about the mustache though. Mine still has color.” Pena flashed a toothy smile as he watched her face soften after her laugh. “What’s your name cariño (dear)?” Javier took a few more swallows of his water before setting the empty glass down, licking the last of the water off his lips. He watched as she tilted her head, grinning.

“You haven’t told me yours yet you know, but because I’m nice and you did see me with a mouthful of pasta, I will answer. My name’s Luna, Luna Stevens. Given who your father is, I assume your last name is Peña?” She quipped and his eyebrow raised, she was a smart one, he liked that. He reached across the table again and held her hand.

“My name is Javier Peña. You come here often, Mrs. Stevens?” He asked, eliciting another laugh with his cheesy joke. She squeezed his hand when she answered.

“I do and it’s Ms. Stevens. Never been married, no children. You?”

“Almost was once, but never did. No children either.”

After establishing some very basic facts about each other, it took about an hour before Peña’s partner came looking for him and said they had to head back to the office. Javier frowned but duty called. He stood and so did Luna, she walked him to the door, stating that she also had to get back to work, she’d been gone for too long. Thankfully, it wasn’t so busy today so she’d be able to catch up. Before Peña could ask, she told him that it could be made up to her with a date and handed him her phone number and name on a napkin. She told him to keep it safe and Javier did. He stuck it in his front chest pocket so no sweat would get on it and called the number that night. They ended up talking for a few more hours and set up a date later that week.

Back on Chucho’s porch…

“Hey old man! I’m here. You alright in there?” Javier walked into his father’s home, heading to the kitchen first to put the dish in the fridge and then went to the living room. He watched as his father had his hand in a jar of pickles, removing one and gave it a loud crunch.

“Hey hijo (son)! In here!” Chucho waved with his free hand and continued to chew the pickle before swallowing it and washing it down with some whiskey.

“You can’t be drinking that. It’s the middle of the day and didn’t the doctor tell you to back off a bit?” Javier chides him and takes the glass, downing the remainder of it. Chucho frowns.

“I’m an old man. Leave me be. It cleans out the pipes. Plus the pickles will wash it out too. Want one?” He offered and Javier declined, going back into the kitchen and pouring two glasses of water. He set one next to his father and sat in the chair across from him.

“This is your lunch, these pickles? I bought lasagna from Ms. Lucia, now you’re not gonna eat it.”

“I’ll still have room for the food. Don’t worry hijo. Plus I need to eat just a few more just to be ready for tonight. You should consider some of these. Maybe then I’ll see you married with children before I meet your mother again.” Chucho finished his current pickle and started another one pointing it at his son, “I know you’ll tell me no. But don’t tell me you haven’t thought about moving Luna into your house and making an honest woman out of her. Neither of you are spring chickens and these pickles have been better than those little blue pills they show on TV. Now I have two things I want from you hijo for the upcoming year: the first is to at least ask Luna to move in with you and second, is to Maria on a small road trip.”

Javier slumps back in the chair and covers his face, he is not having this conversation with father and he cannot take this seriously while he is eating pickles.

“Pop, I’m gonna go. You enjoy your pickles and I’ll be back later this week when you don’t have your hand in that jar, okay?” He stood up and left, sitting in his truck for a bit before driving back home. Luna was supposed to be stopping by tonight for dinner and a movie so he was going to straighten up the house and make some tamales and rice.

He would like to talk about what they’re future was going to look like. Had he still been in Columbia he’d be fine with having a life separate from the woman he was seeing. That was actually necessary both there and when dealing with the Cali cartel. Now he’s at peace, sort of, he was out of the DEA and now just keeping track of weird shit that happened with cows, horses and highways. It was boring, but a good boring that he welcomed along with something he never thought he’d have, a steady girlfriend and at this point, he felt she was a partner. Not in the same way Steve had been but someone who he could rely on, like when he got sick with whatever flu that was, she took a few days off to stay with him and take care of him. Maybe he pouted a little extra and got her to feed him a bit but he was sick and not feeling well and why can’t he be babied a little? Point is, Luna did it with only minimal teasing and even gave him a back massage too.

Luna arrived at Javier's house at seven on the dot. He promised her dinner, a movie and knowing her Javi, they may make it to the bedroom or not. She brought some wine and chocolate cake that she had made the day before when she’d gotten home earlier. Javier wasn’t really one for sweets, but she could convince him of some red wine and cake after dinner. She knocked on the door and heard him yell that he was coming. Javier wore a light blue polo shirt with a pair of dark wash jeans. He didn’t have any socks on and she frowned, he’d just gotten over a cold not too long ago.

“Javier, where are your socks?” Luna asked as he took both bags that she had been carrying, while she held onto her purse. She was wearing a purple sundress that had a deep V in the front and was complemented by her red lipstick and black ballet flats. Luna reached in her purse and pulled out a small bag when she had a small pair of slippers. She made a point to put them on in the foyer so Javier would see.

“Bebita (baby girl) relax. I’ll go put something on my feet in a few. Let me take the wine and dessert out, then I’ll go set your overnight bag in the room.” He gave her a small kiss on her cheek, followed by one on her neck, purposely rubbing his mustache against her skin. That earned him a giggle from her and removed her frown. She entered the kitchen and removed the cake, wine and a gift she had gotten from Chucho earlier in the week. The elder had told her that his son loves them so she figured she would bring them over and Javi would eat them later. They don’t quite go with the tamales they were going to eat tonight.

Javier returned to the kitchen and saw an abomination of his counter, Luna was dishing up their plates and turned to her boyfriend confused by the look of anger on his face. “Javi? Javier? What’s wrong? I normally dish up the plates.” Shaking his head, he stomped over and picked up the jar, shaking it.

“This! These damn things! Why are they here? Did you bring them?” Peña screamed and Luna was taken aback, never in their two years together had this happened. Sure she’s seen him pissed but never yelling. Setting down the plates, she crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Javier Peña. Why are you yelling at me right now? Are you really yelling at me about pickles?” She questioned, confused as to why pickles of all things would set him off.

For the last few weeks, Chucho has been preaching to Javier about the merits and blessing of pickles both for health and in the bedroom. He needed no help in either place he assured him, but then he would talk about marriage and for Javi not be scared of it. It’s a good thing, obviously Luna is not Lorraine. She’s not trying to trick you into anything. Hell, he’d never heard the woman say the words marriage, bride, wedding or engagement. On the same token, because it’s never been talked about, it also felt like he could never bring it up.

“I just need these out of my house Luna. I can’t look at them.” He set the jar down as they both looked at it. “Lo siento mi amor (I’m sorry my love). My father keeps talking about what his magical pickles can do for him and mar-marinating them.” Javier embraced Luna and she wrapped her arms around his back, she took a step back to look at him.

“Your father only marriantes meat Javier. What else does Chucho speak to you about? What aren’t you telling me Javi?” She asked, knowing him well enough that when he sucks on his bottom lip like that, he’s holding back something. Javier sighed and released her, starting to pace with his hands behind his head.

“You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?” He fired back.

“That makes no sense, you have lunch with your father twice a week, while I’m at work. How would I be-”

“I mean after work, before work and on weekends. You’re not here. You’re at your apartment and he might not keep bugging me about marriage and kids if you were here with me in my house. We’re going to go into another year without talking about it.” Javier has let it all out, though angrily instead of calm and over dinner like he planned. Fucking pickles. He snuck a glance at them before looking back at a bewildered Luna.

“So, your father, bugging you about getting married and having children, is my fault because I haven’t moved in with you? Javier, I am a woman in her late thirties living in Texas! You don’t think I hear that weekly and sometimes daily, especially this time of year!” Luna yelled back, Javier took a few steps to the left, placing the kitchen island between him and his girlfriend. She pressed her palms into the island and exhaled. “What do you want Javi? Do you want to marry me? Do you even want children? We’ve never talked about this. I’d been nervous to bring it up because I don’t really care either way.” Luna’s voice softened, “I’m just happy to be with you Javier. Do we need to do all those other things?”

Peña cleared his throat and walked over to Luna, kissing her forehead and took her hands in his, “Mi amor, I’m so sorry. I love you too and I don’t need anything else. Never really thought about having them to be honest. I do know I would like to wake up to you without seeing that damn overnight bag in the corner of the bedroom.” The pair raised their hands together and laughed again, making their way back over to the food, dishing it up and sitting down at the table. After finishing dinner, they popped open the wine and cut up a few slices of cake. Luna brought over the jar of pickles to watch ‘The Last Seduction’ Javier squinted his eyes at the jar as she set it on the coffee table.

“I figured since it made us have a serious conversation, sort of. The pickles could join. Maybe there’s something to what Chucho says.” Luna chuckled as she curls up in Javi’s arms and he leans his head back on the couch.

“You, my father and these damn pickles. As soon as you doze off during this movie, I’m tossing them. Don’t accept any more pickles from Pop. he needs to keep them over on his ranch.” Taking a sip of the wine, Javier started the move and kissed Luna’s shoulder.

He cut his eyes at the pickles again - fucking magic pickles. Javier would never tell his father that the old man may have been onto something.

Admirers of Javier’s pouty lips 👄 :

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[pickled-pena]

There's still time to get your Pickled-Peña fics completed! 💛🥒

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[lady-bess]

Getting In A Pickle

My entry for the @pickled-pena Writing Challenge!

Javier Peña x F!Reader

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

Words: 4k

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

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

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

New Year’s Eve, 1992.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it tasted like piss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were wrong.

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

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

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

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

Why could neither of you see it?

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

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

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

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

Until…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was now or never.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year!

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