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sirenasmodeus · 1 month ago

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wicked game

Javier Peña x married!fem!reader

synopsis: You were a happily married woman, your husband— Carlos Hernandez— and you worked for the Gentlemen of Cali, him as a sicario turned guard and you as a manager turned advisor. But the once happy marriage took a nosedive when you were sent off to Medellín to get close to a DEA agent by any means necessary.

a/n: Sooo... this is a thing 👍, isn't that lovely. This, in all honesty, was not going to be written for a looong time. But after @alfiestreacle expressed some interest in this, I got to work. It was a breeze to write for the most part but as I got towards the end (specifically from the meeting with Don Berna onwards) I struggled a bit with completing this (low-key wanted to give up but I persisted! Only because I didn't want to leave afliestreacle hanging, so if you're reading this and enjoy even a little you should thank them). Oh! And the Spanish dialogue in the scene where Trujillo is talking to Javi and Steve is directly lifted from the show

thanks to: @katwriteshardy for translating the dialogue and spotting a typo that I had missed (effectively saving me from embarrassment), you're an absolute angel and I can not thank you enough 🩵

word count: 13.1k

content warnings: 18+ mdni, Espionage (technically), Mentions of violence against women and children, Mentions of death, Betrayal, Feelings of guilt, Infidelity/Cheating (reader and Javi, obviously), Smut, Fingering, A plethora of love bites, Riding (?? Idk the semantics of different sex positions, so idk if it could be considered that when there's no penetration), If I missed anything that you feel should be added let me know

Soft lips pressing into your shoulder drew you out of your sleep as an arm wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him. You hum pleasantly as you turn around to face your husband, pressing a resounding kiss on his lips.

"Good morning, mi amor," you say, sleep lingering in your voice.

Your husband's, Carlos Hernandez, hands slipped under your silk pyjama top. The tips of his fingers brushing against your breasts before reading a nipple as he sucked on your neck leaving a visible claim on you even if you were going to cover it up with makeup. "You look beautiful today," he whispers as you hand brushes through his hair.

You laugh heartily as his words. He said that every morning without fail for the past two years after you had gotten married and for two years before that when you first started working for the Los Caballeros de Cali as manager for their more legitimate businesses. You had quickly risen in rank, going from handling clerical office work to being somewhat of an advisor to the Gentlemen.

Carlos, when you two had first met, had been an enforcer of sorts, chasing the tail of newest pretty thing in his vicinity. Just last year he, himself, had rose through the ranks and started working security for the Rodríguez brothers.

"I have to get ready for work," you inform your husband who continued to kiss down your neck and across your shoulder. His hand squeezes at your breast, a rumbling groan leaving him.

"Peudes llegar tarde," he says off-handedly. "No tienes que trabajar tan duro ahora."

His words held some truth, you didn't always have to be on time because you didn't have a lot of work to do. Your days of doing clerical work were over for a while now, but the routine was something you liked. Waking up at six, getting ready for your day, making breakfast for yourself and now your husband before gathering your work bag and slipping on your heels and walking out your front door to drive to work: it was how you liked to live your life, the structure giving you peace of mind.

"Not today," you say as you push his arms away. "I have to deal with the DEA."

"Esos malparidos," Carlos sputters angrily, getting out of bed as well. "No quiero esos hijueputas cerca de ti. Le voy a hablar a Don Miguel."

"No," you say immediately, turning back to face him as frustration bubbled up in you. "Carlos, you're not going to do that, ¿Si?"

Carlos brushes you off, stomping through your bedroom, unswayed by your demand. You loved him— you did— but it was moments like these that made you wish you had never gotten involved with the cartel. Your only comfort being that your hands were not irrevocably stained with blood.

"Carlos!" You yell after him, already feeling the pressure in your head building up to a headache. You grab his hand, hoping to calm him down enough before he does something stupid again. "Mira, Carlos, déjalo así. Miguel is the one that asked me to do this, okay?"

He clicked his tongue in annoyance but said nothing further, making his way to the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee, his face tastes into a scowl. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you made your way to your bathroom to get ready for the day.

Your nerves were frayed; it was a big ask of Miguel, for you to get close to the agents and possibly be an informant, to walk up to those DEA agents and enthrall them, supply them with good enough tips against Pablo fucking Escobar to keep them hooked. But you didn't have a choice, not after your husband's short fuse got the best of him.

You searched your wardrobe for something to wear. You contemplate if the blue square-necked sheath dress would be fine. Perhaps with your red heels. Checking your watch, you realise you were pressed for time. You hurry to get dressed, keeping your make-up minimal before pinning half your hair out of the way.

Grabbing your red handbag and slipping own your heels you rush out of your bedroom, foregoing breakfast. "I'm heading out, mi amor," you call out, grabbing your car keys from the bowl near your front door.

You drive to a cafe that is a street away from their base of operations. How you were going to— for all intents and purposes— infiltrate the National Army and the DEA, you didn't know. But you needed to figure it out fast because the meeting that Miguel had organised was going to happen in half an hour.

You needed to be smart about this.

Your heels clicked against the linoleum floor. You take a seat at a table further back. You order a coffee, waiting patiently for an Agent Peña.

You sip your cup of coffee, your eyes trained on the door. Waiting and waiting. Fifteen minutes go by before a man walks in. You straightened your posture, steeling your nerves. His hand smoothed over his moustache as his eyes scanned over the patrons of the cafe before it landed on you.

His stride was confident as he walked up to you, pulling out the chair opposite you, he took a seat. He deftly unbuttoned his suit jacket and adjusted his tie; the creme suit fitted him well, adding to his dashing appearance.

"What's this about?" He wastes no time in getting to the point. You could see the annoyance in his eyes, like this was a chore or like he was doing you a favour.

"I have information that I'm sure you'll find use for," you say in Spanish, your voice quiet— careful of eavesdroppers. "My husband works for someone that works for Pablo."

"¿Y por qué la mujer de un sicario está tan dispuesta a vender secretos?" he says, glancing at your wedding ring.

You place your hand over it, hiding it from view. You swallow nervously, putting on a act of a terrified wife. "My husband," you begin. "Estamos… estamos intentando tener un hijo. I told him I wouldn't have a child until he left the cartel. Él dijo que no podía hacer eso."

You choke on your words, eyes misty with unshed tears. A deep discomfort shadowed his features, his dark brown eyes softening a fraction. "Look, ma'am, I appreciate what you're trying to do but–"

You cut him off my removing an envelope from your handbag and sliding it over to him. "A list of names that my husband let slip when he was drunk," your voice small and scared. "I… I don't know who they are or what they do but it seemed like they were higher up the food chain."

He stares at the envelope for a moment too long before looking at you through his eyelashes, studying you, committing every detail and micro-expression to memory. Silence stretches on for what feels like an hour, he takes the envelope— his eyes never leaving yours— slipping it into the inside of his jacket. "Okay," he concedes, removing a cigarette, placing it between his lips.

He patted his pockets, searching for his lighter. You watched with amusement as his brows furrowed, his lip curling in frustration, your own lip twitched up in half a smile. Reaching into your bag you pull out your lighter, a vintage piece with floral engravings that once belong to your mother. You extend your hand, the flame flickering to life between you two.

Agent Peña paused in his search, eyes travelling from the lighter in your hand, up your arm across your collarbone and up once more to your face, catching on your lips for too quick a moment before meeting your own eyes. His hand comes up, wrapping around the back of your hand, his thumb pressing into your palm, holding you steady as he leans forward— his cigarette that hung precariously from his lips that seemed so… inviting.

He pulls back, the grounding weight of his hand leaving yours. Agent Peña takes a drag of his cigarette, rising from his seat. He stood over you, your neck craning back a little to maintain eye contact— it was instinctive, you not wanting to not look at him— your breath catches, lips pressing together before your bottom lip is caught by your teeth.

You rise slowly from your chair, your little red handbag clutched in front of you. "I should go," your voice soft, nervousness seeping through as expected of a housewife in such a situation. "My husband thinks I'm running errands."

He nods silently, stepping out of your way. You walk through the path created between the round table and him, your shoulder brushing against him— fleeting and feather-light. You make it a few steps away before you turn around to face him one last time. "My number is in there as well," you inform him lowly, your eyes hooded as you give him a polite smile.

You do end up running some errands after your meeting, needing to restock your kitchen cabinets and fridge. You had even bought some apples make a tart, the craving striking you as unexpectedly as a bolt of lightning.

After unlocking your front door, you toe off your heels, tossing your keys into the bowl. "I'm home," you call out as you make your way to the kitchen.

The house was silent, too silent. If Carlos was sleeping, the radio would be on. If he was awake you would hear him shuffling about. There's no way he would be out, it was the only condition set by the Rodríguez brothers for him joining me in Medellín— Carlos Hernandez was not to be seen in Medellín, not with Pablo being so volatile.

You place your groceries on the counter when you spot a note weighted down by a vase filled with wilting flowers, you make a mental note to buy new ones the tine you're out as you take the note.

Me llamaron devuelta.

You let out a disbelieving breath as you ball up his note and toss it into the bin. He had to have begged them to let him go back to Cali; your husband wasn't needed to protect the brothers, they had better men for that, but they needed to keep a short leash on him after that incident.

You take in a calming breath, now was not the time for you to be indignant. You walk into your living room, reaching for the telephone you dial Miguel's number. The phone rings with no answer. You hang up before deciding to call Pacho, he answers after the second ring. "Hola," He speaks.

"Pacho, it's me," you reply. "Miguel isn't answering the phone. Be a darling and tell him I made contact with the target."

He drawls your name, and you can see it in your mind's eye him leaning back in whatever he was sitting in as relaxed as he could be in any given situation. "How are you and that husband of yours?"

"Fine," you reply curtly. "You'll make sure Miguel knows?"

"Yes, yes," he says casually. "I'll let him know."

"Thanks," you hang up without further pleasantries. You make your way back to the kitchen, putting everything away in its correct place. You grab the checkered apron that hung from a hook next to a cabinet, putting it on with a scowl as you start preparing everything you need to make the apple tart you had been craving.

You angrily cut four apples into thin slices, pausing for a moment before adding one more apple. You toss it into a large bowl, adding about a third of a cup of brown sugar, half a lemon's worth of juice, two teaspoons of ground cinnamon and a teaspoon of vanilla extract— mixing it all together.

You set your oven to a hundred and eighty degrees and begin making the crust. As you press the crust into the tray you hum a song that you heard when you were in America for a short time last year, it remained stuck in your head.

What a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you

You didn't remember all the lyrics, or even the melody of it all that well. But that was a line that you had recalled with startling clarity. It had struck you when you first heard it on the radio in some taxi in New York, that haunting grief of realisation and that desperate need to protect oneself from the hurt that loving someone will eventually bring.

You arrange the apple slices in a spiral, your movements mechanical as your mind drifts off, thinking of Carlos; you didn't know why, but in the past few weeks— before Miguel had even assigned this job to you— he swung between wildly between the loving husband you knew and some twisted cold version of himself that took issue with everything. You tried to speak to him about his erratic behaviour, but quickly found that he would turn icy and pull away for days instead of hours.

So, you let it be.

It wasn't a fight you wanted to keep having, content to take his love and adoration when he was in a better mood. You washed the dishes that piled up in the sink after putting the apple tart into oven. You tidied the house up before plopping down on a sofa and turned on the television to watch an episode of Vuelo secreto, a new show that debuted in the beginning of the year, switching to the news after it ended.

When your timer went off, you hurried back to the kitchen to take the apple tart to let it cool for later when you have some coffee. You debate, for a moment, on whether or not to try reaching out to Carlos— his plane would've landed in Cali by now. Perhaps you should just let him take a day or two to cool off. No man, you supposed, would be happy about their wives having to seduce a member of the opposition even if it meant nothing; purely a means to an end.

You spent the rest of your day idling away at home, having no reason to step out again. You had turned the television off a while ago, preferring the droning of the radio as you fold some laundry and re-organising your wardrobe, this time arranging it by type then colour.

You sat at the edge of your bed when you were finished with your menial tasks, hands folded in your lap as you sighed. You glance back to the digital clock on your nightstand; 18:23 it read, the sun beginning it's descent for the day. You were miserably bored. If your husband were here, you would've continued what he started this morning, maybe actually make your lie to that agent true.

It took two days for Agent Peña to call you, thanking you for the list and asking if could come in to fill in some paperwork to make whatever information you provide legal and thus actionable. You gave him a tentative time that you could meet, needing to loop in the Rodríguez brothers who gave you the go-ahead to give whatever information you wanted to cement your usefulness.

You had gotten dressed in jeans and a silk shirt, one of your favourites, your jewellery simple much like your make-up. The drive to the Holguín was quiet, you were too mentally exhausted to really care that you were going to be surrounded by police officers and military personnel.

The click-clack of your heels, a black pair this time and much shorter, echoed through the halls as you strode in. Your eyes trained ahead of you, singularly focused. "I'm here to see Agent Peña," you say to a plain clothes officer with an amiable smile.

He shouts for Agent Peña, who has a cigarette hanging between his lips something you're sure is an exceedingly common sight. You stroll up to him, staring down at his seated figure. "You said there were some form I needed to fill," you say, your voice steady as you glance to the agent— Murphy, if you recalled correctly— giving him a nod of acknowledgement. You see the curiosity in his glinting in his striking blue eyes and the way his brows furrow.

"Yeah," Agent Peña scrambles through the papers and files on his desk, searching for the relevant ones. You stood to the side of their pushed-together desks, statueque as you catalogued the comings and goings of everyone, catching bits and pieces of idle chatter. "Here it is." He says, handing over four pages worth of official documents for you to read and fill in.

"Thank you," you say as you take the paper. "When should I have these returned by?"

"You need to fill them in here," he counters, rising from his seat offering it to you in a surprising gesture.

You slowly seat yourself, Agent Peña hovering behind you a hand of his resting on his hip as the other fidgeted with his moustache compulsively. You reached into your handbag, pulling out a fountain pen that you always carried with you along a few other essentials. You uncapped the pen, resting it between two fingers as you read over the form.

You leaned back in the chair that was wholly uncomfortable— perhaps that was a strategy their employers used, make their 'office' so terribly uncomfortable that they rushed to find intel so they can get out on the streets; the thought amused, having to suppress a chuckle— as you folded one leg over the other, your foot tapping rhythmically.

With a satisfied hum you place the papers back on the desk before filling in all the relevant information, putting the cap back on your pen. "Will that be all, Agent Peña?" Your voice mellifluent as you looked up at him, innocent and doe-eyed.

"Yeah, that's it," he confirmed, you take his proffered hand as you move to stand up. His hand was warm and a little rough, no doubt from handling a gun day in and out as well as other on-duty injuries. "Let me walk you out."

You nod in assent, letting him guide you through the halls. You're aware of the stare of that other agent, knowing he will have questions for Agent Peña once he returns. "That information," you start. "My name, address, all of it will be kept confidential?"

"It will," he confirms, putting your non-existent fear to rest. "None of it will track back to you. That list, it was good intel. We know who to keep an eye on because of you."

"I don't know how to act as if I don't know what he's apart of," you confess quietly. "I can barely look at him without thinking about how many people he probably killed." You take in a calming breath, staring up at the sky for a second, willing the distraught tears of a sweet housewife not to fall, trying to maintain an illusion of dignity.

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder in a gesture of comfort, despite the discomfort he must be feeling. "There's nothing you can do to change the past," he says, his hand gliding down and away. "You did the right thing coming forward with this. Others would've just looked the other way."

"What will happen to my husband?" You asked, your eyes searching his.

He hesitated, trying to find the right words. He shrugs, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Who knows," he says, a bone-deep tiredness undercutting his voice. "If he flips maybe he could cut a deal."

"He won't," you say softly as you examine him. "Could I have a cigarette?" You ask impulsively. It was a habit you were trying to quit since you got married but thus far you've been unsuccessful, preferring to have a smoke or two away from your husband and mother-in-law's prying eyes.

He lets out an amused huff as he hands one to you, offering a light just as you did for him. You take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs as the noon sun warms your skin. You feel the weight of his eyes boring into the side of your face.

His eye's traces the slope of your nose, the curve your lips, taking in the softness of your cheeks and the elegance that seemed innate to you. In just two days you had worked your way into his mind, something about you had his hackles rising despite the fact that all he wanted to do was relax in your presence— the soothing lilt of your voice, a balm to the cynicism that kept growing throughout the war.

He ripped his eyes away from you, a sigh leaving him as he shook his head. Something wasn't right. Or maybe he was paranoid, maybe he was finally losing it. Seeing things where there wasn't anything.

If the list you had given him was any indication, you had good information— information that could recontextualise Escobar's inner circle after his escape, who moved up in the ranks. You were a veritable gold mine. And not to be trusted.

"How did you figure out La Quica moved up?" He questioned casually as he blew out a puff of smoke.

"I told you," you respond. "My husband was drunk and he was ranting."

"He's never done that before?" His brows furrowed.

"Rant?" You clarify. "He has, just never about anything like this. Not about anything important."

"When we get Escobar and his men," he started, his voice grave. "Your husband is going to get caught in the crossfire. He'll be lucky if he only gets imprisoned."

"If I get more intel, where should we meet?" You questioned, finishing off your cigarette, stamping out its last embers under your shoe.

"Same place as before," he shrugs.

"No," you object quickly. That coffee shop was too public, you couldn't be seen so openly with him. You were in the middle of Escobar's territory with no additional protection, not since your husband left for Cali without so much as a word to you. Sure, you had a gun of your own and you were a decent shot, even memorised the quickest routes for you to get to an airport. But it wouldn't matter because of the sheer fire and man power that Pablo had supporting him.

"No?" Agent Peña echoed with a raised brow.

"Any one of Escobar's men could see us," you explain. "That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

He agreed easily enough, asking for suggestions as to where else you could meet up. You mentally card through potential locations that were isolated and safe enough for a woman on her own at any time of the day. "The blue hotel," you offer. "It's a bit far out, close to the airport."

Agent Peña is silent for a moment, contemplative. "Okay," he agrees, his voice rough. "I'll get it sorted. Phone me if you get anything."

"If you want Quica, you need to find that friend of his that's driving around Escobar," you reasoned as you sat on the edge of the bed in room two-zero-eight in the blue hotel. "He's obviously someone you don't know. He's new. Forget about Quica and find the driver and get him to flip."

"The fu-" Agent Peña paused, amending his words. "The guy's a ghost. We don't know anything about him."

This was the second meeting with him in just as many weeks with Agent Peña in the same room. He was withdrawn, you learned— charming, still— preferring to keep things brief. It was… cute, how he tried to speak more politely around you, keeping expletives to a minimum despite his knee-jerk mannerisms.

"You know he works for Escobar now," you shrug. "That he's at the very least friendly with Quica. That he drives a taxi. That they've never been caught yet despite the police presence."

"Mierda, estábamos tan cerca," he mutters in frustration, pacing back and forth in front of the bed. "And we got almost a dozen bodies."

"And there will be more," you say, your facade dropping for the moment. Pity wasn't something you liked, not when there were other things to be done— other cards to be played. "Esto es una guerra, Peña. El número de muertos ya es de un kilómetro. You can't resurrect them but you can bring them justice by doing your damn job."

You had risen from the bed, stepping into his path stopping him in his tracks. Your gaze was cold, as if unbothered by the deaths of those women. Peña was gobsmacked to say the least, it was like he was looking at a completely different person; you were no longer the almost docile housewife, content to be a homemaker, there was something sinister about the way your eyes turned glacial, viperous even.

Peña wondered, not for the first time, who the fuck you were. You had just appeared out of thin air, unaware of you really got your information, if you were even actually married. He'd asked around, combed through every dossier they had about the members of the Medellín cartel, searching obsessively for even the barest hint of your existence.

He found nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Not a singular record corroborating the information you had filled out in the forms two weeks ago. It was maddening. You were maddening; with your heels and sleek outfits, the grace of a princess. One night when he was in his apartment, drunk and alone, he had entertained the idea of you being a spy. It was almost absurd because why on earth with a spy be feeding information to the DEA in a such a manner, risking their identities. No, he concluded, you weren't a spy.

He studied you, re-categorising you in his mind. Peña was frozen before you, unsure how to proceed or what to even say. So, he said nothing as he took an unconscious step closer, his brow scrunching together, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his mind raced; his heart thunderous in his chest.

"¿Quién eres?" His voice reverent, imploring.

Your breath halts with a stutter. Voiceless as you stare back at him having not expected such a question. You hadn't earned his trust, the realisation more bothersome than anything else, not fully. The mask of a desperate in-love housewife slipped back into place in a blink of an eye. "Ya te lo dije," you reply cautiously, voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, to clear his mind or in disagreement— you didn't know. Nor did you care to.

"You clearly don't trust me," you say, indignant. You grab your purse off the bed, turning to leave. "So, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave."

You hand had just clutched the door handle when his hand tugged at your upper arm, spinning you around to face him, your back hitting the door. To say you were surprised would be an understatement. If anything, you had expected him to just beg you to stay in his desperation to get even the chance of a win over Escobar. This… this was a twist, a good one.

"You're not leaving until you tell me the truth," he says, glaring at you.

"I have told you the truth," you insist, insulted that he would think you a liar. All of this was, of course, a lie but there was no need for him to know that; it would serve no purpose.

"Who's your husband then?" He grits out, his hands in a vice grip around your shoulders.

"Why? So you can arrest him?"

"I can't arrest someone that doesn't exist," he sneers. "Just tell me the truth." His voice tappering off to something quiet, maybe even desperation.

His plead for the truth had your heart skipped a beat, which you could explain way easily enough. What you couldn't explain away was the urge to tell him, to put an end to this wicked game that was being played; innocent people were being killed and you were aiding in orchestrating a coup for the Cali cartel. He was so close you could smell the cigarettes and whiskey clinging to him.

"I-" you start, swallowing as you still decided what you should say. His sweet brown eyes looked so hopeful, reminding you of your Carlos the day the two of you got married. He would die when the brother's learnt of your betrayal, maybe they would be cruel and make you watch as they slowly took your husband's life. "I am telling the truth."

A growl of frustration leaves him as his body presses in closer, his hands moving to hold your face. You draw your head back, shocked beyond belief, as his ragged breath commingled with yours. "¿Qué carajo estás haciendo?" You questioned, one clutched the doorhandle like a lifeline while your other hand pressed against his chest stopping him from drawing closer.

Would he hurt you? Beat the truth out of you if necessary?

No, you concluded, he cared enough to watch his language around you. Even then, he couldn't risk the chance of you showing up hurt after meeting up with him.

"I don't believe you," he insists. "You wanna know why? Because I stopped by your house, not a single man went in or out."

"You came to my house?" You were going to have to take apart everything you could, make sure the wasn't a bug monitoring you. "The only reason why you don't see any man going in or out of my house is my husband is fucking missing. It's why I asked you to meet you today."

He drew back, gentle hands still holding your face, as if your words had knocked some modicum of sense into him. "What?" He muttered.

"Mi marido está desaparacido," you repeat.

"That's convenient,"

"But true," you say. The first week you hadn't thought much of your husband's lack of calls, it was a common enough thing for him to do when working or upset but as one week turned into two you grew concerned; no matter how busy or angry he was he always made sure to let you know he was alive and well, he had his faults but making you worry unnecessarily was not one of them.

You had reached out to the Rodríguez brothers, to Pacho and even a few of the guards that Carlos frequently did rotations with and every single one of them didn't know where he was. They hadn't even heard a word from him. As far they were concerned Carlos was still here in Medellín with you.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Peña asked, concern bleeding into his eyes.

"The morning of the day we first met," you answer.

"Give me his name, I'll have the officers keep an eye out," he assured you, once again slipping into his well-mannered charming self. "If you have a picture, it will make things easier."

You quickly dig through your purse, pulling a photograph of you and your husband from for short honeymoon; in the photo you were dressed in a simple summer dress in your favourite colour, sunglasses perched on your head with an arm around Carlos's waist, his own hand was thrown over your shoulder pulling you into his side, looking at the camera holding up his free hand showing off the gleaming wedding and on his finger with a smirk.

You hand the photograph to Peña after a moment of hesitation, not wanting to part with one of your favourite pictures of you and Carlos. It was a simpler time— it was crazy to think that it was only two years ago— where you didn't have to play this mind games, didn't have to worry for his life. Sometimes, in the quiet moments of the night, you wondered if you should've returned to Colombia after getting a tertiary education overseas. Sure, being an advisor for a cartel paid well but at the cost of your peace of mind? But you couldn't just up and leave, not with your intimate knowledge.

"I'll see what I can do," he says, pocketing the photograph, his voice holding no promises.

Peña spent an inordinate amount of time staring at that damn photograph. The sunlight casting its golden glow on you as you held your husband— you were both the very picture of marital bliss.

Yet again, he is struck by how different you seemed moment to moment. You were an enigma. Yes, an enigma, that's what you were to him. Just when he thought he had you figured out something new would rear it's head.

One second you were this skittish housewife, the next you had the cunning gleam of a mob boss— fuck it, maybe you even were the head some cartel of your own— and then you this almost flirty woman as if you didn't have a ring on your finger, a glaring indicthat you were not available.

He wondered, insanely, what it would be like to fuck you. Especially when you strutted about in your sinfully sharp heels. You were put together in way that seemed almost unnatural, even when you played at the skittish wife. You contained unknownable multitudes that he wanted to know just for the sake of it.

His mind always on you, fixating— obsessing— over every little detail he had observed. The way your eyes lingered or how it caught the light, bursting like a supernova of colour. The way you held a cigarette between your fingers, elegant like an old Hollywood starlet.

"Peña, you just gonna stare at picture all day?" Murphy asked as he sat opposite Peña, getting to work organising all his paperwork.

"Shut up," he replied tersely, slipping the photo into the pocket of his jeans. And just as he was about to add a snarky retort about him getting a talking to from Messina when Trujillo walked up to their desk.

"Vieron La Quica comprando un inodoro," he told them as Murphy inspected some pictures.

"I got La Quica and toilet," he said, unbothered while Peña listened intently. "Y adivinen cuál compró. El mismo que tenía Pablo en La Catedral. Un Kohler."

That caught Murphy's attention as he put down the pictures. "We can't take that to Pinzón. He'll laugh us out of the office. We need more."

They chat more a few moments more before deciding to get Centraspike to do a flyover in that area. After asking the favour from Jacoby, they wait around the rest of the day anxious for confirmation. Itching for a shot at getting Pablo back into custody.

It's nightfall when they finally get what they need, narrowing down Escobar's location to a bunch of finca's. They rule out the smaller ones, knowing he much preferred grander estates that his position afforded him. When they decide on the finca with access both east and west of the main house, Peña decides to call you before they mobilise.

"Hello?" You answer the phone on the second ring, relief flooding through you thinking that it would be Carlos on the other end.

"Hey, did your husband ever mention a San Isidro?" He asks without preamble. The disappointment is icy as it dashes your hope.

"San Isidro?" You parrot, a hand running over your face. "I don't know, maybe. Why?"

"We think Escobar's holed up there," he says. "If your husband is there, he's going to get caught in the crossfire if he takes a stand."

That wasn't a worry you had but you had appreciated him taking the time to keep you up to date so you won't have any terrible surprises. "I know," you reply, letting your genuine worry seep into your voice. "Just… try not to kill him. Please."

Peña is silent on his side, an odd weight settling in his chest. Odd as it was, it wasn't entirely unfamiliar but still something he couldn't put a name to. He hated having to prepare her for the worst news if Carlos Hernandez was there, he might hesitate to shoot your husband— after seeing how happy you were in that photo, after seeing your worry when you had told him just three nights ago that your husband was missing— the others wouldn't, if they had a shot they would take it if it means hurting Escobar's operations even just a little.

Peña calls you name, strained, as if you were asking the impossible of him and maybe you were but how could you not even if it was all an elaborate scheme to get Escobar off the board. "You know I can't promise anything," he says.

"I know," your voice quiet.

You had called Miguel after Peña hangs up the phone, relaying the good news. "We'll celebrate once you get back here," he proclaims.

"Of course," you reply dully, a niggling in the back of your mind. The taut, choking feeling of impending doom lighting your blood on fire. Your nerves were shot. "We can finally expand without worrying about encroaching on his territory."

Miguel and you chatted for a while, discussing how to best proceed with negotiations for their legitimate businesses. You offered your advice, asking him to discuss it with his brother to ease his mind further, that you he could call you anytime within the week to tell you his decision.

You spend the the rest of your night cleaning up your pots and utensils, storing the leftover food in the fridge for tomorrow. The shower you take that is longer than usual, the hot spray from the showerhead easing your tense muscles, soothing the pressure that pressed against your temples. Unhurried, you lather the soap, scrubbing languidly at your skin.

Thirty-five minutes later you step out, drying yourself before putting on a bathrobe and entering your bedroom. The moon and street lights mixed together as they filtered through your sheer curtains. You stood by your window, arms wrapped around your waist as a shaky sigh leaves you. Your eyes fixating on the way the clouds drift through the sky, concealing the waxing gibbous moon for a few seconds at at time.

"Regresa a mí," you whisper, pleading to whoever or whatever to bring your Carlos back. Your heart aching to hear his voice, to see his smile— to feel his touch again. Turning away, you go to your vanity to moisturise before slipping into your nightdress.

Just as you finished rubbing lotion into your legs, a thundering knock sounds through your house. You rose slowly, silently grabbing your gun from the the third drawer of your dresser just to to be safe.

Cautiously, you make your way to the front door to see who would come knocking so late at night. You're a three feet away from the door when the stranger on the other side bangs the door again. "Open the door," a voice growls, distantly you recognise it as Peña.

You rush forward to open the door, the gun held in your non-dominant hand limply as the door cracks open a few inches before Peña is pushing his way in. His gentle features contorted into the ugliness of anger. His hands coming up to shove you against the wall of your entry hall, surprise jolting through you.

Divine fury.

It was the only way you could describe the look in his hardened brown eyes. "Lo llamaste, ¿verdad?," accusation clear in his voice. "¡Llamaste a tu maldito marido y escapó!"

Your eyes wide with horror as his words sunk in. "No," you say weakly, your mind moving slow through the thick molasses of shock. "I didn't."

"They were long gone before we got there," he sneered. "They escaped with everything they needed."

"I had nothing to do with it," your hissed, your hands coming up to push him off you. His eyes glance down, taking in your gun for a split second before he rips it out of your hand and turns you to face the wall, your arms twisted behind your back. "¡Suéltame, maldito idiota!"

His foot moves your legs apart, his knee pressing against the wall. You struggled, regardless, trying your hardest to free yourself from his bruising grip. Peña leaned in close, his breath brushing the curve of your ear. "Your husband was there," he said. His words knocking the air out of you as you freeze.

"What?" The question leaves you in a whisper of betrayal. Whatever fight you had in you leaves, you rest your forehead against the wall, your eyes stinging.

Peña's hold on you loosened, uncertainty welling in him as the haze of his anger disappating slowly as he takes in your demeanour. The shocked betrayal in your voice dousing him in ice.

"No," you voice quiet in denial, wobbly as you try to hold back your tears. "He wouldn't be there." You say to yourself, wanting to believe that it was all just some great big lie that Peña has concocted.

"He was," his words tentative, gently spoken. He doesn't elaborate further and you didn't know if you wanted the details or not. Why wouldn't he be there? Peña pondered silently as he removed his hands holding her in place.

Your arms fall to your sides, too weak and horrified with the evidence of his disloyalty. You were sick with worry for your husband and he was… he was a turncoat. After getting blood on your hands to protect him. After lying to the heads of the Cali cartel for him. After getting him a fucking promotion! He leaves. Like it was easy.

Peña jerks forward to catch you as your knees give out, the full force of Carlos's impulsive betrayal hit you. This was humiliating, you think, dazed as you cling to Peña, the both of you on the floor. You haven't fallen apart like this for over a decade when you were just entering your twenty's, in a foreign country experiencing a terrible breakup whilst getting your degree.

"Shh," his voice soothing as his arms tighten around you as a sob wracks through you. You shouldn’t be crying, you should be thinking of some way to rectify the mess that Carlos had made. You should be making sure that word about your husband being a traitor doesn't get back to the Rodríguez brothers. But you were paralysed. Unable to do anything but hold onto Peña's arms.

Your mind going over everything from the past few minutes over and over again. Berating yourself for not knowing sooner. Hating yourself for how you were reacting. You killed someone for him, an innocent person no less, and when word got back to Gilberto about a potential client ending up dead you vouched for Carlos, giving him an alibi— defending his innocence. And now you were defenceless should Gilberto learn of this, if he hasn't already.

You inhaled sharply, trying your best to steady your breath. Your head bowed as you brought your hands up to wipe away the tears staining your cheeks. Steeling yourself, you extricate yourself from Peña leaving him in the hall way leading to the entrance of your living room. The sound of your bare feet marching to your bedroom were muffled by the carpet.

You removed the suitcase that you had stored on top of your wardrobe. You pull your clothes from their hangers, haphazardly folding them and packing them away. All your clothes fit in the first suitcase. You get to your knees to remove a second suitcase from underneath the bed to pack away your shoes and other appliances that you had brought along. As you did this, you could feel Peña's piercing gaze on you, watching without a word.

You wheel your suitcases into the living room before realising you were still in your bathrobe. As you bent to open a suitcase Peña spoke, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," you reply promptly.

"And going where?"

"¡No sé! A donde sea menos aqui," you grit out, grabbing the clothes right on top a pair of jeans and a sweater. You tug your jeans on, bathrobe still on, in the living room. Untying the belt of your white bathrobe and tossing the fluffy material onto the sofa you pull on the lavender sweater. "I'm not sticking around here, waiting for any of those fucker's to show up and put a bullet in my head or worse."

"Why would they-" Peña starts.

"Because Carlos didn't work for Pablo," you cut him off. "If he told Pablo anything then he will sent his hounds to kill me for helping you take him out."

"Then who did he work for?"

"He worked for Los Caballeros de Cali," you answer. "So do I."

You were staying at the blue hotel for a week now, Peña a regular visitor of yours after driving you there that night after your world had just fell apart. You had wallowed for three days, drinking yourself to sleep, smoking almost a pack a day. That was until you got a call from Pacho asking you to drop by his ranch in Medellín.

It was a beautiful place, the green scenery, the open plains as a backyard bug enough to ride around on horseback. You had greeted him with a bright enough smile to appear normal. "Pacho, it's been too long since I last saw you," you say as he draws you in for a hug.

"I could say the same thing, muñeca," he retorts lightly.

"Blame Miguel," you shrug, turning your attention to Navegante. "Navegante," you greet him plainly, extending your hand to him. He shook it once before stepping back.

"Come, let me get you a drink before our guest arrives," Pacho says, a hand on your back leading you into the house.

You admire the art that hung from the walls. The Japanese ukiyo-e style artwork colourful, drawing the attention of anyone that would walk past; the painting depicted what you could only assume were two feudal lords practicing their swordsmanship in front of their residence, a bonsai tree sitting below the painting. "Is it a new painting?" You ask, your finger tracing the edge of the shallow clay pot of the bonsai tree.

"No, I took out storage," he explained handing you a glass of whiskey. "I got sick of the other paintings."

"Of course you did," you chuckle. The sound of a car driving up to the house pulls you you away from your conversation, the three of you stepping out unto the driveway to greet the guest.

Judy Moncada steps out, Navegante stepping forth to pat her down for weapons or a wire tap, you suppose. "We treat our guests with respect," Pacho tells Navegante after Missus Moncada startles at the pat down. "Even the ones who invite themselves."

You suppress a snort at Pacho's comment, you take a step closer, extending your hand as you greet her, "Missus Moncada, pleasure to have you join us."

She eyes your outstretched hand, a taut smile pulls at her lips as she takes shakes your hand lightly before swiftly turning her attention back to Pacho. You catch Navegante's eyes, you roll your eyes at her haughtiness. "Listen, Pacho, are you sure you have enough men?" She questions as you four walk back to the house. "One might get the impression you're scared of someone."

"Perhaps if you took security more seriously," he begins. "Just maybe your husband would still be alive. And you wouldn't be coming to us for help."

You wanted to berate him for his rudeness, such a thing being uncalled for when needing to be diplomatic. But he was, atleast partially, right. Judy Moncada was in a desperate position, wanting to avenge her husband and keeps what was her's.

Pacho and Judy exchange a few more words before he leaves her to look around and rehearse her proposal. You lounge around in one of the many plush sofas, sipping on your second glass of whiskey with a cigarette tucked between your fingers. When you hear the sound of a helicopter flying overhead. Downing the last of your whiskey, you walk with the others out back to greet the Rodríguez brothers.

Navegante helps Gilberto out of the helicopter, Gilberto approaching Judy with a look of joy at such pleasant surprise. You nod in greeting before walking past him to Miguel to give a status report on how things were going with Peña. He listens intently, nodding along as you all walk into the house.

You all sat in one of the loft areas overlooking the main floor. The windows were ceiling to floor, with wooden blinds, letting in the warm light of the noon sun. Navegante sat behind the bar, ready to pour drinks should any of them desire. You leaned against the bar, idly moving about your glass of whiskey. Judy and Miguel sat on the black leather chairs while Pacho sat with his back to the window in a wooden chair.

"So tell me, Mrs. Moncada, why did you come all this way?" Gilberto questions, one hand in his trouser pockets.

"To help you kill the man who murdered my husband and brother," she stated bluntly. "By offering information only I possess."

The brother's shared a quick look. Pacho opening up his cigarette case and placing one between his lips. "And what is this information?" He questioned.

"Targets," Judy said simply. "The location of everyone of his labs."

That was, you had to admit, damn good information. Though it wouldn't cripple Escobar's operation but it would dent it, leaving them scrambling to recuperate. She went on to explain your exact thoughts, adding that it would cause him to resurface and then they could put a bullet in his head. Pacho and Miguel looked amused.

"If you know where his labs are he would also know where yours are," you point. "Pablo is feared, and after what he ordered for those officer's anyone who still supports you in this quest for revenge will think twice."

"Exactly," Gilberto points at you, Judy looking affronted. "What's valuable isn't what he has but what he wants. And he wants to pick apart you operation piece by piece."

"We can know where he's going by telling us where your labs are," you say, understanding fully what Gilberto was thinking.

Judy's eyes pierced you with a look that bordered anger and disbelief. "You want me to tell you where my labs are?" She said with a scoff. "And if I do, what happens to them."

"Your commitment to revenge is heartwarming, Judy," Pacho said with a smirk. "Kiko would be so proud of you."

"He would be," Judy levels Pacho with a look. "I built this business by his side."

Gilberto observed Judy's fierceness with admiration when Miguel stepped in. "Hold on," he started. "Confrontation won't help us keep a low profile but… what if Search Bloc where to learn the locations of your labs."

You mentally sighed, knowing the work that was going to take to orchestrate. Peña was slowly growing fond of you, visiting your hotel room almost nightly to check on you making sure you hadn't drunk yourself to death. But he still kept a distance despite his lingering gaze or touch when that happened.

He tried, and failed, to comfort you about your husband's foolish betrayal. It was the fourth night that Peña had showed up at your room in the blue hotel, when you had told him off decision— you were going to kill him, make it seem like it was a terrible consequence of Escobar going off the rails. He hadn't been approving, but he thankfully didn't try to dissuade you.

"So he can be arrested?" Judy countered with a raised brow. "Pablo has already showed he can fuck us from prison."

"This wont end with him in a cell," Gilberto assured her.

"The police won't kill him," Judy scoffs.

"There is one officer that seems particularly determined." Gilberto shrugged with a smile.

With Colonel Carillo returning from his exile on Presidential order, things will get done, you were of it. He was effective, no one in their right mind would deny that. Carillo was a smart man with a bone to pick. With you feeding intel to Peña and him relaying it Carillo, Escobar would be off the streets in perhaps a few months.

You opened the door to your room, Peña entering it with a bowed head, a lit cigarette already between his lips. He gave no greeting, making his way to the ratty sofa that you were almost certain has seen some things. Peña sat with his head in his hand, looking like he had the weight if the world on his shoulders. He lets out a frustrated growl as he rips off his leather jacket.

"¿Qué pasó?" You ask softly, closing the door gently as you made your way to the bed, sitting at its edge opposite him. As throughly confused as you were, you were equally rattled at his demeanour. You've seen him angry, curtesy of Pablo escaping once again, but this was— felt— wrong. He looked… horrified, disgusted, like everything he thought he knew had just been some gruesome lie.

He didn't answer, not that you expected him to, he didn't have a reason to divulge something that seemed so personal to you of all people especially after you had told him that you worked for a cartel as well that you were ordered to be his informant. You sighed as you rose from the edge of the bed, grabbing the bottle of whiskey on your nightstand and pouring him a glass.

He takes the glass from you, downing it in one go. He rests the crystal glass on his thigh, his head falling back, resting on the back on the sofa. His eyes closed. You plop down next to him, gripping the neck of the whiskey bottle, pouring him another round before taking a sip yourself.

"¿Tiene que ver con Carlos?" You ask hesitantly.

"I wish," he mutters lowly. Peña swipes a hand across his face, exhaling a tired breath. "Ya no importa, Your meeting went well?"

You don't press the matter, allowing him to move on. "It did," you answer. "You'll be getting a call from someone in a day or two offering a pretty damn good intel."

"Does the people you work for know?" He raised a brow.

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. "It was kind of their idea," you whisper conspiratorially.

He huffs a half laugh, his hand mindlessly placed on your thigh, squeezing the flesh before getting up. "I'll get going," he says, pulling on his jacket.

You lounge on the sofa, placing the bottle on the floor, your head resting on your arm that was propped up by the arm of the sofa. "You could stay," you shrug. "It's late, no point in driving all the way back there only to barely get in some sleep."

"Don't want to bother you anymore than I already have," he counters, his voice soft.

Your heart skipped a beat at that, his consideration sweet. "Just go to bed, Peña," you say, your voice carrying a teasing edge.

He examined you for you a moment too long, eyes never straying from you as he took in the glow of the city and lamp light that bathed you. You looked so homely; his chest constricting, unfamiliar but not unwelcomed. And as if struck my lightening, he realised he shouldn't have come here— to you.

Any of the working girl's would've been preferable, he would pay them, fuck them for a few times to tire himself out so he didn't have to think about the sound of the bullet ringing in the air as it embedded itself in that kid's head, body thudding dully on the ground, blood seeping out slowly, staining the stone.

He wasn't going to sleep tonight, that much he knew.

You undid the belt of your bathrobe, tossing it over the arm of the sofa. Padding across the hideous orange rug that covered most of the floor, Peña's eyes dropping down to watch the gentle hypnotising sway of your hips, you choose not to say anything about his gaze that burned delightfully.

This was the longest you and gone without sex, your husband ravishing you any chance he had. It was good, the sex, not mind blowing but not bad either. But before it all went to hell, he had slowly started to become a selfish lover— sure, you orgasmed more often than not but it always left you wanting for something.

Some almost cruel part of you wanted Peña to make a move on you— to betray Carlos like he did you—, but he didn't. Always being respectful. He hadn't even said a sleazy thing to you; he stared, his chocolate-y eyes lingering for a moments too long to be anything other than desire.

When you had agreed to this, you had never intended to sleep with him or any other person. However, the more time you spent in each other's company— even if it was only for a few minutes at a time— you had started wondering: what would he be like as a lover? Was he the sort that liked it hard and fast, leaving before the come down from an orgasm induced high? Would he smoke a cigarette after sex? That one seemed likely to you would how often you saw one hanging between his lips. What was he like in the mornings? Did he have a proper breakfast before bolting out the door or did he prefer to have a cup of coffee and nothing else?

Movement caught your eyes, Peña moved to lay down on the sofa. "¿Qué estás haciendo?" You ask, amused.

"Sleeping," he grumbled.

"Not on that," you scoff, patting the other side of the bed. "You can sleep on the bed. "Como una persona normal."

"I'm fine on sofa," he stretched out, arms crossed over his chest, head on the arm of the sofa.

"Ya métete a la cama, Peña Prometo que no muerdo." You sigh.

The hesitation was clear in his eyes, as was the risks he was running in his head. The benefit of a decent enough bed won over whatever reservations he had about sharing it with you as he hastened his steps towards the bed with only a disgruntled twitch of his lip before he slipped in beside you. "In jeans?" You questioned.

"Yes," his curt response earning a chuckle from you.

You woke with a heaviness bearing down on you, holding you in place. An arm slung over your waist, a leg over yours. A warm steady breath fanning the back of your neck. You kept your eyes closed, wanting to stay in bed for a bit longer with your husband. You shift back closer, your fingers intertwining with his.

A content hum left him as he buried his face in your neck, coarse hair tickling the sensitive skin. "That tickles," you mumbled receiving only a disgruntled groan.

You shuffle a little, moving your arm so it doesn't become numb. Your ass rubbing against something firm. A sleepy smile pulls at your lips as excitement shoots through you. In a moment of spontaneity, you grind your hips in the way you knew he liked. His breath stutters before recovering, his hand around your waist gliding across your stomach before settling on your hip. His fingers pressing into the flesh around your hip, holding you still as he rutted against you.

Reaching a hand behind you, you try to grasp his hardened length. Your brows furrowed, confusion washing over you at the sensation of denim jarring you. Just then, you freeze— realisation like an ice cold shower drenching you— this wasn't your husband.

"Se siente tan bien," he voice still gruff with sleep, arousal seeping in. Peña's hand travels up your side, brushing the corner of your satin covered breast.

"Peña," your whisper coming out raspy as you pull your hand away from him. You need him to stop, despite the growing wetness between your thighs as his hand moves to fondle your breast— teasing your nipple through the fabric of your nightdress— you steel yourself, injecting some sterness into your voice. "Peña, you need to to wake up."

And he does, with a groan, pulling away before you could elbow him in the ribs. He rubs at his eyes, a disoriented grumble leaving him as the last tendrils of sleep left him. "Fuck, what time is it?" His voice scratchy.

"Six thirty-three," you inform him after a quick glance at the clock. You turn around, propping your head up with your hand as you stare at him with an amused smile. "You know you could've taken off your jeans, right?"

Peña hurries out of bed, searching for his jacket. He barely acknowledges your question, let alone the intimate way he was wrapped around you as he slept, as he sits in the sofa to put on his shoes.

He's nearly to the door when you say, "You should expect a call today. When you get it, call me and I'll make the the introductions." You get our of bed, your hair a bit of a mess but not wholly unseemly.

"Who's gonna call?" He pauses at the door, facing you as his brows furrowed.

"It's a surprise," you shrug, sliding on your slippers. "Ah, y Peña, lo que sea que haya molestado anoche deberías encontrar una manera de sacártelo de la mente. You'll drive yourself crazy if you don't."

Even though you desperately wanted to know what distressed him so much, you had enough sense not to push it. The both of you in a good place where he would come to you when struggling.

"Okay," he says simply before pulling the door open and leaving without a further word.

You sat across Don Berna, sipping your coffee as your eyes travelled across the restaurant, the both of you waiting patiently for Peña to arrive. He had ordered you both coffee as you waited patiently for Peña to arrive. The drive you were certain was going to take a minute as he reasoned with his superiors about how good this could be for them.

"And you're sure that Agent Peña is up for this?" Berna questioned as he lit a cigarette.

You finished taking a sip, letting his question settle in the air before you placed your cup on the table as you smirked. "He will," I confirmed. "If there's anyone who hates Escobar more than your boss, it would be him. It's an all around beneficial arrangement. Just make sure she doesn't change her mind or do something rash."

Before Berna could reply, Peña walked in, eyeing his surroundings with suspicion. Good, you thought. It never hurts to exercise caution, especially when meeting someone new and important.

"Don Berna," he greeted him tersely.

"What's up, Peña. Are you expecting anyone else?" Berna joked mildly. You suppress an amused smile.

"Sit, Peña," you gesture to the empty seat. You sat back on your chair, one leg over the other as you interlaced your fingers together on your thigh. "You have no need to worry."

He glanced down at you, his gaze hard, calculating. But, nonetheless, he sits crossing his arms over his chest. The material of leather of his jacket tightening everso slightly at he regards Berna. "You expecting anyone else?" He questions with a raised brow.

Berna settled Peña with a look that held years of wisdom and confidence. "Everywhere I go in this town," Berna started, gesturing a hand to the surrounding patrons. "I am surrounded by friends. Doña Luz, please, bring my new friend a coffee."

You brought your own cup back up to your lips, taking in another sip of the best coffee in Medellín— according to Berna, atleast— as Doña Luz readied another cup for Peña. Coffee, cigarettes and whiskey: three things you've come to associate with Peña. You could always count on any two of those scents enveloping him on any given night as well as something woodsy swirling below. It was an addicting mixture, fairly common among most men, but so instrinsic in your association with him.

"You have something other than coffee for me?" Peña snarked. Yet another thing that seemed to help mold your understanding of him. His sarcasm as well, you thought absently while you let the two of them snark at each other for the sake of their dick-measuring contest.

"Look, Agent, I'm not one of those street informants of yours that you think you can just slip a few of those gringo dollars to," Don Berna said plainly.

"Then why are you here?" Peña's lip curled, a sneer itching to bear it's teeth.

You sat straighter, readying yourself to step in should either of them take it a step too far. Your hands resting on the table, fingers still interlaced as you glanced at the both of them, gauging who would be quicker to snap.

"Agent, you and I are like a snake and cat," Berna began with some metaphor of his. "If the snake has a chance, it will kill the cat. If the cat has a chance, it will kill the snake. Pero a veces ven a una rata grande, y se la quieren comer."

All that to say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. You rolled your eyes, sitting back again as you finish the last of your coffee. But atleast, you think relieved, Peña was amenable.

He listened attentively to the terms that Berna put forth on behalf of Judy Moncada. Peña drank the coffee that Doña Luz served him, a cigarette perched between his pretty lips as he tried to light it, the flame coming in sparks— unsustainable. You should buy him a new lighter, the thought flickers through your mind like the sparks from his lighter.

Berna, after exhaustively detailing his terms, gave Peña the location of Missus Moncada's biggest lab. She had put up a fight about it, wanting to give them a smaller one— anything else but not her biggest lab. It took a while to reason with her, appealing to that desire for revenge, but you were successful. You always were, what you wanted you got.

Peña rose from his chair, coffee cup empty and cigarette burned out, ready to leave. You pushed your chair back, ready to leave to having nothing further to discuss with Berna. A hand appeared before you; much to your surprise it was Peña's, you discovered when you glanced up. Your brows furrowed for the shortest of seconds before placing your hand in his, deciding not to question it.

"Thank you," you say as you grab your handbag from where you hung in on the back of the chair. He escorted you out, his hand hovering politely at the small of your back. You stood by car, pausing for a moment. "When you're done with the raid, I expect a call."

"Why?"

You shrugged, opening the door of your car. "So we can celebrate," the words leave you without thought, impulsive and reckless. You get in your car, starting it up and driving away without another word, intent to run some errands if only to take your mind of the stupidity of what you had said.

"Todo salió de acuerdo al plan," Pacho said over the phone. "They arrested all the men there."

"That's good," you replied, pacing in front of your hotel room bed, wrapped up in just your satin gown. You had just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang much to your annoyance, you had wanted a quiet stress-free night not wanting to think about work or this exercise in espionage.

With Don Berna now being in play, there were even more moving parts for you to work with. You wondered if Peña would've been as receptive to Berna's proposal if you hadn't enamoured yourself to him. He would've, you decide, Peña was in a desperate position and Pinzón had only fucked them over even more with his strategy. But now, with Colonel Carillo back in the game with a bone to pick things were going to get done.

Pacho ended the call after you both exchanged some pleasantries wishing each an excellent night. It was then that your door slammed open and shut, heavy footsteps against the carpeted floor as he made his way straight to bed.

"¿Todo bien, Peña?" You asked, raising a quizzical brow.

"Two more people are dead," you said plainly, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed as his arms wrapped around a pillow with his head buried in it.

You walk to the bed, sitting down next to his legs, removing his shoes for him. "And?" You shrugged, unbothered by two more bodies, it is called a war on drugs afterall a body count was to be expected.

"So is a kid," his voice muffled but still clear enough to hear him.

"Is that…" you began, putting two and two together. "Is that why you came here the other night?"

A hum of agreement sounded from him.

You reached your hand over, rubbing at his back in comfort. You knew what it was like to see a child get killed, you knew what their screams sounded like— the begging of their parents muffled by the sound of your own heart pounding almost in rhythm with each blow dealt to them.

"The image isn't going to leave you," you say. Peña moving, turning himself over to look at you. "I wish it would. But it won't. You're going to have to live with it until the day you die."

"How would you know?" His voice soft and curious. You spoke so decidedly that a sinking feeling settled in him. He didn't want to think about it, didn't even want to speak the words despite knowing how you would now.

"I just do," you shrug, staring at the wall across you with a painting of a landscape that you wished you could escape to.

"I'm sorry," his hand resting between your shoulders now, the weight grounding as you recalled that night a year, three months and twenty-two days days.

"The thing's people do for love," you chuckle humorlessly. If he had questions, he didn't voice them, instead pulling you into him. His arms wrapped around you, his head resting against yours as your ear was pressed to his chest. The steady beat of his heart, hypnotising.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

Your arms wrapped around his waist, tight as you shifted closer. His apology, though meant to comfort, sickened you. You didn't deserve it, you were just as cruel as your husband. You covered it up, got rid of all the evidence— it was as if that family didn't exist after you were done. The blood on your hands is something you won't ever lose.

"I wish I could forget," you whisper, your eyes fluttering closed as you focused solely on the beat of his heart. "It would be so much easier."

"Nada es fácil nunca," he says, his hand brushing back your hair. His fingers grazed the curve of your cheek, the line of jaw.

"Y pensar que, it was all for nothing," you say bitterly.

"We wouldn't be here if all that shit didn't happen," he says in a gruff voice that you had grown to like.

You pulled away, his arms loosening around you and dropping to your hips. You looked at him, his sweet eyes meeting yours with an insistent look. The comfort he extended to you, awkward like he wasn't sure what to do— like it was foreign to him but no less genuine. The longer you looked, the more your eyes began to sting.

He didn't scream at you, call you mad for what you did,— your silent confession buried beneath subtext— he didn't even scorn you. He just apologised. At in the moments since, you felt a crack; a new one joining the others that you have accumulated over the years.

A stuttering sigh leaves you, the warmth of his palm encapsulating your cheek bringing you back to reality. His thumb brushing back and forth over your plush cheek. Peña's lips parted, his head leaning in just an inch before quickly stopping in hesitation. His dark eyes searching yours as the sound of the gears in the clock on the nightstand blared, the late night wind whipping outside your hotel room window.

You surge forward, desperate to forget the things you've done and your husband's abandonment. Your lips meet his as you tangle your fingers in his hair. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you down to lay on the bed. Peña's kiss was searing, intoxicating.

Your mind going blank as he hooked his knee behind your thigh, spreading you out for him; your satin gown falling open, exposing more skin for him to scorch with his touch. Your fingers grip his hair, tugging as you lifted your hips off the bed, a silent plea for him to move his hand to venture further past your waist.

A moan sounded from him, his hand instantly moving down, holding your hips down. He dragged his lips away from yours, trailing kisses past your jaw to your neck. It started as a gentle kiss, peppered across the side of neck before settling on your pulse point.

He softly bit into the skin, you jerked in surprise. Despite the unexpected act, you sighed— something between relief and pleasure. Your fingers let go of his hair, gliding down to his nape to keep him from moving away.

Peña, still alternating between biting an sucking, slid his hand from your hip to your stomach, undoing the belt of your gown. The fabric fell away, tickling your sensitive nerve endings as it went. Cool air settling against your skin, your nipples pulled taut.

You rested your head on the bed, content to just let him do as he pleased without direction so long as he allowed you a moment of reprieve from your mind, letting you simply exist in the moment without having to think several steps ahead.

His fingers were feather-light as it slide over your wet heat, only just then realising you were dripping. You could his feel his self-satisfied smirk against your neck. A groan of annoyance slipped out of you, hating how desperate you must seem to him. "You always get this wet?" He teased, trailing his lips down to your tits.

"Cállate," you snark. Two fingers gathered your slick, pressing against your clit before he started out slow. Counter-clockwise circles, too light to do much other than frustrate you.

Just as you were going to voice your frustration, he bit your nipple— pain shooting through you, his tongue a balm as it sooths it over. His fingers leaving your clit, dragging down to slip between your folds, plunging into you with ease.

A whimpering moan escapes you at the feeling, you felt so full but still needing more. Peña wasted no time in dragging his fingers out before sliding them back in at a glacial pace all while sucking at the flesh of your tits, alternating between them, leaving a constellation of hickeys.

Your hips chasing his fingers as needy whimpers fall from your lips. "Can you just fuck me?" You spit out, brows pulled together as you glared down at him.

A chuckle sounds from him as he drags his drags himself up, kissing you quiet. "You're so impatient," he all but drawls, his fingers keeping pace.

Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, hurriedly opening each one, shoving the fabric off his shoulders. He unbuckled his belt with one hand, undoing his jeans just as quick that you barely register the loss of his deft fingers.

After kicking off his jeans he returns to you, his lips meeting yours once more, kissing you slowly. His length rested on the top of your thigh. You couldn't help but reach between the both your bodies, your fingers wrapping around him.

Peña groaned, his own fingers gripping your hair in a vice. Your hand stroked his his cock once then twice before pulling your lips away from him. You couldn't help the niggling feeling of guilt washed over you, a chasm forming in the pit of your stomach— your guilt warring with your desire.

"We don't have to," his voice strangled as you mindlessly stroke him. His hand smoothing down your hair before he lifted himself off you, laying on his back beside you. He ran a hand over his face as he let out a tired huff. "We shouldn't even-"

You cut him off, straddling him, your hands resting nervously on his torso. Your hips moved back and forth against him, your cunt drenching his cock. Your started slow, tentative movements, your confidence growing with each second that passed.

He covered his eyes with his forearm, moaning each time your clit caught against his tip. He muttered below his breath, his unheard words carrying the same reverence one would reserve for a prayer. You didn't care much, too caught up in your own pleasure.

Your voices combined into a chorus of desire.

Soon enough, you felt the familiar coil of an impending orgasm. Your body grew too heavy for you to hold yourself up, you fall against his heaving chest. His hands gripped your hips, helping you keep pace as you neared the cliff-edge of gratification.

You bit down on his shoulder, muffling your voice as your breaths grew shallow. Peña's fingers dug into your flesh as your body twitched, shivers wracking your body as you came with a silent cry.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, the emptiness almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. As you rode out your high, you felt him twitch, he groans as he comes, his arms wrapping around you as one hand drifted down and squeezed your ass.

You rest your head just under his collarbone, your breath steadying. Your eyes closed as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm. Peña rolled you over, pushing your hair out of your face, his hand lingering before he pulls away, getting out of bed to go clean himself up in the bathroom.

He returns quickly, your eye popping open to glance at him. You had made yourself comfortable in bed, choosing to remain naked solely because you didn't have it in you to care.

Peña reaches for his clothes that were discarded on the floor, moving to put it on without a word when your voice break through the silence, "Stay, Javier."

#javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #narcos fic

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alexfromjersey · 2 years ago

Text

𝓓𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓼 & 𝓕𝓪𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼

jenna ortega x g!poc

summary: jah submits a demo. jenna gets questioned by hudson. fans start to piece things together

warnings: mature language

a/n: I want to quit my job 🙂. I wish we got paid to write fanfiction. I walked 14,987 steps in one single shift

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

🤰🏻🩵

@modernbussywhip: AIGHT I NEED EVERYONE TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND PAY ATTENTION TO ME

@ghostridingwhip: aggressive for wat tho?

@modernbussywhip: SSSHHHHHH I HAVE NEW INFO BOUT JAH'S MYSTERY GIRL! I have two potential candidates and please note that one of them is a little bit of a surprise

@highondatgreen: i thought it was clear that I'm Jah's girl

@ghostridingwhip: @highondatgreen whatever u smoke...slide some over here

@ghostridingwhip: @modernbussywhip who are the candidates 👀

@modernbussywhip: ALRIGHT CLASS IS IN SESSION. Now like I said i have two candidates but it could be more cuz we all know Jah is a hoe...a respectable one tho but i digress.

@modernbussywhip: CANDIDATE NUMERO UNO: Stacey Vernon, a popular social media influencer on TikTok. She has a twin sister Diana and with Davis, they all attended school together (as she has mentioned in a TikTok video). They were together at Stacey's birthday party not too long ago and even though Jah shut the rumors down of them being together...we never know when it comes to Shiesty.

@fnthechat: geeeeezzzzz if this Jah's girl....

@behindthespecialk: I love jah but there's no way jah bagged her

@shiestylover: @behindthespecialk: whoa whoa not u doubting my girl's ability to bag bad bitches. you must not seen her roster 😏

@behindthespecialk: HOW?!?! @sheistylover

@shiestylover: she just built like that 😏

@modernbussywhip: LMAOOO while we can admire the untouchable rizz Jah has later....we should move on to candidate numero dos because this one...is a little out there but plausible.

@modernbussywhip: CANDIDATE NUMERO DOS: we all know her, we all love her and it's Miss Jenna Ortega. Now now now before everyone start think pieces just look at my evidence ok come come....evidence number one back when the Scream 6 premiere happened Jah accompanied Davis to it. I'm 95% sure that's where they first met because Jah didn't go to Canada while Davis was filming Scream 6. 1/4

@modernbussywhip: we all saw jenna appear in Jah's vlog...the eye contact, the sexual tension, everything was there between them. But fast forward a couple of hours later, a fan posted a pic with jenna who was at a restaurant and in the pic u can see a tattooed arm and it's the same tattoos Jah has! 2/4

@modernbussywhip: CONTINUE TO WALK WITH ME! Fast forward more, they follow each other on Instagram and as a jenna fan also...that girl avoids that app like the bubonic plague EXCEPT for when Jah posts...every single post of jah has a jenna like...i don't think jenna even likes her mother's posts so for her to only be on Instagram liking Jah's posts....my spidey senses are tingling 3/4

@modernbussywhip: ALMOST DONE! now we always mess with jah on her Reddit so lately it's been nothing but pics and edits of jenna on it...NOT ONCE has she told anyone to stop sending pics and edits of jenna. AND every time she looks at one...her eyes lights up and she starts to smile and blush! Plus after the Met Gala, Jenna stayed in New York...why did she stay in New York?? Jenna's from Cali across the fucking country and she was seen around the Bronx area....YALL NOT FOOLING ME! 4/4

@fnthechat: if jah managed to bag the baddiest scream queen in existence...imma need her to write a book about how to generate THAT much rizz

@ghostridingwhip: fr...that's like level 100 rizz...past Duke Dennis level of rizz

🤰🏻🩵

"Man this is the fucking FIFTH studio I called today and none of them got availability tonight" You groaned out of frustration.

"Why you wait until the last minute to call these studios?" Delyse questioned.

"Well I just signed up for the contest. It was a spur of the moment thing I didn’t really think it through." You said.

Delyse hummed in response and turned her attention back to the food on the stove.

"We can see if Kenny still got his home studio. I think he still live on 33rd" Davis said.

"Bet let's go. We'll be back Ma" You said to your mother and left with Davis.

"You got a song you gonna record?" Davis asked.

"Yeah I wrote it a long time ago. I made the beat and everything" You smiled.

Soon the two of you made it to Kenny's house. You walk into the building and climb up the three flights of stairs, remembering that his elevator never worked. You got to his door and knocked on it.

You waited patiently and slightly out of breath. You knocked again, "Yo Kenny it's me Jah."

Suddenly, the door was ripped opened and a furious looking woman stood there with a crying baby on her hip.

"Uh is Kenny here?" You asked.

The woman laughed sadistically, "Of course you're looking for Kenny. Kenny left four months ago with a skank from Brooklyn."

You and Davis looked at each other stuck on what to say.

"Um...you don't happen to still have his studio equipment?" You asked carefully.

"Nope. I burned it. I burned everything of his" The woman replied.

"Okay thanks" You both gave her a small smile and walked away from Kenny's former apartment. The two of you left the building with you feeling utterly defeated.

"What the fuck am I gonna do? I have to submit this demo by 11:59 tonight" You sighed.

"Don't stress bruh we gon' figure something out. Trust" Davis reassured you. You nodded and took a deep breath in to calm your body down.

🤰🏻🩵

London, England

1:23 am

Jenna had just got to her temporary home after a long day of filming. She was exhausted and was glad she had the day off so she can rest properly. She pulled her shoes off and placed her purse on the table.

Just as she was about to sit on the couch, a knock is at her door.

She internally screams before she walks to the door and opens it to reveal Hudson.

Jenna sighed, "What do you want Hudson?"

"I...just wanted to check in on you. I know you've been working hard which could be harmful to the baby" Hudson said nervously.

"Now you care about me and my baby" Jenna said and raised her eyebrow in suspicious at the boy.

"I always cared about you Jenna. If I didn't I wouldn't be here right now" Hudson replied.

"If you cared about me you wouldn't have told my family about me being pregnant. That wasn't something someone who cared about me would do" Jenna said and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You're right. I shouldn't have done that, it wasn't my place to do that and I sincerely apologize" Hudson said.

Jenna hummed in response, not really believing his words.

Hudson sighed and scratched the back of his neck, "I truly am sorry and I regret doing it. I just...I just wanted to check on you after everything that happened with Neil on the plane."

At the mention of the male, Jenna tensed. She was doing good with pushing him out of her thoughts. Instead, choosing to focus on her filming. She couldn't and won't let him control her...not anymore. She deserved to be happy.

"I'm fine. I'll handle it" Jenna lied.

Hudson opened his mouth to say something but decided against it after seeing the look on her face.

"Okay...I'll uh...see you tomorrow" Hudson said and walked away from her door. Jenna shut the door after he left and sat on her couch. She was stressed and that wasn't good for her or the baby...she needed to relieve some stress.

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

i need help

NYC 🩵:

with 👀

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

im stressed

NYC 🩵:

well taking deep breaths and meditating i heard is a good source of stress relief

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

NYC 🩵:

was that not the right thing to do?

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

nope

NYC 🩵:

ah shit

WAIT

😏😏😏😏😏😏

i know what u want

🤤🤤🤤 vegan food looks bomb don't ya agree

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

I hate you with everything in me 😂

NYC 🩵:

💀💀💀 wym? wat i do? is that not right also?!?

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

you know that's not what i want

NYC 🩵:

what u want then

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

you know

NYC 🩵:

i dont know ms ortega

not a mind reader

use your words

A chill went through Jenna's body as she read the message, imagining you actually saying those words to her...under different circumstances.

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

don't say that

it makes it harder when you say things like that

NYC 🩵:

😂😂😂😂

ain't it like almost 2 am or something over there

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

no...

NYC 🩵:

nice try

go to sleep

goodnight my honey bunches of oats 😘🥰

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

you're annoying 😒

Jenna groaned and placed her phone down next to her. She needed to eat, shower, and sleep. But before she could even attempt to start, her phone dinged again. She grabbed it and opened the message from you, she took a sharp inhale of air.

NYC 🩵:

word?

*attachment: 1 image*

It was picture of you in the mirror with your head titled to the side and tongue stretched out your mouth. Your tongue was naturally long, almost reaching to your chin. But what also caught her eyes was your hand placement which was grabbing your genitalia through your gray sweatpants. That's all Jenna needed.

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

i take back what i said

🤰🏻🩵

You laughed at Jenna's message and fixed yourself before walking out the bathroom. You and Davis got back to your Mother's house defeated from the lack of progress in finding a studio.

You don't know how you were going to finished this demo and submit it in 4 hours.

A knock at the door grabbed your attention, you watched as your mother walks to the door and cracks it open.

"Hey Leon" Delyse smiled brightly at the sight of the man.

"Hey Del, how you doing?" Leon gave her a smile back.

"I'm good just cooking for these clingy kids" Delyse answered and opened the door wider for Leon to see you and Davis.

"Hey Mr. Greenhill" You and Davis simultaneously greeted the older man. Leon chuckled and waved at them.

"Oh I knew I smelled something delicious. Man I missed smelling your cooking reminds me of the old days" Leon flattered.

Delyse let out a little giggle, "Yeah the old days."

The two adults stood in the doorway looking at each other basking in the comfortable silence. Meanwhile, you and Davis looked at each other before looking back at the older adults.

"I...uh just wanted to stop by and say hello. I don't wanna intrude anymore than I already have" Leon smiled at Delyse.

"No, no, no intruding...do you want a plate?" Delyse boldly asked.

It took a moment for Leon to come up with a response but eventually he did, "Uh yeah sure."

The older gentleman walked into the house and Delyse closed the door behind him. Leon pulled off his cap and held it in his hands. He sat next to you at the end of the table.

"How you guys doing?" Leon politely said to you and Davis.

"Eh" You shrugged.

"Eh? Why eh?" Leon questioned.

"Jah signed up for this music competition. Winner gets a five million dollar record deal with Passion Records. The contestants must submit a demo by 11:59 p.m tonight but we haven't found a studio all week" Davis explained.

"And I tried recording it on my phone but the audio is all grainy and hard to hear" You sighed.

"Hmm...can you sing the song you are going to submit?" Leon questioned.

You and Davis glanced at each other again but Davis just shrugged. You scrolled to the notes app and pulled the beat of the song you are going to use.

"Rollin' through with stacks, it's easy, money rainin' down, just like a storm, I got the riches-" You get interrupted by Leon pausing the beat on your phone.

"No" Leon said.

"No? What you mean no? It's a good song" You scoffed.

"Yeah for the early 2015 era when singing about money like that could get you hits. It's 2023 now, people want to hear something different something unique. If I was a judge and I heard that...I would think you're just hopping on the trendy music hoping for yours to be the hit. But you don't realize that everyone is thinking the same thing as you. The only way for you to be looked at twice is if you stand out. Let the lyrics come from within you, come from your heart" Leon explained to you.

Delyse then comes from the kitchen with a plastic bag with aluminum foiled wrapped plates inside.

"Here you go" Delyse smiled and handed Leon the bag.

"Thank you. I really appreciate this Delyse" Leon smiled at her grateful. He stood up from the table and grabbed his cap.

"Once you find those lyrics, come and find me on Southern BLVD but hurry though you got four hours left" Leon said and left the house.

Meanwhile, you sat stuck at the dining room table. Replaying the words Leon said, basically calling your song shit. It stung but deep down you knew he was right. The song didn't feel like you, it felt like a 14 year old wrote it and it wasn't your style.

You glanced at the clock on the wall as you grabbed a pen and paper. 7:48 p.m. Your eyes then glanced down to your phone and an unopened message from Jenna.

Hollywood 🤰🏻:

you have to be the greatest partner alive 😏

"Have to be..." You muttered to yourself. Instantly, your hand starts to move by itself as you write down the lyrics to your new song.

Let the lyrics come from your heart.

🤰🏻🩵

Two hours later, you finally finished and made your way to Southern BLVD with Davis tagging along.

"Why Southern BLVD though? What's here besides crackheads and prostitutes?" Davis commented.

The two of you continued walking down the block until you start to hear the sound of music. The closer you got to the corner, the louder and clearer the music became. It was street drummers and Leon was in the middle of them playing the electric guitar. You and Davis watched in amazement as he kept up with the drummers until they finished their last cord together.

The small amount of people that were gathered applauded them and a couple gave a few dollars before walking away.

"Yo I ain't know you could play the guitar Mr. Greenhill" Davis said.

Leon chuckled, "I'm a man with many talents son." The older male turned to you.

"I'm assuming you got something better with you this time" Leon teased.

You laughed, "Yeah I do. Wrote it from the heart like you said."

"Alright, well you better warm up that voice. You got a song to perform" Leon smiled and patted your back.

"Wait what? Right now? In public?" You questioned.

"Uh yeah. You need to submit that demo in two hours. I checked to see if you submit a live version of your demo and it said you could so get a move on" Leon said and stepped to the side.

"I don't got a beat though I just have the lyrics" You said. You were really trying your hardest not to perform in front of people severely underprepared.

"Don't worry about that" Leon said and placed the guitar over his shoulder.

Leon then played a cord on the guitar, soon the bucket drummer started feeling the vibe and matched the cord Leon was playing. Then you heard someone sweeping from behind you, it surprisingly also matched with everyone. You start to nod your head, feeling the rhythm and you grabbed the beat up microphone from the ground.

Davis pulled out his phone to start recording you.

"Can't wait for you to get home, we ain't got to go nowhere. Airplane on my phone, it can wait til the morning. I can't fathom why you choose me out billions but I'll take it" You sung. You felt your eyes close as you got lost into the music.

Soon, you finished off the song to a large crowd cheering and clapping at your performance.

"I told you let the lyrics come from your heart. You made magic tonight Jah, take pride of your work" Leon educated you.

You nodded at him and walked over to Davis who was fiddling with his phone.

"And submitted" Davis smiled at you as he submitted the demo on the competition website.

"Hard part is over for now. Now we wait" You exhaled deeply.

a/n: if you put a buck in my cup I will shut the fuck up… but you ain’t gotta be a baller to give me a motherfucking dollar…

taglist: @grandpatrolnut @raven-ss @fanboy7794 @morganismspam23 @cinffy23 @darklron @cheesybacon1 @octavias-next-meat-bite @playboysaleen @niqmandu @zaclewiss @yescruzzzzzzz @silentfor @gemz5 @alwaysdangerouschild @onceblinkarmyandmore @melonfruit442 @zataracloud @nepobaby08 @jennasslut @rimaybank @jaewu @j3nc0re @fillthwvoid

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #nycxhollywood #g!p reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x oc #jenna ortega x black!reader #jenna ortega x you #Spotify

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