Text
SEÑORITA: Chapter 6**
pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader
summary: Javier can't stop thinking about you, hard as he tried. when Steve confronts him about his relationship status with you, Javier doesn't hesitate in giving him a harsh reality check.
word count: 4k
series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.
chapter warnings: male masturbation (pillow humping), looots of tension.
AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!
gif: @coredrive
series masterlist | AO3
As proud as Javier was of himself for stepping away when the situation called for it, he felt twice, if not thrice, the bigger asshole for even thinking about it.
You were off limits; a forbidden fruit that has the potential to be everything Javier’s been secretly searching for in all of his thirty six years of life, but under no circumstances could he jeopardize his friendship with you or with Steve.
So when he woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and his mouth parched, he only wanted to get a glass of water. He planned to ignore the aching erection and the shameless thoughts of you that filled his half-asleep brain.
But before he knew it, his hand was curled around his cock, water long forgotten, the sole thing on his mind being how beautiful you looked that night at the bar.
It was infinitely easier in the beginning when the two of you had a teasing sibling-like relationship, when you could even insult each other and neither would get mad or upset. It was infinitely easier three months ago when Javier was fairly convinced you had no interest in him. And yet here he is now, fucking his fist in some feeble attempt to create the illusion of a touch that was never laid upon him—one that probably never will be.
All because you leaned in.
You fucking leaned in when he did, sharing the same yearning for a kiss, and it blew his goddamn mind. Now, with all these twisted thoughts swirling inside his mind—how beautiful you looked, how he could feel the heat radiating off of your skin even through the dress’s fabric, the shameless way you stared at each other—it’s creating the kind of inner pressure he can’t handle, not like this.
It’s not enough, he realizes as he stops tugging on his weeping cock. He sighs, hastily grabbing a pillow and creasing the ends together to create a space big enough for him. It’s mid-July, unbearably hot even for New York’s standards, and Javier’s mind is spinning endlessly. He lets it all develop in the most twisted and darkened corner of his mind as he shoves his cock between the pillow’s folds; the sounds you’d make as he’d push into you, the beads of sweat dripping down on your skin as both your bodies moved together as one, him lapping hungrily at your folds like a man starved…
“Shit,” Javier mutters, picking up the pace.
His hips grind faster into the pillow, the inanimate object merely a futile portrayal of you. It’s not real, he knows this much; it’s not real and it’s not okay, let alone decent, but Javier will allow himself this one moment of weakness. Just this one, and then it’ll all be over. He gasps and moans, barely recognizing the sounds leaving his own throat, wishing it was you who was engulfing his cock this way. He pictures you with your legs spread wide, making enough room for him to fuck into your sopping heat, your arms roaming endlessly over his back and occasionally digging your nails into the heated flesh and begging him for more.
Then, something even worse happens.
His breaths get more ragged, air nearly getting stuck in his lungs; his hips thrust forward erratically, speedily, his balls draw tightly, his stomach burns and clenches and then—a name falls from his lips. Not just falls, but crashes and burns, quite like Javier himself. He comes hard, your name staining his lips like a sin.
Panting heavily, it takes a while for Javier to regain consciousness. It feels like he left his body for the better part of the act, and now that he’s back into his oddly sensitive skin, guilt eats him up from the inside. He mechanically begins to clean up the mess he’s made, all the while still thinking of you. How your skin would feel after your needs had been sated or how you’d look at him afterwards. Would you still smell of lavender? Would it be lavender and sweat, a mixture of both your scents that would drive you well over the edges of sanity? Javier sighs again, feeling for what is probably a premiere in his life ashamed of his uncontrollable impulse. He hops into the shower, dreading the day ahead—especially knowing he’ll see you smiling all politely at him at the apartment building’s entrance.
If you wouldn’t have leaned in, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Javier would’ve remained delusional enough to believe that you don’t think of him this way and that you certainly don’t want him this way. But now that he knows, he loathes it with every fiber of his being. He hates not being able to stop himself from these dirty thoughts, from wishing he could get to know you inside out like no one else has before and how in just a few short weeks you became simultaneously his worst nightmare and his sweetest desire.
At the very least he can start the day knowing that his plan will come to fruition today.
You’ve barely seen Javier in the past week, even less than usual. It was quite evident he was avoiding you, perhaps on account of that moment after you went out to the bar, but you missed talking to him. It’s only been a few days and yet you missed smiling at him, making him flustered and replying to his words in the sassiest ways possible.
You missed your friend.
It’s hard to believe you could really be friends with someone you would’ve easily slept with in the past; oddly enough though, you began to forget what your life was like before Javier entered it. It was duller and quieter, that was for sure.
But despite the fact that you missed even your little morning ritual with Javier and that you wanted to see him, to talk to him, you let another few days go by without much contact. You had to think about what was left on your doorstep on a rainy Monday afternoon and how it impacted you.
You were on your way to meet with Sylvie for drinks when you nearly stumbled upon the package that was on your welcome mat. It had your name on it but no sender address, no name, nothing. Curious, yet remaining cautious, you brought the package inside, shaking it a little. It wasn’t that heavy, but not light either. Finally, after staring at it for too long, you ripped it open. Your heart stilled.
There, in fine print with lavender margins, stood your Star Wars fanfiction. You quickly browsed it, shook at the realization that something you wrote out of love for that fictional universe was now in your hands in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible. Your eyes glanced down, noticing a few papers at the bottom of the package: your original story, handwritten on the same white pages, and what appeared to be a note.
You could barely breathe; you held the book at your chest, reading Javier’s note over and over as you desperately tried to sort through your feelings. Turning some nonsensical papers into an actual book must’ve cost Javier quite a lot, but the actual thought that went into it… the effort, the time, simply thinking of doing this for you for no reason…
You’ve spent days figuring out what to say to Javier, how to properly express your gratitude into words. It wasn’t just the gratitude that made your head spin—there was so much in the middle, so many things to be said that it overwhelmed you. The moment you held that book in your hands, it all felt like a promise, a sneak peek into Javier’s heart. You knew right then that this went further than mere physical attraction; it went further than just you liking him.
This had the potential to be the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to you. But it also carried enough power to ruin and devastate you completely.
When you knocked on Javier’s door around eight p.m., four days later, your heart was in your throat, your hand were clammy and oddly cold and you were beyond restless. You’re not sure as to why that is; maybe you imagine Javier will say something more rational as to why you shouldn’t screw this fun friendship you’ve got going on and that will open your eyes.
But oh, how you want him to feel the same as you do.
You know that he’s attracted to you. That is a no-brainer. You know the concept of physical attraction exists in real life for both of you, having slithered in between without either of you noticing at first, but the notion of love, that big, scary prospect, is yet to be determined.
“Fucking fin—oh. Hi.”
Javier’s facial expression changes within a split second from mildly annoyed to soft. You faintly remark he’s wearing a white shirt, its sleeves rolled up as much as possible, and suit pants. He probably came late from work and was unwinding, but the sight made you feel even more parched. You gulp, hoping it’s not noticeable how distressed you feel.
“Am I interrupting?” you ask cheekily.
“Thought you were the delivery guy.”
“Nope, just me. Sorry to disappoint.”
“No, this is better. By a lot.”
You smile, your heart swelling inside your chest. “Can I come in?”
Javier falters. He briefly checks his watch, noticing the time. It’s not too late, but having you inside his apartment on a Friday evening—on any evening, really—seems like a very compromising and dangerous idea.
“Sure,” he agrees and opens the door wider for you to wiggle in.
Moron.
Very wise idea, inviting the woman you’ve fantasized about in your apartment.
“Is everything okay?” he checks.
He notices you fidgeting, playing with your fingers and staring down at them, remaining silent. Eventually, you turn around, taking a deep breath, and Javier braces himself for the worst.
“I got your present,” you say, voice unusually shaky. “Or—whatever it was.”
Javier’s face reveals an expression that perfectly encapsulates the word “oh”. He takes a few seconds to himself to collect his thoughts, realizing that anything he says or does now, when you’re here in a state of appreciation and sensitivity, is crucial.
“Hope you liked it,” he quips. “Sorry for basically stealing the fanfiction first. I—“
You smile instead; it’s so radiant and wide that Javier feels weak in the knees.
That’s a first.
“I love—loved it,” you reply. “Truly.”
“I’m glad.”
“I don’t even know—I mean… how—how did you think to do that? And why?”
Good fucking question, Javier thinks.
He doesn’t really have a solid answer other than… well, he really wanted to do something nice for you. Sometimes he feels like he barely knows you, doesn’t even know when your birthday is or what your favorite season is, but sometimes he thinks that knowing bigger things, such as your passion and how beautiful you look when you smile, is far more important.
As well as knowing that he wants to be the one to make you smile every single day.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Seems like writing is a huge part of you and the way you talked about your fanfiction, about wanting to have your own book out… I don’t know, it just made sense. Felt right.”
When his eyes meet yours, they find them pooled with tears. His first instinct is to approach you, take your hands into his and gently graze them, but he does only the first.
“It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever—“you begin, swallowing a gasp. “Thank you.”
Javier purses his lips, nodding once, as stoic as possible when all the while he feels like he’s crumbling on the inside.
“I may have also read the story in the process,” he confesses.
“What did you think?”
There’s hope on your face, shining bright—as if you urgently need his approval. But luckily Javier doesn’t have to fool you.
“Did not see Han Solo and Leia Organa having a son that’s a pain in the ass, but in a twisted way, makes sense,” he says and smiles when he hears your chuckle. “And you’re a very good writer.”
“I’ve evolved since then.”
“Can’t wait to read your book.”
His smile is sincere, heartfelt, and the more you stare at him, unaware of how your body naturally inches closer to his, the weaker you feel.
“Thank you,” you nearly whisper, then clear your throat. “Javier, I—“
But then you see him shaking his head and backing away, and you frown.
“No, what?”
“Whatever you’re about to say, better if you don’t,” he seemingly warns.
“Then don’t go around doing these things for me, to me.”
“And what exactly am I doing to you?”
You feel an unexpected wave of anger hit you and you open your mouth to let him know about the night his name nearly fell from his lips as you desperately sought release, all the while thinking of his touch. However, you decide against it at the very last second.
“Just—don’t do such things for me if you don’t want a reaction out of me,” you continue. “Because at the end of the day, I’m a human being with real fucking feelings, and right now… I have plenty of them.”
“Like what?”
God, why does it feel like every question he poses is a challenge for you to open up and say or do something wild? How on earth is it possible to have someone get such a rise out of you with mere questions and to crave them this ardently?
“Like… I don’t wanna walk out that door,” you admit. “And I’m tired of denial and charades and… and excuses.”
“I’m fuckin’ tired too.”
“Then let’s stop.”
Javier shakes his head again, and the fear on his face is more legible than ever before. The expression he now wears is that of a man who’s afraid of failing, and in an odd way, it softens your heart.
“I meant what I said,” Javier says, his tone grave and dark. “I intend to keep my promise to Steve. So…”
“Javier—“
“And like I told you, I’m not someone to love. I’m not… lovable.”
You almost roll your eyes at the statement; that is, till you notice Javier’s eyes, the way he slowly inhales and exhales, and you realize that he actually does feel that way.
“I’m not lovable,” he repeats. “But you are. And you should have someone like that too.”
You remain still, hopelessly glaring at the man before you. The way he speaks of himself versus the way he speaks about you, to you, it’s such a stark contrast, you’re not even sure how to proceed with this discussion anymore. Except… no one’s ever called you lovable before, and the word does something inexplicable to you.
“Give yourself more credit,” you try to encourage him as you minimize the space between you two. “What you just did, the whole book ordeal…”
“It’s what—friends do.”
“It’s not! Sylvie didn’t think to do this! Connie didn’t think to do this. My college friend turned boyfriend didn’t think to do this, and Dean definitely didn’t—“
“Don’t—he’s got nothin’ to do with this. You barely met once. Of course he wouldn’t—“
“So… we’re friends, and yet somehow you’re jealous of a guy I went on a single blind date with?”
“Yes.”
You certainly didn’t expect Javier’s bluntness, nor were you anticipating his admittance to being jealous. He was jealous.
“Why?” you ask.
“Because he’s everything I’m not and everything you should have.”
Your frown deepens as you try to process whatever the hell is going on at this point.
“Okay, so then… if I went out with him again, you’d be okay with it, right? Because he did call and—“
“No.”
“What in the actual fuck is happening right now?”
“Mostly a shit case of me wanting what I can’t have.”
“But you can have it. Me. Have me.”
Javier looks down to where your hands are holding his, then he meets your eyes, so sparkly and warm, and he shivers. He fucking shivers, and it takes so much willpower to not pull you even closer to him and have his way with you. There were the words he had been dreaming about for what feels like an eternity and here he stands, completely debilitated by them.
“All you need to do is say it, just—just talk to me,” you encourage him. “Tell me.”
Unexpectedly, Javier loses his patience and removes himself from your gentle grip.
“What would you like me to say?” he retorts furiously. “That I want you so fucking badly I can barely sleep, or breathe, or even think? That before I didn’t give two shits about scents and now I can’t even smell lavender without getting hard because it makes me think of you?”
Shook, you can only stare at him, barely able to blink—or breathe, for that matter.
“Yes,” you mutter.
“It’s just the dry spell. It’s not—it’s not real.”
“Then stop leaning in.”
Javier opens his eyes, completely unaware that he’d been keeping them close and having gotten so close to you he could count every single eyelash. He feels your warm breath, erratic like his, tickling his face, and your noses nearly touching. The proximity is killing him like nothing ever did, like the slowest-acting poison ever.
“You first,” he breathes, one hand reaching to cup your cheek.
He closes his eyes again, fully aware now that he’s losing the battle against his feelings. You’re too close to allow him space to think, so rationality seems to be out the window as his bottom lip barely grazes yours. You gasp, so soft and so restrained that Javier nearly smiles against your lips.
The doorbell is the only audible sound left. It drowns out your and Javier’s breaths, distracting you from what could be either the sweetest taste or the gravest mistake.
“You should get that,” you say, being the one to pull away this time.
Grunting, Javier goes to answer the door. His hunger is long gone by this point, being replaced with something more urgent, gnawing at his insides.
But once again, he’s surprised to find someone else entirely in the doorframe.
When Steve’s eyes land on your flushed face in the background, he enters the apartment without uttering a single word—at first.
“What the hell’s going on with you and my sister?” he demands.
You roll your eyes and cross your arms at your chest. “For fuck’s sake, Steven—“
“We’re friends,” Javier intervenes calmly. “That’s all there is to it.”
“Jav, you don’t befriend women. You sleep with them.”
You give Steve a deadly glare, one he blatantly ignores, which in return makes you angrier.
“What are you even doing here?” you ask him.
“Could ask you the same thing.”
“It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Then neither it’s yours.”
“I’m not sleeping with your sister, Murphy.”
Javier’s voice is booming this time around, cutting some of the impending tension between you and your brother.
“And I don’t have any intention to do so, either. She’s not my type.”
It suddenly becomes clear that despite the moment you’ve shared earlier and the sultry words that had been spilled, all Javier wants to do now is protect you—and Steve, respectively.
Perhaps it would indeed be better for everyone if whatever is going on between you and Javier remains exactly where it is now.
“He’s made that very clear to literally everyone, including myself,” you fortify.
“Your type,” Steve deadpans. “You mean with a pulse and single?”
Upon meeting Javier’s angered glare, Steve bows his head, recognizing his mistake. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes to both of you. “Look, I just want to look after her. We haven’t had a great relationship since she was in high school. I was hoping things would be different now.”
“By sniffing any guy who’s around her? Can’t imagine that’s the way to go.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Javier, you don’t have to—“
But Javier isn’t listening to you; he stands in between Steve and you, perhaps unconsciously so, willing to take any blow that might come your way.
“You told me to stay away from her, which I understood and respected,” Javier says. “And apparently you told her I’m some asshole who bangs any woman near me, which isn’t entirely true. Not anymore. I may have been an asshole in the past, but I’m not a bad guy and I’d never hurt her, or any woman.”
“I know that. It’s just… I—I guess I took it too far. I’m really sorry. Of course it’s her choice who she wants to date.”
“Gee, thanks,” you coo from behind Javier.
“You’re in luck anyway because she’s not into me.”
“Are you into her?”
Unbeknownst to you, Javier gulps, which luckily goes unnoticed by Steve. The words he angrily spit at you before still ring in your ears and pound at the back of your mind, but it’s futile to bring them up now, not to mention risky.
“She’s great and funny, smart, but we’re—just friends,” Javier replies. “She’s not my type. I told you that, and I told her that.”
“Seems a bit insulting.”
“Kind of like you shitting all over her writing?”
You widen your eyes, honestly stunned that Javier would bring this up. And yet you can’t help but feel grateful as well, warmth engulfing you.
“What?” Steve asks.
“You constantly told her fanfiction is stupid, dismissing her writing altogether.”
“That’s not—“
“That’s exactly what you did. Did you ever read her story? It’s amazing and she’s a great writer.”
Your cheeks burn with flattery and gratitude, unable to add anything to the fiery conversation unfolding right now. You wouldn’t have expected Javier to take such a strong stance against someone he’d declared to be his best friend, which makes the gesture all the more meaningful to you.
You’ve never had anyone defend you or your passion this way, and it’s solidifying your feelings even more.
“You read her story?” Steve asks, dazed.
“I did. She’s damn good at writing, too. Maybe if you’d actually want to know her, as an adult, you’d have a better relationship.”
“Way out of line, Jav.”
“Yeah well, I’ve got an asshole reputation to uphold, right?”
“This is why I didn’t want you around my sister.”
“I respected your wish, man. But this is not your choice to make. If she wants to be friends, we’re gonna be friends. If she doesn’t want me in her life, she can say so herself. What she says, goes. And newsflash, I’m not the one being an asshole right now.”
“You know what?”
When you see Steve rolling up the sleeves of his denim jacket, that’s your cue to move.
“That’s enough,” you say, turning to Javier. “Javier, I appreciate everything you’ve said, but I’m a big girl and I can handle myself. And this is a conversation I need to have with my brother in private.”
You lay your hand over his bicep, barely touching, and it burns Javier’s skin. He looks at you, then at Steve, and backs off nodding.
“We need to talk, Steven. Now.”
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tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @spidermanfrog @fallenkitten
#Javier Peña#Javier Peña x reader#Javier Peña x you#Javier Peña x y/n#Javier Peña x f!reader#Javier Peña x female reader#Javier Peña fanfiction#Javier Peña fic#Javier Peña smut#javier pena#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#javier pena x y/n#javier pena x f!reader#javier pena x female reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fic#javier pena smut#narcos fanfiction#narcos fic#narcos smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#señorita series
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I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six
Jack gif by: @coredrive My Masterlist
Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)
Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Five
Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven
Word count: 4.3k+
Chapter summary: Jack visits Ángel in the hospital, bringing the gifts he bought. During the visit, you find yourself reflecting on your relationship with Jack—both before and after your engagement. Also, your husband, Javi, and your ex-husband, Jack, try their best to not kill each other. (Picks up directly from ch. 5. The flashback scene is bold and italicized.)
Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the aviators.
Warnings: Angst, jealousy, light suggestive stuff, pregnancy, divorce, childhood disease, mention of death, mention of the death of a child.
You were abruptly pulled from that memory when you heard a soft “¿Mami?”
Your head snapped towards Ángel, who was awake from his nap, his hair adorably messy.
"We've been calling your name," Javi says, no longer in his chair. He's now pouring some milkshake from a third cup into a smaller one for Ángel.
"Sorry, nomas estaba pensando ([I] was just thinking),” you say as you get up to give your son a kiss.
“¿En que, mami? (In what, mommy?)” Ángel asks, tilting his head to look at you.
Before you can reply, a knock echoes in the room.
"Come in," Javi says, loud enough for the person behind the door to hear.
The door opens, and Jack enters with a blue bag in hand.
"Mr. Daniels!" Ángel greeted him, clearly happy to see him.
"Hi, buddy," Jack responded, glad to see that Ángel was taking a liking to him, even if he didn't know their true connection.
"How are you feeling?" Jack asks, genuinely concerned.
"Good, thank you," Ángel replies politely, lifting his cup to take a sip. "My dad gave me some milkshake," he adds with a small smile.
At the mention of Javi’s name, Jack turns to Javi. "Javier," he acknowledges with a slightly sour tone.
"Hi, Jack," Javi responded without bothering to look up from what he was doing.
"I got something for you," Jack says, placing a gift bag on his son's lap. Ángel's head instinctively turned to look at Javi with big questioning eyes, silently seeking permission.
“Puedes abrirlo (you can open it),” Javi said softly, granting him permission.
Ángel eagerly reached into the bag, pulling out tissue paper and tossing it over his shoulder onto the floor. He excitedly reached into the bag with his small arm and pulled out a boy's denim jacket. It was a dark blue wash with silver buttons and yellow stitching all along the jacket. The jacket had several pockets, and Ángel immediately started sticking his small fingers into them. The most noticeable feature was a deep red patch at the back of the neck area. In the center of the maroon leather, the word "Jean" was meticulously stitched in bold, white thread. The stitching wasn't perfect, nor was it meant to be; it almost appeared as if it had been hand-sewn. Near the bottom right corner of the patch, a quartet of squares appears, not arranged in a straight line, but it looked better that way. Each square bears a single letter, together spelling out "S-H-O-P."
“¡Qué chulo! (so cute!)” Ángel exclaimed in awe as he tried to put it on, getting halfway before realizing that his right arm had an IV.
"I love it! Thank you so much, Mr. Jack!" your son exclaims with genuine joy. It almost makes up for all the Christmases Jack missed with Ángel - almost.
"No need to thank me, buddy," Jack replies, delighted that Ángel liked the jacket. Kids usually prefer toys over clothing, but ever since Ángel met Jack, he's had cowboy fever.
"I have the same one," Jack adds, the idea of matching with his son warming his heart. Jack couldn't help himself but buy items identical to the ones he already had in his closet. "You can wear it when you get out of here and go to the ranch," Jack explains.
Ángel responds happily and giddy, his excitement bubbling over.
"Keep looking, there's more," Jack encourages his son to explore the rest of the gifts, eager to see his reaction.
“Muy bien (very well), Mr. Jack," Ángel says obediently, forgetting Jack doesn't know Spanish. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a book.
"One hundred fun facts about Horses," Ángel reads out loud and gasps.
"He loves books," you fill Jack in.
Jack was going to say, he didn't get that from me, but he held back and instead replied, "he got that from you."
"Can I read this now?" Ángel questions, clutching the milkshake in one hand and the book in the other.
"There's still more,” Jack points at the bag.
Ángel seemed astonished, asking as if he couldn't believe it, "More?"
"Just one more," Jack laughs at his son's excitement.
For the third time, Ángel reaches into the bag, his face contorted in confusion as he struggles to pull out the item with one hand. "Ma," he calls out and hands you his drink. You hold it for him, and with both hands, he successfully retrieves the last item from the bottom of the bag.
He takes out a black box with the word 'stetson' printed in white ink. Your son rattles the box, but his eyebrows pinch in the middle; he can't make out what's inside the box.
He finally reads the text and asks, "What is a stetson?" Not waiting for an answer as his curiosity got the best of him, he takes matters into his own hands and opens the box, revealing a layer of white tissue paper inside. This time, he's more careful. With his small fingers, Ángel gently grasps the paper from both ends in the middle and pulls it apart.
"Wow!" he exclaims as he sees a black hat upside down. He delicately removes the hat from its container and flips it over to examine it with wide eyes.
Ángel looks at Jack with a smile that warms Jack's heart, a smile he'd do anything for, even if it meant crawling to the depths of hell and facing Satan himself, just to keep it on his son's face.
He begins, "My grandpa gave me a hat—" but his sentence is cut short when he eyes Jack's own hat. He then turned his attention back to the smaller hat in his hands, his face contorted with intense concentration. "Wait... it's just like yours, Mr. Jack!"
The smile that Jack offers in response is just like Ángel's. He can already envision his son wearing everything he's given him. The prospect of having his son resemble him, even in a small way, fills Jack with emotion. Tears prick Jack’s eyes at the thought of his son looking like a little version of himself, without the mustache, of course. He can’t wait for the day his son will be his spitting image, from head to toe, or more appropriately, from the top of the hat to the tip of his boots. Now he just needs boots, Jack thinks, making a mental note to purchase them soon.
"Do you like it?" Jack asks.
"I love it!" Ángel exclaims.
Without hesitation, he places the hat on his head and grins when it fits perfectly. "My glasses didn't fall this time!"
Laughter envelops the room, and you can't help but wish for this kind of co-parenting relationship with Jack.
“Papi, look, it looks a little like the one grandpa gave me,” Ángel says not resisting showing his dad, as he does with everything.
It was indeed true; Chucho had gifted his grandson a straw hat. The moment Ángel received the hat, he'd given his grandpa a giant hug and then raced to show his dad.
Javi had never shared his son before, so watching him interact with Jack was a bit difficult for him. But he knew it was for the best, and he held onto the certainty that Ángel would always be his son, no matter what.
"Sí, mijo, te ves lindo (Yes son, you look nice)," Javi honestly praised Ángel's appearance, trying to focus on the happiness of the moment.
Jack, in the same boat as Javi, felt his heart chip ever so slightly every time Ángel called Javier "dad." He made a conscious effort to push aside these feelings and to fully enjoy the present.
"It’s perfect, right?” Jack asked, wanting reassurance.
“Yes, Mr. Daniels. Thank you,” Ángel replied, gratitude in his eyes, and he invited Jack to sit down next to him.
Jack complied happily, impressed by Ángel's ability to win him over so quickly.
“Can you tell me more about your ranch, please?” Ángel gazed at Jack with puppy eyes, and Jack couldn't resist.
He chuckled at how quickly his son could melt his heart. "Sure thing."
“Wait! I want a picture first,” Ángel suddenly announced.
“I’ll do it,” Jack offered before you or Javi had a chance to react.
Jack stood up from his chair, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and started setting up the camera. While he was busy, Ángel adjusted his jacket to make sure it wasn't slipping off the shoulder where his arm wasn't through the sleeve.
“Ready?” Jack asked, his finger poised over the top right button to take a picture.
Ángel didn’t reply with words. Instead, he looked up at Jack and said, “Cheese,” remembering to smile. He held the pose while Jack's phone captured several clicks.
“Thank you, Mr. Jack,” Ángel said gratefully.
“Thank you, buddy.”
Jack moved to his gallery to look at the pictures he had just taken and let out a sigh of frustration when he noticed the quality wasn't what he had hoped for.
“Maybe I need to get a newer phone,” he grumbled, slightly annoyed.
At that moment, Javi's voice came from behind him, growing nearer. “Probably because I heard the Smithsonian wants to contact you to make a deal so they could display your phone for their 1930s collection,” Javi deadpanned, handing his own phone to Jack. “Here, use my phone. I'll make sure you get the pictures.”
Jack accepted the phone with an eye roll, gave a begrudging nod, and muttered a terse 'thanks' before asking his son to smile once more. This time, Jack was satisfied with the pictures he took and returned Javi's phone.
A palpable tension lingered between the two men as they settled back into their respective chairs, the strained atmosphere refusing to dissipate but remaining held in check within the confines of the hospital room.
Sipping on their milkshakes, Jack raked his brain for a story to share, while you removed your son’s jacket to allow him to lay back more comfortably.
Once Ángel was nestled against the pillows, Jack began his story. “During nights at the ranch, the stars are beautiful. The most beautiful starry nights…”
starry nights
starry nights
starry nights
“And that is The Big Dipper,” you pointed at the sky and traced the constellation with your finger. It was a collection of seven bright stars in the shape of a ladle, its handle stretching out across the sky like a long handle on a giant celestial spoon. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the stars seemed to shine especially bright.
“Over there is Orion,” you traced with your finger again. Orion was one of the most recognizable constellations, with its three stars forming Orion's Belt.
“and there-” you turned to look at Jack, expecting to find him gazing at the stars as you had been. Instead, he was looking intently at you.
“What are you looking at?” You asked, puzzled as to why he wasn’t following your descriptions. “Am I boring you?” You wondered, a mix of genuine concern and offense in your voice.
“Nunna that,” he replied in his thick drawl.
“So?” You prodded.
“I just love you,” he said, his expression filled with adoration. Jack looked at you as though you were the most incredible thing in the world.
You couldn't help but laugh, maybe at the intensity of the moment, or maybe at the expression that sent your heart racing, or perhaps a combination of both. You reached out, ran your fingers through his hatless hair – a rarity – and pulled him in for a kiss.
A few months later, he proposed to you, and just like that, it seemed that overnight, he had changed.
The night Jack proposed, the air was filled with the scent of love and the promise of a shared future. Bodies exhausted from the intimate celebration, you both drifted into sleep with the utmost excitement for your upcoming wedding and the prospect of spending the rest of your lives together.
As you dreamt sweetly about your wedding day and all the plans you and Jack had lovingly discussed, Jack had an entirely different dream – one that would alter the course of your lives. In this dream, he was visited by his high school sweetheart, his first wife. She came to him, tearful and broken, a ghost of heartache, accusing him of replacing her with you. Over eight hours of sleep, Jack relived every shared moment, each memory etched into his mind, right down to the devastating memory of burying her along with their unborn son.
In his vivid dream, Jack meticulously compared the two of you, scrutinizing and contrasting your every feature, your every virtue. He reached the conclusion that his first wife was his one true love, his happily ever after. He placed her on an unattainable pedestal, and you, unfortunately, received the short end of the stick. In his altered and frantic mindset, still within the dream, Jack reassured her that you could never replace her because you could never be her. Jack decided that you could never measure up to the ideal woman he had built in his memories of his first wife.
Life had cruelly snatched her away, and in a perverse twist of fate, you became a living and painful reminder of everything he had lost and everything he could never regain. The woman he had lost became an unattainable ghost of perfection, and you, no matter how wonderful and loving, were forever held hostage by the shadow of her memory.
As the morning sun streamed into the room, you opened your eyes, anticipating the warmth of his presence beside you. When he wasn't in bed, you thought he might be in the kitchen making breakfast, so you searched for him happily, looking forward to sharing a bath to relive the delicious soreness from the night before, with thoughts of another round lingering in your imagination. However, your excitement turned to disappointment when he wasn't anywhere in the house.
Hours later, when he finally returned home, his behavior was curt, and he vaguely mentioned having something to do. Initially, you brushed it off, blaming his behavior on the stress of work, assuming it was a one-time thing.
Then, a week passed; Jack distanced himself even further, rejecting your touch and avoiding PDA, which he used to love. The warmth that used to define your connection was now replaced by a chilling void.
Conversations about his day once shared openly, became scarce, and when you broached planning your wedding, he conveniently found errands or claimed overtime at work—anything to avoid the topic.
Your once lively conversations dwindled, and the late-night talks on random topics became a distant memory. Your hopeful wishes for Jack to return to his previous self remained just that—wishes. Instead of reverting, Jack's behavior worsened. Thinking back on that post-engagement morning, it was as though a different Jack had awakened: someone you wouldn't recognize in the years to come, leaving you confused about what you might have done to bring about this change.
Unbeknownst to you, Jack had finished his story. You returned from the memory you had tried so diligently to bury, only to realize that Jack was explaining to his son that he needed to leave.
“I’ve gotta go to the pharmacy and pick up my medicine," he told Ángel. Although Jack didn't specify the medicine he needed to collect, both you and Javi were well aware that it was the injections he needed.
Ángel's face fell with disappointment, evident in his now-diminished smile. But he quickly bounced back before Jack could offer more apologies.
"It's okay, Mr. Jack," he said with a brave smile, even though his eyes betrayed his disappointment.
"Medicine is very important," Ángel added matter-of-factly.
Jack smiled at the boy's maturity. "You're absolutely right."
"I'll see you soon, right?" Ángel asked with a hint of concern in his voice.
"Whenever the hospital allows," Jack replied cautiously, refraining from disclosing his procedure, as Ángel wasn’t aware of the pending surgery, and Jack didn't want to lie to his son.
Ángel accepted Jack's answer and thanked him for the wonderful gifts before saying his goodbyes.
"I'll see you out, Jack. The exit you normally use is closed, so you'll need to go through the sky bridge," Javi offered.
"Sure," Jack agreed without protest.
He was just about to say goodbye to you when Ángel suddenly exclaimed, "Oh-uh…”
All three of you turned your heads, concern etching your features.
“Tengo que ir al baño (I have to go to the restroom),” he said anxiously. Typically, he didn't need assistance, but the IV made it complicated to go to the bathroom by himself.
Javi immediately offered, “Lo llevo yo (I’ll take him).” Given your pregnancy, taking care of Ángel was challenging, and Javi didn't want to jeopardize the well-being of all three of you. So Javi had willingly taken over the physical tasks of caring for him. He didn't mind – he loved looking after his son. Besides, he didn't want you walking Jack out, given that he remembered Jack referring to you as his wife. A part of him would always hold some resentment toward Jack, but his priority was his son.
As you focused on helping Ángel with the sheets, Javi approached Jack, his jaw locked, and in a low tone, he leaned in, warning, "If you try anything..." His stern expression and brown eyes bore into Jack's, conveying a clear threat. The warning only reached Jack's ears, and Jack remained silent, reminding himself to behave in front of Ángel.
Javi then forcefully bumped shoulders with Jack as he moved past him to assist Ángel in the restroom. You missed this interaction, and when you eventually glanced at Jack, he was seething. It had been years since you had seen him so angry – precisely nine years, to be exact. Confusion clouded your mind, leaving you standing there, staring at him, and he did the same. Your attention was drawn away from him when Ángel said his final goodbye.
"Let's go," you told Jack and proceeded towards the door.
Jack gives his son one last look and sees Javi guiding him to the restroom inside the hospital room.
With that, Jack is on your heels. You are five steps ahead of Jack. As you walk ahead of him, you find your mind drifting to your relationship with Jack. You classified your relationship with Jack in two phases: pre-engagement and post-engagement. Pre-engagement Jack would lace your hands together every time you were out in public or have his arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. He wanted everyone to know that you were his, and he was yours.
Post-engagement Jack underwent a drastic transformation. He no longer held you in public, except for that one instance when there was construction on a street that had forced him to help you across a blocked and narrow sidewalk. He also began to walk ahead of you, not just a step or two, but so far that you sometimes had to wait for the traffic light to change and he would be on the other side of the street. After several attempts of trying to catch up with him, you eventually stopped trying to keep up and accepted this new reality.
Now, ironically, the roles had reversed, and you were walking ahead of Jack, with no intention of slowing down once you crossed the skybridge. Jack used long strides to catch up to you. Fortunately, the two of you were the only ones crossing the bridge that connected the children's wing to the parking lot, or else it might appear as if he were following you. Desperately, Jack wished to be by your side and engage in conversation. About what? Anything, really. He wanted to talk about the weather, the stars (something you once loved discussing but which he had grown annoyed with), or even something as random as worms, as long as it led to a conversation. He hoped to make you smile and laugh, even if it meant discussing the most mundane topics. Jack briefly wondered if this was how you had felt during your marriage – always yearning for his presence and conversation. He was already aware of the answer: yes.
As he rounded the corner, he saw you and swiftly pressed the elevator button. The doors opened with a soft ding right in time for Jack to step inside. You promptly pressed the button marked G1, initiating the descent. Jack's mind raced as he desperately sought the right words, knowing he had only a few precious minutes before you returned upstairs. Once you were outside, he finally summoned the courage to speak, but you broke the silence first.
“I’m begging you, Jack, do not flake on this. You heard Ángel's doctor. If you back out while he’s on chemo-”
“Do ya really think I would do that?” Jack's hands went to his waist, his eyebrows furrowing with anger and surprise. “To my own son?” He sounded genuinely shocked that you would even consider such a possibility.
“No...” After a pause, you decided to be honest, “Yes, Jack. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it's the truth. I don’t know if I trust you. I want to. But I know better. I need to keep my guard up. I can’t risk it, not when Ángel is on the line. I did once, and look how that turned out.”
“Ya think I don't think 'bout that often?” Jack's voice rose. “Okay, I know what I did…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I won’t do that again. I will never abandon him. Ever. I will not fail him again.”
You repeated to yourself, Don't cry, don't cry.
“And you think it was easy for me to forget?” you continued, voice trembling. “I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. After you proposed, you... you changed!”
"I remember that once, I dropped off lunch at your office because I got out of work early, and I wished I never left work." The tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled the painful memory. "I was in your building, on my way to your office, when a guard stopped me before I got to the reception. I explained that I was going to drop off food for my husband, and he asked me who I was married to." You continued, “Of course, I said your name, and you know what he said?" Without giving Jack a chance to speak, you added, "He said he was under the impression that your wife had passed away."
The color drained from Jack's face.
"It was so embarrassing, Jack. I didn't know what to say." You covered your eyes with both hands. "He and everyone on the floor thought I was crazy and making shit up." After a moment of silence, you continued, “At least Ginger was there, and she took me away into a hallway. I begged her not to say anything. I just went back home and cried my heart out."
Jack looked like a fish out of water, struggling to find words.
You pointed your index finger at his face and said, "Yeah, do that for like two minutes with a Tupperware of food, and you'll look exactly like me." Your dry laugh turned into a scoff.
"I'm sorry. Jesus, Sugar, I'm so sorry."
You heard the emotion behind his words and snapped, “Oh, don’t you fucking dare cry.” You were furious that he wanted to cry when you were the one who had gone through this. Years ago, you would've never dreamt of him feeling the burden of your pain, one that he had caused. You would've shielded him and shouldered everything, but you had changed too.
“I already cried enough for the both of us,” you add.
That made Jack want to cry more, but he quickly composed himself and fought back the unshed tears.
He comes closer to you, cupping your face in his hand. You shiver. Not because you feel any warm feelings you used to. Quite the opposite; you shiver because his hand is so cold.
"I'm sorry for hurtin’ you, baby," he says sincerely, looking into your eyes.
“Don’t,” you say, smacking his hand away. “Don’t call me that and don’t ever touch me again.” It's as if the palm of his hand gave you a freezer burn.
Suddenly, you hear heavy and hurried footsteps behind you.
From the corner of your eye, you see one of the security guards from the lobby.
“Is there a problem?” the security guard asks.
Jack looks at the guard annoyed as if he interrupted something. “I’m talking with my wife.”
“Oh my God, stop saying that! I’m not your wife!” you exclaim, frustration lacing your voice.
“Ma’am, is this man bothering you?” The security guard is about to intervene, concern evident in his tone.
“No! He was just leaving, sir.” You manage to give the best smile you can muster to the guard, doing your best to reassure him.
Jack, still looking irritated, takes a step back, giving you some space.
You grab Jack’s jacket and spin him around so he could look onto the parking lot. In a hushed voice, you whisper-yell, “Jack, don’t make a scene. If you get in trouble, you won’t be allowed into the hospital, and then Ángel won’t have a donor.” You didn’t know that would happen if the security guard kicked him out, probably not, but you were just saying things to make him leave.
Shit, shit, shit, why do I keep doing this? he asks himself.
“We’ll talk another day, Jack,” you sound deflated.
“Right now I have to get back and explain everything to Ángel since he’s getting surgery tonight,” you say.
That sobered him up.
“Okay. Call me with any updates. Text me too. It don't matter what time.”
You nod and turn to go back to your family.
A/N: I've created an account exclusively for reblogging my writing: @loslentesdepedrito-library . Feel free to follow me there if you'd like to be notified about anything and everything I write!
This is the fastest I've ever created a graphic (even though it took me a week 😳), yay! The next couple of weeks will be busy for me, but I hope to upload the last chapter before the end of the year. I know! I just have a lot to catch up on since I went on sick leave :(
Thank you for reading!
Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories
#angst#jack daniels x female reader#Jack daniels x reader#agent whiskey x reader#jack daniels angst#jack whiskey daniels#jack daniels x you#kingsman fanfiction#Jack daniels#agent whiskey#no y/n#javier peña#javi peña x female reader#javier peña x you#javi peña x reader#javier peña x female reader#javi peña x you#javier peña x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#tw:sick child#pedro pascal character#narcos fanfiction#loslentesdepedrito's writing#my writing#fic: iyw
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Uwah! Where is this place?
ITS THE FUNTASTIC ECLIPSE ACADEMY! The school for the finest students across the globe, each one of our fine 16 students comes from a country across the globe! The crazy exterior gets even crazier on the inside! Just wait and see SOON.. ON CORE DANGANRONPA!
Core Danganronpa is always looking for feedback and ideas, if you have any, please leave it in our askbox! All appreciated, CoreDR Team.
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Happy Birthday to my #1 Boba fan @coredrive ilu
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Javier Peña in every episode → Narcos s1e3: The Men of Always
#javier peña#pedro pascal#pedropascaledit#pajamasecrets#coredrive#narcosedit#javi#eejp*#mine#my gifs#I LOVE HIS FACE
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you good bestie? need to touch some grass?
I may need some help yes
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☕️ + how much i love and miss you
kathryn my beloved i love and miss you more
send me ☕️ + [topic] and i’ll tell you my opinion on it!
#i feel like i haven’t been seeing you on my dash :((#hope all is well !!!#coredrive#lou.txt#ask games
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THANK YOU FOR THE BOBA FETT FAT DICK HEADCANON CLUB bc i just *know* that shit is like a goddamn soda can
how im tryna be when i get my ass back on tatooine
#inbox#coredrive#imma slurp that man so good I’ll make the tip of his dick shine like new beskar#that was vile I’m sorry#the mandalorian#the mandalorian spoilers
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desperate/desperately
Buck’s thighs are shaking and his hips jerk away from the touch before shoving back up into it, desperate for more.
send me a word and if it’s in my wip i’ll post the sentence 💌
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i know i already wished you a happy birthday a few times but i’m saying it again. happy birthday kyra my beloved!!!
THANK U KAT MY BELOVED
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I just finished “My Heart’s Been Borrowed” and hands down it’s one of the best things I’ve read. So hot yet sad and soft and fluffy and all things wonderful.
Omg! Thank you so much!! I’m so happy you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for the sweet message! 💕💕💕
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Annie Morley and Javier Peña in Maybe Today, Maybe Forever
The beautiful and incredible @coredrive made me some truly AMAZING gifs of my favorite little couple and their baby.
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us kathryn's have impeccable taste i gotta say
kathryn’s 🤝 having the biggest brains and the best taste
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how the fuck weren’t we mutuals before i feel like you’re in my brain (also you calling me by my name in a tag made me !!!!!!)
bby i feel the fucking SAME hello there!!!
we are just. two horny brain cells. vibing on the same lack of coherency. i love u
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Javier Peña in every episode → Narcos s1e5: There Will be a Future
#javier peña#pedro pascal#pedropascaledit#pajamasecrets#coredrive#underbetelgeuse#narcos#narcosedit#javi#mine#my gifs#eejp*#there were so many good profile shots in this ep#i had to gif them#long post
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why are you always so horny™️
if u figure it out lemme know fbfnfnfnfnd
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